Memorable Family Hiking Trek #24,987! One weekend in Fall, we decided to take a short trip to Mt. Rainier National Park, which was wonderfully near to us in Yakima. Becca, her friend Katie Wilkins, Dan and Kate and I, piled into our Chevy Suburban and drove the beautiful hour and half up Highway #410. The Grove is a very near the south entrance so it is a little drive from the Chinook Pass entrance that we used.
At home, before leaving, Becca had been resistant to Kate’s help in packing for the hike. She asserted that she was big girl now and could do so herself. Bowing to the inevitable, Kate acquiesced. When we all piled in the car, parents once again asked it everyone had everything they needed before we left. We were assured that all systems were GO!
After arriving at the Grove, everyone slipped into their hiking shoes and gear. As Kate was helping Becca get her stuff out and on, she pulled out the shoes Becca had packed and nearly fainted! BECCA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The little tennis shoes had a huge hole in the bottom of one of them that went all the way through, and there was NO WAY that her feet were going to stay dry on this dampish trail.
Lost to the ages is the exact wording of Becca’s reply. This amazing discovery did not deter us from going on the walk and having a thoroughly enjoyable time among the huge old giant Sequoias. I have been reminded that I took duct tape from the back of the car and wrapped Becca's shoe with it...round and round and round. I do remember a VERY muddy pair of socks being pulled off of VERY damp little feet at the end of our trek. No doubt the shoe store was a destination visited incredibly soon after the weekend.
10-17-2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Saturday, October 9, 2010
W.H. Parrish Co. Pioneer Drayage Firm in California
The story of the pioneer drayage firm of W.H. Parrish Company, in Oakland, California, began in 1868. William Henry Parrish, my great grandfather, emigrated from Illinois, after the Civil War, arriving in Oakland. There he began work as a “sticker” at a lumber mill. W.H. Parrish Company came in to being eight years later with his purchase of the veteran cartage company of James Henneberry. At this time all work was done with horses and heavy low-bed dray wagons.
My grandfather, William Edward Parrish, entered into the business in 1900, working for his father until the latter’s death in 1909. Borrowing the necessary capital from his brothers and other family relations, the company was expanded and modernized with the introduction of the first motor trucks sometime around 1920.
State-wide long hauls were accomplished through the years with a rapidly growing fleet of Doane, Fageol and Autocar trucks, all ranging from three to ten ton capacity. Local runs were given to Chevrolet one and a half tone trucks and the above as well. Surviving a disastrous company warehouse fire in 1931, the red and grey W.H.Parrish Co. trucks were a common sight in and around the San Francisco Bay Area, Northern California and Nevada.
For many years, the then fledgling Pacific Gas and Electric Company was a major client, providing routine hauls of five, ten and twenty-five ton transformers to areas of the state that were rapidly being electrified. A lo-boy trailer pulled by an Autocar tractor handled the larger assignments. The company closed its doors on 1940, due to the ill health of my grandfather.
My father, Wilfred P. Parrish and my uncle, Harry L. Parrish, worked for their father from 1929 until the end. They recounted that the hardest and most memorable haul began late in the afternoon of Saturday, December 1, 1934. A Pacific storm had been raging for three days leaving slick city streets, mud crusted country roads and snow, sleet and ice in the mountainous Sierras. My grandfather received word that the mountain mining camp of Allegheny, California, was without power and light. The PG+E wanted to send four 10 ton transformers along with a ton of oil there.
By nightfall, five trucks were loaded and on their way. The three Autocars and two Doanes made fairly good time until the higher elevations were reached. The Autocars and one Doane, loaded with transformers took the road through Camptonville. The other Doane, driven by my uncle and loaded with drums of oil, took the steeper, faster, more direct, “ridge route.”
Even when dry, the narrow roads winding over and through the mountains and over light wooden bridges would have been tricky. Now they were perilous for the passage of an individual load consisting of a ten ton transformer and a ton of oil. Blanketed with several feet of frozen snow and with fresh snow falling steadily, the little convoy was confronted with a task that required all of the ability and skill of the crew if they were to deliver their load. Deliver they did! After eight days of shoveling snow, cutting brush to cover boggy roads, removing boulders brought down by the storm, sliding and literally lifting the trucks around short curves and over pitches with jacks, a winch and blocks and tackles, the transformers and oil were safely put down at the grateful mining camp.
Though it has been many years since the W.H. Parrish Co. trucks have been seen on the roads of California, they played a small part in the modern development of the San Francisco Bay Area and Northern California’s transportation history.
