Visiting a Friend

The Living Mountain relates how, over time, she learned to go into the hills aimlessly, ‘merely to be with the mountain as one visits a friend, with no intention but to be with him.’

from The Living Mountain by Nan Shepherd, introduction by Robert McFarlane

For a period of about ten years I backpacked every summer in the Pasayten Wilderness in the eastern north Cascades of Washington. It is an area the size of Rhode Island, marked by gentle ridge tops, spectacular vistas, and a wildness I have never experienced in any other place. I came to know the area very well, and over the years we became friends, as I returned every year to a place that was familiar, that felt like home. I loved standing on the summits and tracing various routes I had taken over many years. Everywhere I looked and in all directions was familiar to me and much loved.

When I moved to Wyoming I then had the Rocky Mountains to explore. Even after I moved back to Washington many years later I would often make the long drive to do a backpacking trip in the Bighorns or the Wind River Mountains for the same reason that I returned to the Pasayten. It is good to explore new places. For me it is also good to return to a place I know well, where every ridge top holds memories and tells stories, and favorite campsites speak to me

My last trip before this most recent one was twenty years ago. I remember hiking to Big Hidden Lake, where one of my favorite campsites was still there despite the recent fire that had swept through the area a few years earlier. I pitched my tent on the charred ground. Everything I touched left my fingers black, which in turn rubbed off on my clothes and my gear. Still, the loons were there, and I listened to their beautiful calls as I drifted off to sleep. The charred forest did not seem to matter to them.

Now the trail to Hidden Lakes is essentially inaccessible except to a hearty few who must make their way across more than a thousand downed trees. Trail crews, mostly volunteers, are out there all summer long using handsaws to clear trails, as chainsaws and other motorized tools are not permitted in wilderness areas. To look at such areas from afar the trees look like they have been laid down in row after row of dominoes.

So it was with some trepidation that I returned to visit my “friend” this past week. Like any friend whom I have not seen for twenty years, I expected to see changes as we caught up on old times. Many parts of the Pasayten have now burned twice in recent years. Where proud stands of spruce, pine, and fir once covered the hillsides, now there are blackened sticks that reach for the sky. At higher elevations where the rare subalpine larch was once abundant, I did not see any of these trees, and I deeply grieved their absence.

I left the Billygoat Trailhead and began a steep ascent towards Eight Mile Pass. The south facing hillside had no live trees to provide shade, and it was a difficult hike but surprisingly beautiful. An undergrowth of wildflowers covered the forest floor and especially abundant was the brilliant pink fireweed, well named as it grows in soil disturbed by fire, I was reminded of the Hindu goddess Shiva, creator and destroyer, who reminds us that all parts of this cycle are beautiful.

As I descended from the pass the clouds that had been scattered across the sky when I began my hike had darkened into storm clouds, and the rain started just as I was about to pass a lovely campsite next to a creek. It was a rare place on the trail where the meadow was lush, and live trees remained. Though I had planned to hike further on that first day, I was glad for a welcoming campsite, and I pitched my tent. The rain continued for the rest of the day. I was happy to have shelter in a place that seemed to welcome me. It was not the first time I had retreated to my tent during a Pasayten storm. This too was familiar.

I spent two nights at that lovely site, and though it did not rain again, I could not think of any good reasons to move my camp. The second day I hiked to Larch Pass to take in the beautiful Pasayten high country. On the last morning I sat in camp with my usual cup of tea in my familiar old green teacup.

Yes, you have heard about that teacup before. I hold it my hands like an old friend, and it warms me in body and soul. It was there with me twenty years ago when I hiked in the Pasayten, and thirty-five years ago when I took my first trip there. There is comfort in familiar things. . .and in meadows of wildflowers.