MST to PST
As luck would have it, I ended up with several days off in a row. This happened just as the Bellingham Mountaineers were having their hard snow field trip and were in need of instructors. Being the type of person who has packed up and gone for only a day or two, this trip seemed perfect.
I departed McCall early in the AM on Friday… after Pat made a killer breakfast and I swung by The Hub for a latte. Unfortunately this wasn’t early enough to miss Seattle traffic. Even still, Mango and I found ourselves first at the Bellingham CoOp and then on a trail in Glacier well before dark. Ten plus hours in the car had the two of us in serious need of movement. We ran past ferns and moss along the Nooksack until dusk and made it to the car as a fine mist rolled into the valley. With an almost full moon on the rise and an incoming storm, we drove up to Baker Ski Area in hopes of getting some cool photos. Despite advanced camera technology, sometimes I can’t capture the simplest things that make life so pretty. The greens below turned too dark and the low-lying clouds seemed too grainy. I gave up on the camera.
Instead, Mango and I walked over suncupped snow. Even with the mist and clouds, the moon lit up the slopes. While some of my favorite runs remained, waterfalls cascaded down other zones where steep snowfields once called me to their slopes. Standing in a spot where the lower area of the valley was visible below the cloud cover, I realized how these mountains are like that friend that you love but can’t entirely trust. I looked towards areas where I’ve understood my potential and others where I have encountered my limits. I thought of friends and of friends-of-friends who have lost their life here. There aren’t many that I can think of, but enough to take notice. Their last views were these mountains. The same ones that have inspired so many people including myself. It’s odd to think that a day where you feel most alive might be your last. There are worse ways to go out, I suppose.
When the mist turned to rain we returned to the car. Snoozing in Iggy was glorious as the sound of raindrops tapped on the windshield and roof. Mango and I curled up in my sleeping bag. The first time I visited these mountains I slept in a Subaru and pictured each rain drop in the valley as snow in the mountains. I was actually so excited that I couldn’t sleep. Sadly that wasn’t the case, and it had rained up to 7500 ft that night. I hadn’t known these mountains like I do now, which still isn’t good enough. Barring any weather miracles tomorrow would probably bring rain.
I departed McCall early in the AM on Friday… after Pat made a killer breakfast and I swung by The Hub for a latte. Unfortunately this wasn’t early enough to miss Seattle traffic. Even still, Mango and I found ourselves first at the Bellingham CoOp and then on a trail in Glacier well before dark. Ten plus hours in the car had the two of us in serious need of movement. We ran past ferns and moss along the Nooksack until dusk and made it to the car as a fine mist rolled into the valley. With an almost full moon on the rise and an incoming storm, we drove up to Baker Ski Area in hopes of getting some cool photos. Despite advanced camera technology, sometimes I can’t capture the simplest things that make life so pretty. The greens below turned too dark and the low-lying clouds seemed too grainy. I gave up on the camera.
Instead, Mango and I walked over suncupped snow. Even with the mist and clouds, the moon lit up the slopes. While some of my favorite runs remained, waterfalls cascaded down other zones where steep snowfields once called me to their slopes. Standing in a spot where the lower area of the valley was visible below the cloud cover, I realized how these mountains are like that friend that you love but can’t entirely trust. I looked towards areas where I’ve understood my potential and others where I have encountered my limits. I thought of friends and of friends-of-friends who have lost their life here. There aren’t many that I can think of, but enough to take notice. Their last views were these mountains. The same ones that have inspired so many people including myself. It’s odd to think that a day where you feel most alive might be your last. There are worse ways to go out, I suppose.
When the mist turned to rain we returned to the car. Snoozing in Iggy was glorious as the sound of raindrops tapped on the windshield and roof. Mango and I curled up in my sleeping bag. The first time I visited these mountains I slept in a Subaru and pictured each rain drop in the valley as snow in the mountains. I was actually so excited that I couldn’t sleep. Sadly that wasn’t the case, and it had rained up to 7500 ft that night. I hadn’t known these mountains like I do now, which still isn’t good enough. Barring any weather miracles tomorrow would probably bring rain.
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