My grandfather, William Edward Parrish, entered into the business in 1900, working for his father until the latter’s death in 1909. Borrowing the necessary capital from his brothers and other family relations, the company was expanded and modernized with the introduction of the first motor trucks sometime around 1920.
State-wide long hauls were accomplished through the years with a rapidly growing fleet of Doane, Fageol and Autocar trucks, all ranging from three to ten ton capacity. Local runs were given to Chevrolet one and a half tone trucks and the above as well. Surviving a disastrous company warehouse fire in 1931, the red and grey W.H.Parrish Co. trucks were a common sight in and around the San Francisco Bay Area, Northern California and Nevada.
For many years, the then fledgling Pacific Gas and Electric Company was a major client, providing routine hauls of five, ten and twenty-five ton transformers to areas of the state that were rapidly being electrified. A lo-boy trailer pulled by an Autocar tractor handled the larger assignments. The company closed its doors on 1940, due to the ill health of my grandfather.
My father, Wilfred P. Parrish and my uncle, Harry L. Parrish, worked for their father from 1929 until the end. They recounted that the hardest and most memorable haul began late in the afternoon of Saturday, December 1, 1934. A Pacific storm had been raging for three days leaving slick city streets, mud crusted country roads and snow, sleet and ice in the mountainous Sierras. My grandfather received word that the mountain mining camp of Allegheny, California, was without power and light. The PG+E wanted to send four 10 ton transformers along with a ton of oil there.
By nightfall, five trucks were loaded and on their way. The three Autocars and two Doanes made fairly good time until the higher elevations were reached. The Autocars and one Doane, loaded with transformers took the road through Camptonville. The other Doane, driven by my uncle and loaded with drums of oil, took the steeper, faster, more direct, “ridge route.”
Even when dry, the narrow roads winding over and through the mountains and over light wooden bridges would have been tricky. Now they were perilous for the passage of an individual load consisting of a ten ton transformer and a ton of oil. Blanketed with several feet of frozen snow and with fresh snow falling steadily, the little convoy was confronted with a task that required all of the ability and skill of the crew if they were to deliver their load. Deliver they did! After eight days of shoveling snow, cutting brush to cover boggy roads, removing boulders brought down by the storm, sliding and literally lifting the trucks around short curves and over pitches with jacks, a winch and blocks and tackles, the transformers and oil were safely put down at the grateful mining camp.
Though it has been many years since the W.H. Parrish Co. trucks have been seen on the roads of California, they played a small part in the modern development of the San Francisco Bay Area and Northern California’s transportation history.
W.H. Parrish Co. Pioneer Drayage Firm in California
The story of the pioneer drayage firm of W.H. Parrish Company, in Oakland, California, began in 1868. William Henry Parrish, my great grandfather, emigrated from Illinois, after the Civil War, arriving in Oakland. There he began work as a “sticker” at a lumber mill. W.H. Parrish Company came in to being eight years later with his purchase of the veteran cartage company of James Henneberry. At this time all work was done with horses and heavy low-bed dray wagons.
My grandfather, William Edward Parrish, entered into the business in 1900, working for his father until the latter’s death in 1909. Borrowing the necessary capital from his brothers and other family relations, the company was expanded and modernized with the introduction of the first motor trucks sometime around 1920.
State-wide long hauls were accomplished through the years with a rapidly growing fleet of Doane, Fageol and Autocar trucks, all ranging from three to ten ton capacity. Local runs were given to Chevrolet one and a half tone trucks and the above as well. Surviving a disastrous company warehouse fire in 1931, the red and grey W.H.Parrish Co. trucks were a common sight in and around the San Francisco Bay Area, Northern California and Nevada.
For many years, the then fledgling Pacific Gas and Electric Company was a major client, providing routine hauls of five, ten and twenty-five ton transformers to areas of the state that were rapidly being electrified. A lo-boy trailer pulled by an Autocar tractor handled the larger assignments. The company closed its doors on 1940, due to the ill health of my grandfather.
My father, Wilfred P. Parrish and my uncle, Harry L. Parrish, worked for their father from 1929 until the end. They recounted that the hardest and most memorable haul began late in the afternoon of Saturday, December 1, 1934. A Pacific storm had been raging for three days leaving slick city streets, mud crusted country roads and snow, sleet and ice in the mountainous Sierras. My grandfather received word that the mountain mining camp of Allegheny, California, was without power and light. The PG+E wanted to send four 10 ton transformers along with a ton of oil there.
