It'll Burn Off

The rain continued to drizzle through the cold, damp air, and visibility was closing into near white-out conditions. So far, we’d been traversing and climbing a combination of rock and sun-cupped snowfields and hadn’t needed either crampons or the rope. That was the good news. And then things changed.

We were in the process of descending another immense snowfield, this time looking for White Rocks Lakes, our designated camp 3. As we continued to descend the slope, it became painfully clear that we were off route. We had lost too much elevation and not found the lakes. We were now in a steep section. The surface was icy, it was starting to get dark, and we were lost. Serious doubt crept into my psyche.

We finally stopped, knowing that to descend further would only compound our mistake. It was too late in the day to turn around and climb back up. We had run out of time in our search for the lakes. We determined that this stopping point was going to be our camp 3. We started chopping out a platform for our tent on the icy slope. We worked furiously, hacking away with the adzes of our ice axes.

It took a while. The adze on an ice axe isn’t very big. Memo to self: When we get back, create an ice axe with a bigger adze. When we had cleared just enough space, we hastily pitched the tent on the barely adequate platform and crawled inside. We would sleep on ice that night. The first on the agenda was to get warm. We fired up our trusty gas-fueled MSR Model 9 stove, our little friend, who would keep us company that night.

The MSR stove was a godsend for mountaineers and backpackers alike. The ingenious design used the fuel bottle as an outrigger to stabilize the burner assembly and support your cooking pot. The best feature was the fuel pump, which allowed you to pressurize the white gas in the tank and keep the fuel flowing even in freezing conditions.

Stoves that relied on canisters of butane fuel were almost useless in a deep cold environment, where you needed them most. They lost their fuel pressure, and the flames were pitiful. They were only a fair-weather device. By contrast, the MSR stove was a true mountaineer’s tool. Its other outstanding feature was its burner head. It was a freaking blow torch that made a lot of noise and cranked out a lot of heat, which you needed if you were melting snow to get water.

We huddled around the little stove as it roared away. We weren’t melting snow. We were trying to get warm, leaning over towards the stove, hands cupped and yearning like two small children.

“Please sir, may we have another bowl of warmth?”

This activity would become our ongoing routine that night. We called it taking a warmth break. That night at camp 3, our down bags were each a sodden mess of wet down clumps sandwiched between two sheets of nylon. Beginning loft: 9” Current loft: 1” But at this point, you really couldn’t call it loft because that implied a fluffy mix of down and air.

Our bags were completely useless, and we slept on top of them that night, fully clothed in our wet wool. Sleep is a euphemism because we didn’t sleep much at all. We passed the night in brief snatches of that nether world that exists in the fuzzy border between sleep and consciousness. We punctuated our stupors that night with frequent warmth breaks, crouched over our little gas-fueled friend as it roared away.

Try as it might, the little stove provided only enough warmth to keep us engaged with getting through the night. I was shivering, freezing, certain that I’d get through this night, but I was feeling really ragged and seriously questioned how much more of this I could take. I wondered if Nicolai was concerned as well. I asked him,

“So, if the conditions don’t change, how many more days can we do this until we die?”

Nicolai was among the smartest people that I had ever met, and nothing if not self-assured. If you wanted the perfect model for a t-shirt emblazoned with the words, “I might be wrong. But I doubt it.” Nicolai would be your first choice. Hunched over the stove, he paused as if making a few mental calculations and then turned his head towards me.

“Three days.”

This is a brief excerpt from ‘It’ll Burn Off,’ a mountaineering adventure story from my recently released memoir. Banquet of the Infinite is now available as an eBook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.

Classic Crack

Classic Crack just sounded so cool you had to do it. The short practice route on Eight Mile Rock, just up the Icicle Creek Road, was not many miles from Castle Rock. Easily top-roped, a popular hangout for climbers who wanted to practice hand jamming. The fundamental technique involved inserting your hand into the crack and wedging it tight by some combination of twisting or contortion so that you could put weight on it as you climbed up. Classic Crack angled up to the left from the ground before straightening up. That introduced additional difficulty with balancing issues added to the equation. We practice climbed the awkward crack with both hand and foot jams.

