One Last Time

Observe the wonders as they occur around you. Don’t claim them. Feel the artistry moving through and be silent. Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes around in another form.

Rumi

Most of my hiking friends have favorite destinations, places they have perhaps visited only once but linger in their memories as particularly beautiful. At my age these memories occur as places where I would like to return one last time.

Avalanche Valley on the eastern slope of Mt. Adams in the Cascades is one such place for me. A stream flows down from the summit creating paternoster pools, each one larger than the last. I hiked there only once about forty years ago, and it is unlikely that I will ever go there again. The trail has always been a faint one and requires a huge leap over a glacial stream on the north slope. Much of the route is over a rocky glacial moraine. At seventy-four, despite my continued enthusiasm for isolated trails, it would be a dangerous trek for me, and I am no longer willing to take risks like that.

Enchanted Valley in Olympic National Park is another such place and is on the one last time list. Sometimes referred to as the Yosemite of the northwest, the broad valley is home to an old chalet built in 1930 as a hunting lodge before the National Park was created. Waterfalls flow down from the snow fields on the ridge tops that surround the valley. The area is frequently cloudy, but when the clouds lift in the late morning it is a wonder to behold as more waterfalls are revealed and Anderson Peak rises to the east. Fortunately for me the trail has some ups and downs but is quite manageable for even an older hiker like myself. Unfortunately for me it is also extremely crowded. The meadow is trampled. Campsites can be hard to find. Hikers squabble over room on the bear wires to hang their food. That is the problem with beautiful places. People like to go there. One last time? Maybe.

Recently I returned from a trip to Arizona, where I have traveled at least once a year to visit a friend who has a rustic cabin in the Painted Desert. The place has always provided the solitude and quiet I crave, as well as extraordinary beauty. It rained on our last full day there, but as the sun started to set the clouds parted, and we were greeted by a rainbow to lift our soggy spirits. Patterns of light began breaking through the clouds and seemed to set the red sandstone on fire. The desert was filled with light from above and below. My friend Jan and I walked to the wash so that we could inspect it for quick sand but also to let the light in, for it had been a difficult trip. This was a one last time walk. I wanted to take in these red vistas and let them change me, soften the sadness, find some kind of closure on the experiences of the last few days. The walk with its light was a parting gift, one more memory to cherish.

At my age there are lots of endings. It cannot be any other way. My aching hip and back remind me that I can still hike, but I must scale down the length of my trips, and a heavy pack is out of the question. I would like to say that I am peace with this, but there are times when my heart aches, and I must shake my fist at the world. These moments do not last very long. I have a lifetime of beautiful memories to comfort me.