Rising Above

We are a landscape of all we have seen.

Isamu Noguchi

Recently I departed on a flight from Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. Flying out of Seattle, I always expect low clouds, a brief experience of turbulence as we pass through them, and then. . .suddenly. . .blue sky and mountain peaks rising above the clouds. It never fails to amaze me, this experience of rising above, and it is not unlike the moment that backpackers encounter when climbing to a mountain pass on a cloudy day, rising above the fog and drizzle where suddenly the mountain vistas spread out like a down comforter laid softly across the world.

The views from the window of an airplane bound for the east coast are all familiar to me. I have hiked or climbed every one of those mountain peaks. Mt. Rainier comes into view, so I can almost stretch out my arm to touch it. And there it is. . .the route of the Wonderland Trail, which I hiked with friends when I was just eighteen years old. There is Little Tahoma, an eroded peak rising to the east of the mountain. The Wonderland Trail makes its way from Summerland Meadow, climbs high upon the mountain, and then descends to the Ohanepocosh River, crossing it by an old stone shelter with many rooms, which I suspect has been gone for many years. It was the first time I had ever traversed snowfields. Perhaps that is when I knew I would be hiking these trails for the rest of my life.

Not far to the east Mt. Adams comes into view, where I looked for the east slope, hoping I could view beautiful Avalanche Valley, a rugged hike around to the east side of the mountain where no real trail exists. Of course it was not visible from a commercial jetliner, but just knowing it was there was comforting, that I had hiked to this beautiful place on Mt. Adams, and that this mountain was another place where treasured memories make themselves known.

As we continued east the clouds lifted as they so often do on the “sunny side.” Still I could not look away from the window, waiting for the Rocky Mountains to appear. These mountains lack the tall volcanic peaks that enable me to identify specific locations in the Cascades, but just looking at the landscape and knowing that I had made my way across that jumbled collection of valleys and ridges was satisfying.

It is more than mountain peaks that greet me on a cross country flight. I am looking not just at a landscape but at a life, one spent on trails. Aging brings perspective, along with a few aches and pains. It is spread out before me when I travel. It is captured in my mind’s eye. It is a life spent on the trail, viewed from an airliner or from a mountain pass or from the good soft dirt of the trail.