The best way to do it was not by drawing on physical strength but with technique and finesse, and that’s why the practice was so valuable. If you were able to make several consecutive ascents and feel in control and rhythmically flowing upward, you had then added another technique skill to your quiver. And would soon be ready to handle such cracks on longer, more committed routes with confidence.

Both a test piece and a milestone with a meaningful rite of passage, Classic Crack challenged us all. The scene was much like you might expect of a small gathering at any demonstration of skill. Each climber, in turn, would approach the crack, hands taped, pause for a moment, and enter the crack looking to solve the puzzle. Waiting climbers would observe and evaluate, noting both skilled and fumbling moves. A gathering place to meet other members of the climbing community, we took turns belaying each other. It felt like family.

This is a brief excerpt from ‘To Climb a Rock,’ an early story in my recently released memoir. Banquet of the Infinite is now available as an eBook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.

Adventure Girls

Judy proposed a hike to Kennedy Hot Springs in the Mountain Loop area of Washington’s Cascades. The trail was snow-covered and the day overcast, damp, and cold. Despite the conditions, Judy was in good spirits, urging her doubtful companion forward. We saw no one until we arrived at the springs. Simply a small, square liquid hole in the ground, about six feet across, battened on the inside with wood timbers with an entry facilitated by a rustic wood pole ladder. Flatwood slats wrapped around the perimeter of the pool, which was not clear or inviting.

     The whole thing was an untidy, messy affair that would have disappointed most expectations. The water appeared a murky muddy brown color, but it was hot, and we were chilled. We encountered another couple already in the water and quickly shed our clothes and joined them. The relaxing liquid heat revived our spirits. After a long and slightly muddy soak, we emerged and gingerly walked, stark naked over to the nearby stream, and stepping carefully over the river rocks, entered it and splashed ourselves clean.

     After our experience at Kennedy, Judy was excited about another hot springs destination and proposed a night hike to Goldmyer Hot Springs. Sited on a privately owned property in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness, it featured natural, clear, hot water pools both inside and outside a cave in the middle of a dense forest. It sounded much more enticing than Kennedy.

     I don’t remember much about the route we took as it was a covert operation, just the two of us sneaking mile after mile towards our goal under a cold luminescent night sky. We hiked stealthily with only intermittent moonlight as flakes of snow drifted lazily around us, covering the miles in semi-dark, and making one dicey river crossing before arriving at the hot springs.

     We removed our clothes and waded alone into the water inside the cave. Arriving at the back end of the cave and settling into the soothing warmth of the water, we were astonished and delighted to discover more than a half dozen fat candles, already flickering, providing a magical light, as soft as fireflies, dancing across the walls and ceiling of that quiet chamber. We stayed for quite a while, speaking softly and laughing contentedly with our good fortune. And surprisingly, we did not encounter anyone else. Reluctantly, leaving the fat candles burning, we emerged and hiked back out through the snowy night.

This is an excerpt from ‘Adventure Girls,’ an early story from my recently released memoir, Banquet of the Infinite, which is now available as an eBook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.

 

Creating an eBook

Self-publishing sounded so accessible. Just write, edit and publish. Skip the arduous search for an agent to get you through a wall of rejections to a reluctant publisher and then wait a year or longer as someone else edits your book and creates cover art that you’ll probably dislike. And instead of finding your book taken off the bookstore shelves and shipped back to the publisher after a month, as remainders, your book could be eternal, living in cyberspace forever.

Sign me up. I dredged out a half-written manuscript from twenty years ago and reviewed my material. I originally began the project after being inspired by William Goldman’s hilarious book, Adventures in the Screen Trade. I thought our mishaps in the mountains might make a decent comedic screenplay. And so, I began to write. For some reason, probably driven by growing doubts that anyone would find the stories as interesting as I did, I shelved the project. And only in December of 2020, during a great pandemic, hunkered down at home, had the spark returned, and I began furiously putting words to page.

