1:30 p.m. May 21, 2011 The Rockfall, Mt. Si.
A few days ago it was sunny and hot in Seattle, but right now the sweat on my cotton sport shirt is like ice against my back. No matter how much water you drink on the way up Mount Si, it never makes it to your bladder. It comes out through your skin, and then you clear the treeline and hit that cold wind. There is no view, just large rocks, patches of snow, and an icy mist. Time to stuff that wet cotton shirt into my back pack and put on the flannel zip-up.
For the first time this year I have made it to the “almost-top” and my legs are dog-tired from the 5-pound ankle weights. What lies between me and the first summit is a rockfall of large boulders where hikers stop to rest before the final assault on Mt. Si. And then there’s the “haystack,” the pile of rocks at the very top that can be treacherous to climb on a slick, misty day. I don’t need to do that this time. It's enough to know that I'm getting in shape for the 11,000-foot elevation of Cuzco, Peru.
Fortunately, as usual I didn’t have to make the trek alone. No-one walks alone on Mt. Si. And almost no-one is a stranger. We all greet each other and compare notes:
- How much mud and snow on the trail between here and the top?
- How long did it take for you to get up and back? (Three hours?!? It would take me six.)
- How much does your toddler weigh? (42 pounds, not counting the back pack.)
- What kind of breed is that? (Bernese Mountain Dogs – two of them. They are big and furry and very gentle farm dogs.)
There are lots of dogs on the trail, but no poo on your shoe. Just lumps in little plastic bags that patiently await beside the trail for retrieval on the way down. The dog of choice for Mount Si hikers seems to be the Golden Laborador, but Irish Setters are a close second. And they aren’t all big dogs. One couple was trotting a Pekinese along on a leash. The smallest was a miniature long-haired Dachshund with four-inch legs who was having absolutely no problem keeping up with his long-legged mistress on a trail that climbs 3,000 feet in four miles.
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| Dachshund |
Did you know that Dachshund in German means “badger dog?” This little dog was bred to hunt in packs, chasing the ferocious badgers of Europe right into their underground burrows, dragging them out and killing them. I felt a lot safer Saturday, because even though I was exhausted I had the comfort of knowing that any ferocious badgers that caught me unaware on the trail while I was taping my blisters would be running for cover.
One of the individuals I encountered was a Londoner hiking with his young daughter. Accents interest me, so we got into a conversation about English. He shared a story about living in Spokane with a couple of – how should we say it? bumpkins – who were astonished one day to see a TV interview with a couple of heavyweight English boxers. They were transfixed by the fact those two black guys spoke with an English accent.
The highlight of the day was my conversation with my girlfriend, Meg. Now technically she isn’t a fellow traveler, because she was at her cozy home on Whidbey Island, and it was just a phone call. And yes, I know how tacky it is to yak on a cell phone in the quiet of the great outdoors. But this was Meg. I’ve loved her since she sold me my first laser printer 25 years ago. It cost $4,000 and almost broke my back carrying it upstairs, but it really cut down my typesetting costs, and she has owned my heart ever since. Talking with Meg reminded me of Demosthenes, the Greek Orator.
Now you probably know about Demosthenes, who was laughed at for his stutter and shortness of breath? According to legend, he compensated by running along the seashore with pebbles in his mouth, reciting verses over the roar of the waves. Out of breath and inspired by that memory, but with no seashore in sight, I called Meg. Meg is 79, and getting that call during my ponderous hike up the mountain had to be a real treat for her. It’s probably been years since she’s listened to heavy breathing like that. Brings back memories, I'll bet. Great way to get into condition for Cuzco.
4 p.m. Back at the car. Legs want to fall off. Blisters on both heels despite the large bandages. I’m not going anywhere tonight.
Next time: The Quechuans
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