By nightfall, five trucks were loaded and on their way. The three Autocars and two Doanes made fairly good time until the higher elevations were reached. The Autocars and one Doane, loaded with transformers took the road through Camptonville. The other Doane, driven by my uncle and loaded with drums of oil, took the steeper, faster, more direct, “ridge route.”
Even when dry, the narrow roads winding over and through the mountains and over light wooden bridges would have been tricky. Now they were perilous for the passage of an individual load consisting of a ten ton transformer and a ton of oil. Blanketed with several feet of frozen snow and with fresh snow falling steadily, the little convoy was confronted with a task that required all of the ability and skill of the crew if they were to deliver their load. Deliver they did! After eight days of shoveling snow, cutting brush to cover boggy roads, removing boulders brought down by the storm, sliding and literally lifting the trucks around short curves and over pitches with jacks, a winch and blocks and tackles, the transformers and oil were safely put down at the grateful mining camp.
Though it has been many years since the W.H. Parrish Co. trucks have been seen on the roads of California, they played a small part in the modern development of the San Francisco Bay Area and Northern California’s transportation history. Any information regarding W.H. Parrish Co. or original equipment location tips would be greatly appreciated.
John Parrish
3095 University St.
Eugene, OR 97405
My grandfather, William Edward Parrish, entered into the business in 1900, working for his father until the latter’s death in 1909. Borrowing the necessary capital from his brothers and other family relations, the company was expanded and modernized with the introduction of the first motor trucks sometime around 1920.
State-wide long hauls were accomplished through the years with a rapidly growing fleet of Doane, Fageol and Autocar trucks, all ranging from three to ten ton capacity. Local runs were given to Chevrolet one and a half tone trucks and the above as well. Surviving a disastrous company warehouse fire in 1931, the red and grey W.H.Parrish Co. trucks were a common sight in and around the San Francisco Bay Area, Northern California and Nevada.
For many years, the then fledgling Pacific Gas and Electric Company was a major client, providing routine hauls of five, ten and twenty-five ton transformers to areas of the state that were rapidly being electrified. A lo-boy trailer pulled by an Autocar tractor handled the larger assignments. The company closed its doors on 1940, due to the ill health of my grandfather.
My father, Wilfred P. Parrish and my uncle, Harry L. Parrish, worked for their father from 1929 until the end. They recounted that the hardest and most memorable haul began late in the afternoon of Saturday, December 1, 1934. A Pacific storm had been raging for three days leaving slick city streets, mud crusted country roads and snow, sleet and ice in the mountainous Sierras. My grandfather received word that the mountain mining camp of Allegheny, California, was without power and light. The PG+E wanted to send four 10 ton transformers along with a ton of oil there.
By nightfall, five trucks were loaded and on their way. The three Autocars and two Doanes made fairly good time until the higher elevations were reached. The Autocars and one Doane, loaded with transformers took the road through Camptonville. The other Doane, driven by my uncle and loaded with drums of oil, took the steeper, faster, more direct, “ridge route.”
Even when dry, the narrow roads winding over and through the mountains and over light wooden bridges would have been tricky. Now they were perilous for the passage of an individual load consisting of a ten ton transformer and a ton of oil. Blanketed with several feet of frozen snow and with fresh snow falling steadily, the little convoy was confronted with a task that required all of the ability and skill of the crew if they were to deliver their load. Deliver they did! After eight days of shoveling snow, cutting brush to cover boggy roads, removing boulders brought down by the storm, sliding and literally lifting the trucks around short curves and over pitches with jacks, a winch and blocks and tackles, the transformers and oil were safely put down at the grateful mining camp.
Though it has been many years since the W.H. Parrish Co. trucks have been seen on the roads of California, they played a small part in the modern development of the San Francisco Bay Area and Northern California’s transportation history. Any information regarding W.H. Parrish Co. or original equipment location tips would be greatly appreciated.
John Parrish
3095 University St.
Eugene, OR 97405
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Woods Lake Memories
As the children were growing up in California, one of our favorite places to go was Woods Lake. A sylvan peak-bordered lake of pristine hue and perfect size, it was also very convenient from our place in Placerville. Our wonderful neighbor, Hank, told us about it and encouraged us to go and explore it. That was such a gift he gave us before his untimely death. As a result of his advice, many wonderful, golden hours were spent paddling our canoe around the shores and hiking its trails.
