SNEAKING
Up On Mt. Rainier Like Explorers

We spent the night in the shadow of Cougar Rock watching the camp fires of other tribes and talking until we were dizzy. In the morning the sound of Chinese children yelling like bells as their father watched impassively from his position next to the out-houses drew us out of our sleeping bags and into the clear bright light. Granola! And we were on our way up the mountain standing like a god before us and not like a rear admiral’s last name.

The last weekend of bitter cold rain made me think that summer had drawn its curtains. Another veil rent! Mt. Rainier was clear and roaring still trying to shed its glaciers. We climbed as high as we could, explorers, noting the chipmunks and marmots until we found a deserted valley perfect for disappearing into ice caves or sudden rock burials. Nothing but weird clicking bugs buzzing through the thudding water and rocks and sky at 7000 feet.

As we turned the corner over the last ridge before the Muir Snowfield we saw the whole thing as a 7000 foot wall of white cracked open with blues and grays melting and shifting before our eyes. It was making its own weather and we were its followers. We followed it with sideways glances all the way down into the suburban blight which is Tacoma, listening to the crème de la crème of CCR as we slowly shot back into the relative safety of cell phone range.