Tuesday, Feb. 03, 2004 @ 3:57 pm
Speeding up to the parking lot. Hands shaking, anticipation, you can just glimpse the snowy rocky face of our destination. The west bluff.
It starts out gentle. We climb through two fences and pass two Closed signs. The second growth forest is mesmerizing and mossy logs spill down the mountainside.
Fourty minutes in there's a tumbledown cabin, glass shattered on the granite shelf. The kitchen has exploded into the nearby trees and stumps.
The grade steepens and we find snow. Icicles drip, squirrels chatter, my calves burn, and the metal crunch from the crampons feels solid in every step.
We arrive at that viewpoint, the snowy outcropping. Through the falling snow and the nodding hemlocks the city silently presents itself.
The hike gentles into a meandering forest walk, dodging tree wells and breaking new trail.
We find a snow cave. Two rooms carved deep, rounded out of a solid snow bank. Elbow and knees, swiggle into it and swiggle out.
At the very top we jog along the packed access road. Looking back we can see the white snippet of outcropping from where we surveyed the city. There's a raven too, and the misty clouds and the reservoir far below.
From there it's into the chalet for mochas. Grampa's there too, they hiked the normal route. Three generations, it will forever astound me, he will astound me. This city will astound me. Sad? Lucky. Happy. Being in love isn't the only way to feel loved.