Irony Is Not My Friend

I am a big fan of the American novelist John .  I’m not sure what drives my liking to his work, but something about his writing just grabs me.  Despite his creative influences being cut of a different cloth then mine, there is certain realness to his pen, which I somehow relate.  I always love his stuff.


Recently, I read Travels With Charlie , which is a bit of an anomaly compared to other Steinbeck novels.  Actually, referring to it as a novel is not quite accurate, as the book is really more a personal journal than piece of fiction.


Without giving away too much, I will simply say that the book chronicles the journey of Steinbeck and his dog (Charlie) looking to discover ‘real’ America.  Together, this duo spends a few months traversing the back-roads and small towns of America.  The process is simple enough, but the expedition proves to be anything but.


Early in the book, Steinback talks about an itch he has, one I to which I easily relate.

“When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was upon me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch.”

I love that passage.  I am that passage. 

I find it painful to sit still.  For me, to be idle is to suffocate.   While reading this book, I found myself repeatedly envious of the premise – that is say, the trip itself. 

Steinbeck’s story unearthed memories of a similar, albeit much smaller trip of my own.  Prior to my senior year of high school, a buddy of mine and I embarked on a mini journey of our own.  Keeping planning efforts and decisions simple, we eradicated prolonged preparation by way of a coin flip; heads would take us east, while tails would bring us west. 

The results of that simple coin flip pointed us towards the east.  We then loaded the car, pressed the gas pedal, and embarked upon our one-week journey.

Epic is probably an inappropriate adjective to describe that simple voyage, but our travels were indeed impactful, the memories have not yet faded to black.  All these years later, my pal and I occasionally laugh in reminiscence of that trip.  It seems great adventures do indeed cement themselves into the brain, forever a welcomed companion.

I try not to let it get the best of me, but I’ll tell you this - irony can be a real son of a bitch.

For years, I’ve gotten up every day to go to work.  During this time, my moments away from the office were precious, something to be protected and used strategically.  Routinely, I was in the habit of safeguarding vacation days such that the folks guarding the Coca-cola secret formula were impressed.

But here’s the real kick is ass … at long last, here I am with nothing but time.  Devoid of burdens facing regular adults, I am free to color my blank canvas of time with any adventure mosaic that might move me.  Sadly, I have no crayons. 

And so it is, I have an abundance of roll-over minutes.  If left unused, there will come a point wherein this time, such a precious commodity will vanish into thin air.

I lack work, the enabler of money with which to fund crayons for capturing the adventure that could be.  Surely, my situation is not bleak when compared to so many others.  The truth is I am fortunate; I have no real financial strain, just less disposable dollars than before.  It could be far worse; I understand the significance of that.  Believe me, I do.

But, I cannot help but to conclude that Fortuna has an odd way to her will.  My sudden abundance of time is now without a partner to fund what could otherwise be a beautiful partnership, together enabling fabulous adventures.

I catch myself smiling just thinking about what could have been, but evidently is not meant to be.

Marmot Pass - Revisited

In a previous post , I spoke of a trip I took to Marmot Pass, a glorious wonderland located in the Olympic Mountain range, west of Bainbridge Island. 

That trip, being my first to the region was a great time indeed, but also very much a learning opportunity for me in that headed into the trip, there were a lot of unknowns.  Suffice it to say, my camping buddy and I had done some research of the area ahead of time, but really, we went into the trip as a reconnaissance undertaking, the insights to be better applied some other time. 

Sure enough, at the conclusion of the trip, we both agreed that next time we found ourselves on the pass, we would be well served to camp and hike elsewhere.

And so it was, a few weeks later, I found myself thinking about Marmot Pass, looking for any good excuse to revisit the area once again.

Chris and Katie-dog climb to camp

Then it happened.

My brother-in-law Chris called, indicating a unexpected swell of vacation days.  This being the case, he was interested in spending a few days camping.  As Chris is not especially familiar with the area in and around the Olympic mountains, he decently deferred decisions to me.  With pent-up enthusiasm similar to some kid eagerly itching to spend a few dollars of birthday money from Grandma, I emphatically declared (albeit to myself) that Chris and I would be spending a few days in the backcountry of the Buckhorn wilderness, home turf of Marmot Pass.

At the pass, Katie-dog looking for Marmots to chase

Unlike my previous overnight visit, Chris and I would be spending three days at the pass.  As far as I am concerned, a three-day camp trip is about perfect really, allowing for an extended foray of the area, but is not too long such that extended supplies are required.  Also a benefit -  excessive stink does not have time to fully percolate into an abhorrent funk.

   

Home sweet home

Over three days time, Chris and I were able to hike along the many high pass trails, politely but firmly imposing their eternalness to this region.  As with any welcoming host, these trails invited us into their home, which in this case generally consisted of narrow trails precariously balanced atop sheer ridgelines, only to be encompassed by seemingly endless alpine valleys.  

