Mairead was flushed and ecstatic as usual. She had a water bottle, a bag of trail mix and not much else. Ed just carried his mortal coil and the heavy residue of confusion that lingers after a stupefying disappearance of someone you knew and loved. He followed her up through the massive majestic trees. It was an old growth forest. Ed could feel the years and the strength of those beautiful trees, all around them rising like giants into a blue sky with polka dot clouds. They came upon a large tree had fallen across the path and the park service people had cut the piece of it that obstructed the path. Ed looked down the thick trunk that stretched out down the mountain. He looked up and saw an almost equally large piece stuck to the side of the mountain. He imagined the force of the wind that was needed to uproot it and he laid his hand on the rough bark, closed his eyes and took a few deep Ugai breaths.
They carried on, and up, crossing little waterfalls and up further following the switchbacks. The higher they went the more switch backs there were. It was steep and hard going. Ed was breathing heavy and his thigh muscles were burning. The sun was high in the sky and right above them, though most of the trail was shaded by the green wispy arms of the mammoth pines and maples, and the spots of sun that broke the canopy dappled the trail like gold coins. Ed took the lead and started taking the steep parts in a run. It was exhilarating and immediately erased all thoughts from his mind. How great it is that pure physical exertion can completely dissolve any thoughts from the brain. After a while Ed reached a clearing with patches of snow covering parts of it. He sat on a stone and waited for Mairead. She had climbed the peak three weeks previous and had invited him out to her cabin to spend and savor a few days of Wild Bliss.
“What’s this with the snow?” Ed said, as she emerged from the trial and crouched down next to him sipping from the bottle.
“Whatcha mean? It’s a mountain.”
They walked across the clearing and there was a break in the trees with a clear view of Vancouver Sound and Victoria Island far in the distance. They ate some trail mix and rested a bit then Mairead stood up.
“Time to get goin, I think,” she said, “We’ve got a ways to go.”
As they climbed higher the trail was covered with more and more snow. There were some tracks in it already, which made it both easier and more difficult. Ed tried placing his boots in the foot prints, but that took away the natural necessary rhythm in his step. He tried clomping straight on ignoring them, but he invariably slipped into one of the indentations. The air was cold and became colder the higher they hiked and the trees thinned out and the switchbacks were even more frequent than down below. They reached a ridge and walked along the narrow path with the mountain dropping steeply off. The trail was very narrow and the drop was 2000 feet through interspersed trees and Mammoth sized boulders. Ed didn’t look down and focused on his steps, the feel of his foot as it touched the ground. He found he could feel if it was a good hold or not, better than trying to see. They walked on the ridge awhile in the thin shadows of the highest pines that ran along the spine of the mountain. They emerged after some time through the bush and onto a rocky outcropping. The wind was blowing in great gusts from Canada and Ed thought of that Joni Mitchell song, then realized the line was “The winds blew in from Africa, last night I couldn’t sleep...”
Down below was Crescent Lake, flat and blue and long curving into the shape that gave it its name. The sun was shining brightly as they sat on the pebbly ground and took in the view. Ed could hear the logging trucks rumbling below and barely see them down along the road that contoured the lake. They ate some more of the mix and drank from the canteen. Ed got up and stretched. He and Mairead were the kind of friends who didn’t need to chatter all the time, close enough to just be together, in nature together, without talking to fill the empty space. They went on the hike the for the magical experience that is the Mother Gaia. To be there, to be, to open their pores to all that the ancient, undeveloped earth has to offer. Ed’s legs felt good and sore and the air was so clean and fresh he gulped it into his lungs. He walked along the ridge to some large rocks that jutted out over the steep drop. Ed climbed out onto one and lay on it peering down over the edge. They were very, very high, and soon to get higher, but the surrounding mountains were green from the base up to the summits where most of them wore wizards caps of snow. They formed a ring around the lake and reminded Ed of Valdez, Alaska, and his errant mushroom-trip-hike up The Goat Trail, getting stranded in the thick brush, looking at mountains just like these, a brown bear somewhere nearby snuffling for him.
