magicalmtnmoments

Magical Mountain Moments

~ Glacier Peak Wilderness ~

Aug. 18, 19, 2005

Wilderness View © Ken James McLeod

When I stepped from the road into the woods, a big smile encompassed my face...it was the first good smile I had had in a week, I told my companion son Ken. The forest trees (cedars, Douglas firs, hemlocks) had never been cut for timber - they were ancient and grew tall towards the heavens. This area had been designated as the Glacier Peak Wilderness by Congress for all time. And as I once again entered a portion of it, my thoughts grew evermore deeply about just what wilderness is and means to the spirit of man, reminding me that many others long before myself pondered the same feelings in statement and verse . . .

Estwick Evans

“How great are the advantages of solitude! How sublime is the silence of nature’s ever-active energies! There is something in the very name of wilderness which charms the ear, and soothes the spirit of man. There is religion in it.”

“When ever the light of civilization faces upon you with a blighting power…go to the wilderness…Dull business routine, the fierce passions of the marketplace, the perils of envious cities became but a memory…The wilderness will take hold of you. It will give you good red blood; it will turn you from a weakling into a man…You will soon behold all with a peaceful soul.”

As we hiked ever upward upon the mounatin on a clear-blue morning-sky day, the little things of the earth became our reality. Things like the thick-green moss and the dew-covered giant ferns which grew from the forest floor spoke out at us. Even the gray jay (Darwin Camp Robber) and the occasionaly chipmonk greeted us. Animal tracks, each with their own story were visible along the route. And the air had that pungent forest smell which seemed rich and full of life. We breathed it in ever so deeply.

""Hey Ken, look at the blueberries, they're ripe," I said.

With that, son Ken who just can't ever get enough blueberries, began to forage them for their exhilarating taste. At times, I had to encourage him to keep moving and quit stopping all the time to eat them, or we'd never get to our destination located farther on up the mountain. And his lips began to take on that purple haze one gets after eating many blueberries.

"Holy Crap," I yelled, as out of the ground (nest) poured a squardron of hornets targeting me.

Son Ken had been in the lead as I struggled with my full heavy pack, and had stirred a nest in his passing. Zing, zang, and bang they hit me, just like fighter jets on a combat mission stinging me on the legs and arms as I tried to run up the mountain. As I did so, I killed some of them as they stung me repeatedly, the rotten BASTARDS! And one could actually hear the forest BUZZ . . .

"Peace and tranquility ruined only for the moment," I thought.

Soon afterwards, I nursed the stings with sting ointment and was satisfied with some relief. Lunch was had. We then moved further on up the mountain in the mid day hot-sun (near 80 degrees) to about 5,800 feet in elevation, where it was plain to see the upper forest zone had changed into the alpine zone. Here, with the wind in our face, the tall forest (including the slide alder and vine maple) gave way to sub-alpine fir and heather, high rock, and high meadows dotted with wildflowers. An ocassional blue grouse could be heard hooting, the whistle of a marmot, and the geek of the pikas.

Camp was made with tents pitched and we settled in soaking up the alpine zone. Dinner was had consisting of noodles and tuna, plus mashed (powdered) potatoes, as well as a cup of hot tea. During the cooking however, out came the pint of whiskey I had brought along, and we toasted one another (son Ken was now a grown man) and the land we had come to enjoy. Soon, the shadows began to fall upon mountain ravines and valleys as the sun started its descent in the west. And my blood began to stir, for I knew it was near the time what I call the "magic time." A time when the sun casts glorious colors to the wind - a time when good landscape photography can be captured.

"I'm going up the mountain for sunset photography," I said to Ken. "I'll be back at dark."

With that, I gave Ken a radio I had brought along to keep in contact with me, as I departed from camp. As I climbed the mountain, Ken and I contacted one another: I reporting on the splendid view, he ocassionally stating he had "visual" on my person as I climbed. I had been up here before a few times, but this time I could see the sunset unfolding was going to be spectacular.

"What a surreal sunset I see with the sun going down just over Three Fingers Mtn, with Bullon, Whitehorse, Pugh, and Whitechuck in the scene," I stated.

Sloan, Cadet, Bedal, and Forgotten were all visible too, including massive Mt. Rainier to the south.

"Simply awesome, simply grand!"

From my vantage point, near 6,500 feet, the shutter of my camera (35mm Contax with a Ziess lens) clicked away capturing the wilderness sunset. It was as if I was hunting, but then I always feel this way when the camera is in my hands during the "magic time" especially in the high country.

As I departed and headed hastily back to our camp, the last rays faded into darkness, and soon the mountain was filled with that eerie blue-blackness which surrenders to the night. At camp, one last toast of whiskey was had. And somehow in the back of my brain, I knew it just doesn't get any better . . . 'cept we forgot the cigars!

During the night, the stars came out, the wind hollered at us, and the moon (almost full) came up casting its glow around displacing the night shadows. At times, it seemed as if it were day. But then, looking at my watch I could see it was only two o'clock, then three.

In the late morning, we packed up leaving our splendid camp after breakfast was had, which consisted of oatmeal and raisins, cookies, more blueberries, and coffee. Heading down the mountain, some bees (hornets) were encountered on the way out, we bypassed the nest however, and no further stings were in need of report...the combat was indeed over.

And as we neared the parked truck where we had left it, I commented what a wonderful trip it had been despite the hornet attack - father and son once again enjoying the high alpine country together.

KJM

(McPilchuck)