At times, an ill-advised misstep would equate to certain injury, perhaps death.  Opposites attract, and it seems that nature has a funny way of partnering peculiar bedfellows?

Approaching the peak of Buckhorn Mountain (elevation 6,988ft)

Chris, descending Burckhorn Mountain

Why is it that the majestic so often accompanies peril?  A precarious partnership perhaps, but one that is breathtaking and of unquestionable beautiful; nature at its finest.  

One of the Marmot Pass valleys

It would seem that one could walk for days 

Three days had past, time to walk out

Mt. Rainier

Generally, I like to think that I recognize a good thing when I see it. 

In this case, a good thing took form in the shape of an invitation to partake in a day hike with a running buddy of mine at Rainier National Park.

Since moving to Bainbridge Island, I’ve been in amazement of Mt. Rainier, the namesake of Rainier National Park.  I’ve always heard, and can now attest, to the natural beauty of this wonderful treasure, even if I’ve only seen a fraction of its 368 square miles. 

Most importantly, I’ve now witnessed the mountain up close.  Surely the broader park is beautiful as it is expansive, but the mountain is the main attraction.  Similar to a good warm-up band, the park is indeed good entertainment and does put on a good show, but headliners sell tickets and fill the seats, not warm-ups bands.  Mt. Rainier lives up to such billing as the headlining act.

For almost two years I’ve been catching various views of the mountain from the broader Seattle area.  In clear skies, Mt. Rainier seems to float effortlessly upon the horizon, providing awe-inspiring views in the process.  I hate to sound dramatic, but really, it is quite amazing.

And so it is, having viewed it from afar, I finally made my initial visit to Mt. Rainier on Sunday.  What a good trip it was.

I’m not sure what I did to deserve it, but Mother Nature could not have crafted better weather conditions.  I’ve hypothesized that since my visit fell on Sunday - a day of rest for some – perhaps Mother Nature called for a truce amongst the powerful and furious conditions that often wreak havoc in the area.  Can it be that even the weather gods need time for rest?

 weather can eschew many, this sign warms of related risk

No matter, the conditions were a gift.   Such weather is not to be questioned or understood – simply enjoyed.  And so I did.

One day, perhaps next summer, I hope to visit the summit of Mt. Rainier.  But as I possess virtually no technical climbing experience, I must start somewhere.  It is within this context that I began my journey to the summit with a more immediate, intermediate goal to reach Camp Muir, a climb beginning in an area appropriately known as Paradise (elevation 5,400ft).

At 10,100ft, Camp Muir is approximately the halfway point to the summit, which tops at 14,400ft.   These days, Camp Muir typically serves as the primary base camp locale for those with intentions to push onward towards the summit. 

Resting upon an expansive glacier, Camp Muir serves as an ideal springboard for those with aspirations to reach the top.  Often, guided groups will spend 1-2 days at Camp Muir practicing alpine technical safety procedures.  Of course, one hopes to never actually use such training under duress situations, but the soft glacial snows provides an ideal training environment. 

My guide for the day, Jeff Philips, has been to Rainier countless times, including multiple successful summits.  While our day did not include any bid to reach the summit, we did set our sights squarely on reaching Camp Muir before lunch.

The hike started out steep almost immediately, and we climbed through the most beautiful alpine meadows I’ve even seen.  Before long, we ascended through the tree line and onto the glaciers. 

alpine meadows in full bloom

As this was my first time hiking on glaciers, I was a bit bemused.  On the one hand, I was giddy with excitement, but also fearful of the unknown.  Mainly, I didn’t know what it was I didn’t know; I wasn’t sure how I felt about this uncertainty.

As the trail cleared past the tree line and we made our way onto the glacier, Jeff offered some simple, but very effective techniques to ensure I had proper footing on the sometimes-clumsy snow/slush mixture.  As with any good teacher, his instruction was clear and concise.  Quickly, with my confidence back, I was again on my way.

Jeff, making progress to Camp Muir

Pausing for photos

The glacial snowfield is as peaceful as it is beautiful.  During my ascent, my body found passive tranquility within the alpine environment, but my mind did not.

I simply wanted to enjoy the gift nature had placed upon me and let my mind wander; thoughts and ideas free to come and go at their leisure.  Much as I tried to give my mind freedom and permission to drift, to not dwell upon any single thought, I simply couldn’t move past an inevitable question – how is all this beauty possible?

Mentally, I was trying to reconcile the overwhelming splendor all around me, but uninvited questions of ‘why’ and ‘how’ dominated my thoughts.  Try as I might, I was not able to avoid a battle with myself over creationism versus evolution.  My thoughts seemed to stall; as i awkwardly trapped within a glacial crevasse, too deep for quick or easy escape.  But on this day, I did not want to be burdened with such heavy dispute; not here, not today.