The writing part came swiftly as it was a memoir, a slice of a magical time in my life. All I had to do was remember and tell the stories I found so fascinating. The memoir genre seemed to be more accessible than science fiction that requires a host of quirky intergalactic species with unpronounceable names and weird science, or the convoluted plot and subplots and evil characters required of crime fiction. Yeah, this should be easy. So, I thought.

I’d recalled Truman Capote stating that “writing is rewriting.” He was correct. That’s where the craft happens and the time disappears as you struggle to make it readable, interesting and if you’re talented and lucky, lyrical and truly captivating. I had no editor. But I did have the help of several good friends and my wonderful wife who read beta versions of the chapters and told me the truth, what I needed to hear to make it better.

And once I had my manuscript in order, then came the photographs, for both interior chapters and a compelling one for the cover. I conceived several titles and subtitles and mocked up over forty versions of covers with those titles with many different images. That was actually a bit daunting and yet fun.

Of course, every book requires both front and back matter. And that writing needed as much care as everything else. The minutia of the logistics, acquiring ISBN numbers, filing for copyright, and creating file conversions for Kindle Mobipocket and EPUB for others were mind-boggling. And don’t forget about keywords and categories and a compelling book description for your online listings.

There are plenty of online resources that instruct on every step of the process, but it’s an Easter Egg Hunt to find what you need. I only moved forward by creating a dynamic, continuously evolving ‘To Do’ list, reranking priorities, and chipping away at everything in bite-size chunks. After innumerable rewrites and tweaks, I finally finished and my memoir releases, as an eBook, July 1, 2021 on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo. I tell the stories as best I can. I hope you enjoy them.

Don't Wimp Out

“Don’t wimp out.” My wife, Diane encouraged me forward after I equivocated about an early start to hike solo to Poo Poo Point. So, I arrived at the trailhead at 6:00 am and just did it. Was it worth it? Absolutely! Happened to catch the dawn patrol as a guy readied his paraglider for launch from the lower LZ. Mt. Rainier visible and resplendent on the horizon.

     I took the Chirico Trail and encountered about 75 hikers, most on the way back down. It was humid with clear views of Mt. Rainier. I saw no one at the upper LZ. I found it good to revisit the hike as I did not hike it at all in 2020. The trail is in good shape, the erosion along the granite staircase has been repaired and there is no deadfall. Going early on a day where we expected record heat was a solid plan. This Wednesday at 6:00 am the parking lot was about half full and there were still spaces when I returned two hours later. Many hikers wore masks and observed good trailside etiquette. All were friendly.

     For me, this trail is mostly an early-season training hike and a barometer of my fitness. I do like it, but it’s mostly a workout. Someone on the Facebook 'Washington Hikers and Climbers' group asked if it was a good hike for kids. Well, that depends on the kid. On weekends you’ll see a lot of them but not all are happy. There are no raucous creek crossing, snowmelt waterfalls, mountain goat sightings, or stunning summit views. If the kid just loves hiking, they’ll be alright. And when the paragliders are out, the views just keep on coming. Then everybody’s happy.

Chasing the Light

“Get out your camera gear.” Keylor announced that he and I would participate in this year’s ‘Chase The Light’ photo contest, a fundraiser hosted by the Photographic Center Northwest. For a weekend photo exploration, June 12-13, 2021, every participant would have one photo selected for inclusion in a virtual pop-up exhibition and fundraiser on Saturday, June 19.

Keylor and I had photographed together before. We hiked to Fremont Lookout on the northeast side of Mt. Rainier back in late August of 2019. The purpose of that Friday evening hike was to photograph the Galactic Core of the Milky Way over Mount Rainier. Unfortunately, some clouds drifted in above the mountain and hampered what could have been a perfect night shoot. We tussled with those intermittent clouds obscuring the galactic light show but somehow managed to get some dramatic night sky images. But the big surprise was a roiling sea of clouds that enveloped the lookout like an island in the sky. The inversion layer was awesome! Hiking out with headlamps, we agreed that it was a magical place and a memorable evening.

The time constraints on the ‘Chase The Light’ contest jump-started my plans. Could I combine a training hike with a photoshoot and challenge myself with something new in the realm of photographic exploration? Inspired by the idea of silky captures of snowmelt waterfalls and tumbling rapids, I prepared my kit with my tripod, a circular polarizer, neutral density filters, and radio triggers so I could take long exposures. 

