West By Northwest: Day Thirteen

As this is written, the Worm that everybody's been talking about has been rearing its ugly head. Its creator has some beef with "Billy Gates," and wants him to fix his own software. Apparently he is convinced that making it worse will endear him to the world. From what I've been able to pick up, I don't think it's working...

But this entry is really about Tuesday, the day before, when Paul and I visited Mount Rainier.

As we drove up the hill toward the visitor center, Paul was absorbed in something else. I directed him to look upward, at what was emerging from between the trees. "Oh... my... Gawwwwwwwd!!!" It was his first view of a snow-capped mountain.

Once we were there, Paul was astonished to learn that the temperature had dropped about 20-30 degrees from when where we started. "You didn't bring your jacket, did you Paul?" He needed a new sweater anyway. They had them on sale at the commissary, with "Mount Rainier" printed on them. Come to think of it, he needed a souvenir too.

We headed on the trail toward Burroughs Mountain, a smaller peak at the top of a five mile hike. The chipmunks are rather bold in these parts, as though they enjoy following these human interlopers whether they get a free meal or not. I had a manual for identifying various plants along the way, which for this old Scout brought back a lot of memories, to share with a young man who never got such a chance. We got closer to the fog up ahead. Not only that, but the land was like an arctic tundra above the tree line, as we disappeared into the clouds. I showed Paul the rocks around us, identifying them as mostly red granite, with what appeared to be lava rock of a similar color. There had apparently been volcanic activity at one time (Sometime in the last two hundred years, I was to learn later). When we reached the top, we rested. It was cloudy and desolate at the peak, and we met others who were venturing on to the "Second Burroughs." But instead we made our way back down the other side, to the place where we started.

Here the terrain started to change. Instead of just a tree line, we encountered on the mountainside huge slanted layers of sandstone and shale, having been pushed into their present form by glacial ice thousands of years ago. As the clouds parted and we came around a bend, we looked down the ledge. There below us was the most awesome valley, the base of a glacier still remaining as one of many around the great mountain. Down below was a pond of a pea green color, the result of algae forming on still water in alpine conditions. Another traveler we met along the way had seen these in the Swiss Alps as well. We stayed there for ten or fifteen minutes, as he described what we were seeing -- a remnant of the last Ice Age.

Paul and I headed further down the mountainside, at a faster clip. We stopped again, this time along a clear mountain lake. Paul borrowed one of my collapsible cups and dipped it into the lake; just to smell the water, he said. I did the same, only I drank it. We both shared in the unspoiled gift of nature. Besides, there were no signs telling us to do otherwise.

At the end of the trail, he phoned my parents in Ohio to tell them where he was. It felt great resting tired feet, drinking lots of bottled water, and talking of the wonders of God's handiwork. Sadly, we only had one picture to show for it, which a photographer had taken on our camera for us. The two of us were standing in front of the mountain at the start of our journey. We would have to return one day for more.

Paul was too tired to do anything else. But me? I was still ready to go dancing.

I went to a local zydeco lesson. After meeting again with the friends I never thought I had, they invited me to join them all for a drink. The group included a couple of "Jersey girls;" one displaced, one visiting. That made me feel more at home.

And what a home it would be. I was asked by my relatives living in Seattle whether I would ever consider moving here. On a clear day, you can see Mount Rainier from many parts of the city. Being in the midst of this place makes you wonder, if you could ever say no...