For right or wrong, I’m a pragmatist, which seems to situate me firmly in the evolution camp.  But, if ever there is a time to take pause and consider the influence of a higher being and the notion creationism, standing in the midst of an alpine mountainside might be the ideal time and place for such reflection. 

The experience is exhilarating and serene all at once.  And for just a moment, I considered re-examining my stance … but I did not.

In the end, I brokered a truce with myself; my time on the glacier being neither the time nor the place to resolve this inner debate. 

Instead, while Mother Nature laid down her weapons to take a nap, I simply chose to enjoy the scenery and the hike. 

I had a great day.

Lunch at Camp Muir

Tents at Camp Muir

Some prefer to sleep indoors

Composting bathrooms at Camp Muir

Bad Co-Pilot With Even Worse Breath

Like most dogs, Murphy genuinely takes pleasure in going for a ride car.  She doesn’t discriminate on the particulars of our meandering; so long as a visit to the veterinarian is not incorporated into things along the way.


It is not uncommon to see a dog accompanying their owner in a vehicle.  Generally, the scene is easily predicted – the canine, his head enthusiastically poked out of the window, ears flapping as if waving to all whom pass by.


Murphy certainly enjoys reaching out beyond the confines of windows, the cool air fluttering her whiskers as she strains to discern the bonanza of scents all around.  But soon enough, she wisely concludes that such investigative effort is futile, the car simply moves to quickly for her otherwise keen snout to keep up. 


Hell-bent not to be denied, Murphy’s next course of action usually involves her taking a spot as my co-pilot, albeit not a very good one.


She really seems to take pleasure in our little arrangement, which affords her optimal sighting, while I support her head and massage her ears.

If only I had it so good.

Dungeness Spit

Recently, my sister and brother-in-law were in town visiting so Kelly and I thought it would be fun for all of us to drive over to the Dungeness National Wildlife Refuge, located about an hour’s drive from our house. 

In my opinion, the main attraction of the refuge is a long extension of land mass known as the Dungeness Spit.  At just over 5.5-miles (8.9 km) in length, this sand spit juts out from the northern edge of the Olympic Peninsula, into the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

It seems that this spit is in fact the longest natural sand spit in the United States. Its land area, according to the United States Census Bureau is 1,271,454 square meters (0.4909 sq mi, or 314.18 acres). 

Not content to rest upon its laurels, this lengthy land mass continues to swell, little by little, day be day.  Literally extending itself 5 miles into the seas, the spit has unassumingly stretched its crooked finger into the strait at roughly of 15 feet per year for the past 120 years.

I was wondering why the spit continues to grow, rather than slowly wash away in the incessant waves crashing all around. 

Much to my surprise, erosion is kept at bay due to complex winds, waves, and importantly, the eroding neighboring bluffs to the southwest. 

Water is a formidable opponent, and these seemingly mighty bluffs have no choice but to surrender themselves to the relentless and never-ending waves.  Slowly, yet with all the will of a heavyweight champ, the waves eventually overcome the bluffs, their pounding effective like well placed body blows to the torso.  The resulting KO seems inevitable.

Defeated, the sediment of the eroded bluffs simply fall victim to the tidal currents and before they know what has happened, find themselves anchored alongside the spit, hence a catalyst and material for growth.  Then, as elsewhere in nature, the process repeats itself.

Collaborating in the spit’s advancement are the strong northeast gusts, which reverse shore drift; the process corroborating nature’s will.  In this case forming the Graveyard Spit ‘hook’.

During our visit, park staff told us that many, if not most visitors do walk the short route to the base of the spit, but only a small percentage of these same visitors actually extend their hike to the lighthouse located near the end of the spit (presumably, in 1858 the lighthouse was at the end of the spit).

Having completed the journey myself, I now appreciate why many do not advance to the lighthouse.  It’s not that the trek to the lighthouse is terribly difficult; it’s just that a 10-mile hike is simply that - 10 miles. 

Moreover, tides have a major impact on the walking surface of the spit, and depending upon when one starts out, the path will be hard-packed sand, or it won’t.  We got the benefit of mostly hard pack on the way out, but coming back a high tide forced us to navigate atop deep sand and rocks.

the walk back

wood litters the area

wood up close

being a wildlife refuge, birds are everywhere

flying away

It is also worth noting that the salt water has an odd way of transforming itself to salty air.  At one point it hit me that I was covered in salt sediment - my sunglasses and camera lenses taking an unfair share of the punishment.

All in all, the trip to Dungeness Spit was a very good day trip and I highly recommend others take time to visit.

Maybe if you are lucky, you might spot a nuclear submarine headed to the Pacific Ocean … we did.