Mairead called to him and he climbed back carefully to the ridge where she was seated. She offered Ed a small green glass pipe. He took it and sat down next to her.
“Do you have fire, my dear?” he asked.
“Whatcha think? I brought all the essentials.” She handed him the lighter and smiled. It took a few attempts to light the bowl in the wind, but it sparked and Ed took a long pull and handed it back to Mairead. Good Northwest Kind Bud: home grown and good for you. He exhaled and watched the smoke as it was grabbed instantly in the grip of the furious wind and carried away to the other side of the earth.
Mairead’s eyes were watery and red.
“Do you want to see the lookout tower?” she said.
“Sure.”
They walked further down the ridge into the trees again and after a few minutes they stood on a precipice looking at a small sturdy wooden cabin built on top of a huge rock. It wasn’t actually a tower, but it was an old forest-fire look-out station. The kind made famous by Kerouac and Snyder and many other look-outs you never heard of who alerted people about big time fires in years past. They went in it and through the windows they could see in all directions. Mairead pointed to a gnarly, leafless tree perched on a huge rock.
“That’s the tree in the picture.” She said.
Earlier that day, back in Seattle, she had shown Ed a picture of three bikes hanging form a tree that was up on her refrigerator.
“That’s the tree?” he said, “did they ride up this fucking mountain, on their bikes?” Mairead grinned.
“They rode down it too, of course.” she said.
“Crazy Motherfuckers. That’s fucking incredible.”
Her bike messenger buddies a few weeks before had come up and done their thing and Mairead got the photographic evidence.
The wind was strong and cold on the unsheltered precipice and came blowing in from the Pacific Ocean. Ed climbed the tree and sat there and looked out over the water that was golden and bright beneath distant gray mountains contemplating British Columbia and wondering if one day he would make it up there.
He hopped down and Mairead leaned against the structure and looked at her watch.
“Probably time to start heading down,” she said.
They walked along the ridge through the trees and out to the clearing and took a last look then started down the trail. Things were, as they are wont to get, a little different. Ed was well stoned, completely present and simultaneously elevated onto another semi weird, yet purely natural plane of consciousness. The steep drop appeared steeper and the narrow trail seemed a bit thinner than on the way up. Remember gravity, Ed thought, then he realized that gravity would surely not forget him. He felt a mixed sense of fear and calm, exhilaration and utter peace. He knew he could walk down the trail and he would not fall so he started skipping and taking long leaps. Mairead was behind him and he worried about her for a second, then realized that worrying wouldn’t help her at all. It is true that worry is a negative prayer.
Ed made it to the clearing where they had stopped earlier to rest in a very short time. He was breathing hard and walked around the puddles and clumps of snow and in the mud staring up at the trees. Ed stretched out, did some jumping jacks and looked out again to the north and distant Canada that felt so close he just might be able to reach out and grab it. Mairead followed soon after and they started down again. It took them exactly half the time to descend as it did to go up. When the trail leveled off and Ed started to recognize trees, he looked back and laughed, feeling a great release, a great comfort. Mairead caught up with him and they stepped on the dirt road that led back to the cabin. A little robin hopped in front of them, called out, looking right at them. The little bird guided them the entire way, keeping about 10 paces in front of them, stopping occasionally and looking back at them as if to say “Are you guys coming, are you coming?”
Back at the cabin they sat on the deck and the sun had already gone down behind the mountains yet produced a golden glow that spread across the sky. They drank a few Fat Tires and smoked another victory bowl. Ed imagined the city of Seattle with its lights and wheels and smoke and noise. Looking out across the placid lake he saw a shape, an eagle, barely visible, circling in slow gyres far out across the water above the trees. Ed watched the grey swirling clouds and the golden light deepening in color by the moment.
Mairead came out on the deck and fired up the grill.
“Do you want steak or brats or both?” she said, smiling.
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