Keylor had to remain in Seattle, so I would hike solo up the old Commonwealth Creek Trail to the narrow long bridge crossing (pictured above) and capture the magic. I memorized the steps in the process and added the small trailside waterfalls to my list. I’d make a loop, joining up with the Pacific Crest Trail to Kendall Katwalk and hike up over intermittent snowfields to access the upper falls and then return past others that tumbled across the trail. Alas, it was not to be.

Up at 5:20 am and heading east by 6:00, I reviewed my plan, the clearing skies encouraging me. The drifting clouds revealed the granite peaks surrounding Snoqualmie Pass and in a most dramatic way. I was ready for this. I pulled off the eastbound freeway and drove toward the trailhead road. Only a few yards up the road, I encountered snow, lots of it. The road was impassible. I couldn’t even reach the trailhead parking area.

Although I once wrote that while we previsualize and make plans, we often encounter the unexpected and need to throw our plans out the window and respond to the present conditions. I said to others, sometimes it’s more of a gift than a hindrance. I certainly didn’t feel that way after encountering that snow-covered road. Yes, I needed to regroup. And I did, finally tossing out two more plans as I drove back home, only to hike the local trails and photograph abandoned wrecked cars slowly overcome by tenacious moss. Waterfalls would have to wait.

The 13th Omnipotent

After thoroughly reading (devouring) the flyer, it was clear that this was a superior mountain tent. The design principles had convinced me. Now I needed to see the physical manifestation. Could it be as good as the description? I was a bit skeptical, but called the phone number and spoke to Bill Nicolai, the tent designer and manufacturer and, set up a time to meet with him and see the tent. He sounded very matter-of-fact. I couldn’t get a read on him from the conversation.

     My mind filled with questions. Who was this guy Nicolai? This tent was such a breakthrough design I concluded Nicolai must be some middle-aged engineer who probably worked at Boeing during the day. Yes, that made sense, a middle-aged engineer. A guy with glasses who smoked a pipe. The erudition of the brochure also gestured towards a scholarly individual. Perhaps he was a professor at the University of Washington.

     A couple of days later, Lara and I drove to the address on the brochure. Surprisingly, it was a small wood-frame house in an older residential neighborhood near Green Lake on the north end of Seattle. Could this possibly be right? I drove by, stopped, and then circled back and parked the car in front of the house. I paused, uncertain. The modest structure was someone’s home, not the commercial enterprise I expected. I wondered if this was some form of ruse. Nevertheless, I was committed to following through and left the car.

     Somewhat wary, I approached the house and knocked on the door. After a moment, a wild-looking man, who might be a good extra or lead character in the movie Quest for Fire, opened the heavy wooden door. I said I was there to meet Bill Nicolai. He replied, “He’s coming.” Though he didn’t introduce himself, I was surprised that he expected me and went back inside to get the tent. As he left, I peered into his house and noticed two ice axes crossed over each other, mounted above the fireplace mantle in his living room.

     I thought the ice axes a good sign, an omen, symbolic of alpine authority and expertise. Symbolism appealed to me. Later Nicolai would introduce me to this wild man. Mark Fielding was Nicolai’s long-time best friend, mountain mentor, and regular climbing partner. What I didn’t know at the time was that Mark was one of a cadre of the most skilled Seattle alpinists. He had partnered with the legendary Fred Beckey and numerous climbs and put up several first ascents.

     As Mark brought the tent out into the front yard, another outrageous-looking character drove up in a black 63’ Ford Galaxy. Looking a lot like Jerry Garcia, Nicolai slowly emerged, sauntered towards me, and introduced himself. I was astonished that he and Mark were my contemporaries, both young men, and neither even remotely close to the older, strait-laced, pipe-smoking, Boeing engineer or college professor types that I had led myself to expect. I had to laugh at the discrepancy between my expectations and the reality in front of me.

This is an excerpt from ‘The 13th Omnipotentd,’ an adventure story from my recently released memoir, Banquet of the Infinite, which is now available as an eBook on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.