You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
Mt. Hood.
When you see it, your eyes scream “Wow.”
It’s a mountain 50 miles from Portland, Oregon that is a staple in the city’s landscape.
Mt. Hood is forged by pressure and time. It erupted when the Earth was angry and had nowhere to go but up and out.
Thousands of years later, this angry chunk of flowing magma has quieted. This once raging volcano is now beautifully dormant like the brain of a Sports Illustrated model.
Mt. Hood is now a destination. It is a place where people recreate, and propose and buy expensive 2nd homes.
“Get ready for it. Get ready for it.”
My brother in law is smiling as we drive into a turn.
Get ready for it, I think to myself?
Did he pass gas? Did we blow out a tire?
Get ready for it? I check my seat belt, then brace myself against the seat.
“Here it comes,” he squeals with delight.
That’s when I see it IT.
IT is Mount Hood.
As we round the bend, the highway opens up and the trees part. The view is unabashed majesty unfolding like a post card from Heaven.
There through my windshield is 11,249 feet of snow capped wonder.
It is unreal, surreal, amazing.
The mountain rises from the road, above the tree line, extending into a blue Oregon sky, like a glowing white pyramid.
It’s a mountain so large, It looks fake.
Mt. Hood is so immense, so prevalent on the horizon of my view, I feel like I can touch it even though we are miles away.
“That’s photo shopped,” my son will quip.
He’s right. It seems photo shopped.
“It’s a glacier,” my brother in law says. “There’s always snow. The U.S. ski team uses it in the summer to practice.”
Wow.
As we drive up the mountain pass, Mt. Hood grows larger.
As we ascend into the rarified air, I can feel the air grow a little more thin, a little more crisp, a little more high altitude.
I yawn to clear my ears and equalize the pressure.
According to Wikipedia: The mountain is a dormant volcano. The U.S. Geological Survey characterizes Mt. Hood as potentially active with a 5-7% chance of erupting in the next 30 years.
Lava and fiery pine trees and molten Earth flowing down hwy 26?
I hope that doesn’t happen today, since an eruption will dramatically alter our lunch plans.
The cabin on the hill is fantastic. Practically every room with a view of the mountain.
“Let’s go for a walk,” the brother in law suggests.
Sounds like a fine idea.
We enter the woods on an 18 degree afternoon. The air is so cold, my breath freezes before my exhale is complete.
Thankfully, the sun is still high enough in the sky to deliver some light through a myriad of pines.
We walk through the woods on a virgin trail of fresh powder.
The snow is so dry, so fine, it dances like tiny pellets across my boots.
The trees rise up around us. They insulate us from light and wind like a protective shield. The air is still and quiet. I hear my breath and my shoes forcing their way into the next clump of new fallen snow.
I have 4 layers of clothes, including two Patagonia coats.
My core is warm, but my thighs in a pair of jeans are frozen.
My iphone is in my pants pocket. I check it. It’s completely dead. I take off my glove. The electronic device feels like a corpse in a morgue.
There are blue markers on the trees, showing cross country skiiers the trail.
“In a few months, those blue marks will be eye level with us,” my brother in law says huffing and puffing.
The markers are ten feet above us.
“That’s a lot of snow still to fall,” I say.
I stare into the woods, past the trees I can clearly see that define the path. I look past these pines to the grey hazy blur of trees within the forest. It is dark and mysterious. It is quiet and I wonder how many animals are hiding, watching.
I think about the old days, when the settlers might have navigated a similar path. I wonder if an angry Tribe of bandits or Indians might be lurking around the next turn.
I look for the sun, lowering in the sky to rest my fear.
More steps. More darkness. What if we turn off the path, get turned around, get lost? How long could we last out here? Would we freeze to death? Do we know how to survive? Could we make a fire? What if we survived, would we be interviewed on GMA by Robin Roberts.
“A girl fell into a tree well. They didn’t find her body till Spring,” my brother in law says.
I look around nervously.
“A tree well?”
“A tree well is a hole that develops around a tree when snow falls away from the tree because of long branches,” he says.
I will later learn that the area around the hole can collapse and the skier can tumble upside down into the hole. According to Wikipedia, the biggest threat is suffocation from the snow packing in around you.
I don’t like the thought of that.
I stay in the middle of the virgin path, marveling at rabbit and deer tracks. I stay far away from tree wells, the secret winter killer.
After an hour of hiking, my toes are frozen and my face numb.
“Let’s head back,” I say, the sun setting lower in the sky.
I have no desire to meet Robin Roberts.
The path is darker now. The white snow a bluish hue.
We get back to the cabin and I am glad the fire place is on.
We dry out then continue our quest to climb the Hood.
We head up the peregrine route to Timberline resort. It was built in 1936 during the FDR administration as part of the works progress program to put people to work after the great depression.
The hotel is palatial. It is solid, made of massive beams. The lodge is surrounded by granite slabs ornately cut and arranged in a circular pattern that rises three stories high.
The exterior of the Hotel is famous, used in the Steven King horror classic; the Shining.
Without scary music and a crazy Jack Nicholson screaming “here’s Johnny” the hotel seems harmlessly not haunted.
From the windows on the third floor, the summit is incandescent. The sun is now setting and the peak is bathed in a blistering pink light that melts across the pristine snow like fondue poured from a Barbie play set.
The light flares like a flash bulb then in 60 seconds, the pink turns blue and then pale grey.
In an hour, the sky is black and the idea of a majestic peak beyond the 3rd story window is only a memory, but a powerful memory.
The trip down the mountain is icy, at times treacherous. The road is illuminated 25 yards at a time, which is about the vision afforded by our headlights.
Even in the darkness, filled by snow and head lights, the memory of Mt Hood burns bright.
To me, Mt Hood will always be rising majesty, Barbie pink sunsets, and photo shopped splendor.
Life’s Crazy™