I associate heading East with adventure. I grew up in Western Washington, and aside from a brief stint on the southern Californian coast, that is where I have lived my whole life. Western Washington has beauty and plenty of places to explore, but for me East of the mountains is where true adventure awaits.
My parents and I used to take drives over the mountains to get hamburgers at the little mountain burger stand together. The first time my dad and I fly fished together was on the Yakima river in Eastern Washington. Some of the best backpacking trips and hikes that my husband, Ben, and I have been on have been East of the Cascades. Our family cabin lies to the East, in Montana. I associate “East” with so many good memories.
There is something about cresting the Cascade mountains. The clouds clear up, the trees become more spread out allowing for some great, uninhibited hiking, and the sun is usually shining. Descending on the East side, hills covered in sage brush and pines beckon to me, daring me to take off into them for a day or a week. The rivers flow by the highway, begging for me to cast a fly into their rapids.
To the East is adventure; the unknown; rugged terrain that one can wander through for days. Wild animals roam freely, uninhibited by large crowds or overpopulation encroaching on their country. The East holds an enchantment over me. Whenever I think about going over the mountains I feel an excitement building up inside. Anything is possible. Anything might happen.