One favorite destination was the 1.5 mile trek up to Winnemucca Lake in the Tahoe Wilderness area. A steady grade, it left the forests that surrounded Woods Lake behind and entered a sub-alpine garden of wildflowers and stunted pine trees. Sheer granite walls surrounded two sides of Winnemucca and a trail from it led further up to the pass that crested above Fourth-Of-July-Lake. Our destination was Winnemucca, however, and frigid little toes and feet soaked in the icy waters of melted snowfields that still remained nearby in July and August.
The “getting to” part of the trip was the most memorable. In the years before Rebecca’s arrival, Dan was carried in the baby backpack on my back while Cece went with, or in the arms of either Grandpa or Katie, most usually in good spirits. I have memories of Dan’s little diapered bottom and chubby legs sitting in the pine needles as he happily made piles of dirt and needles and pine cones. The year that we brought Xochitl with us to camp at Woods, she was so incredibly excited that she leaned on the tailgate of Grandpa’s pick-up while he was loading it and chatted volubly. She chatted whole way up in the car and RAN almost the entire way up the trail, once we started hiking. This was at 8,000 ft. elevation!
By the time Rebecca was “campable” Dan was exploro-man and he and I pawed through the ruins of the Lost Cabin Mine, fascinated with the old rusted Studebaker motor and radiator shell left in the hoist house. Then it was Becca’s turn to be carried in the backpack and I can still feel her little fists banging on my head to go faster , this accompanied with her chortly laugh. Oh, she was an evil baby! (not) We also have a picture of her on my back, wearing MY campaign hat for shade, as I could not wear it with the pack on. How is that for fatherly neglect?
Still later, when the Lopez ladies were with us in Somerset, Rosa had an adventure with catching a water snake on the lake shore. I assured her that they were perfectly safe, whereupon it made a liar of me and bit her. Thankfully, they are toothless and it did not hurt but I am sure it scared her and I think Rosa has never REALLY trusted me since.
Hopefully someday we will make it back to Woods Lake, maybe with all our grown-up kiddoes. Then THEY can carry ME up to Winnemucca Lake. Payback will be sweet!
10-2-2010
One favorite destination was the 1.5 mile trek up to Winnemucca Lake in the Tahoe Wilderness area. A steady grade, it left the forests that surrounded Woods Lake behind and entered a sub-alpine garden of wildflowers and stunted pine trees. Sheer granite walls surrounded two sides of Winnemucca and a trail from it led further up to the pass that crested above Fourth-Of-July-Lake. Our destination was Winnemucca, however, and frigid little toes and feet soaked in the icy waters of melted snowfields that still remained nearby in July and August.
The “getting to” part of the trip was the most memorable. In the years before Rebecca’s arrival, Dan was carried in the baby backpack on my back while Cece went with, or in the arms of either Grandpa or Katie, most usually in good spirits. I have memories of Dan’s little diapered bottom and chubby legs sitting in the pine needles as he happily made piles of dirt and needles and pine cones. The year that we brought Xochitl with us to camp at Woods, she was so incredibly excited that she leaned on the tailgate of Grandpa’s pick-up while he was loading it and chatted volubly. She chatted whole way up in the car and RAN almost the entire way up the trail, once we started hiking. This was at 8,000 ft. elevation!
By the time Rebecca was “campable” Dan was exploro-man and he and I pawed through the ruins of the Lost Cabin Mine, fascinated with the old rusted Studebaker motor and radiator shell left in the hoist house. Then it was Becca’s turn to be carried in the backpack and I can still feel her little fists banging on my head to go faster , this accompanied with her chortly laugh. Oh, she was an evil baby! (not) We also have a picture of her on my back, wearing MY campaign hat for shade, as I could not wear it with the pack on. How is that for fatherly neglect?
Still later, when the Lopez ladies were with us in Somerset, Rosa had an adventure with catching a water snake on the lake shore. I assured her that they were perfectly safe, whereupon it made a liar of me and bit her. Thankfully, they are toothless and it did not hurt but I am sure it scared her and I think Rosa has never REALLY trusted me since.
Hopefully someday we will make it back to Woods Lake, maybe with all our grown-up kiddoes. Then THEY can carry ME up to Winnemucca Lake. Payback will be sweet!
10-2-2010
Murder At The Barn
Insanity breeds in family lines and ours has a healthy claim to it. When Cece and cousin Rosa get together, amazing and scary things happen. This has always been so, even when they were little tots. Somehow, the brain waves and imagination corpuscles get tossed around like a nuclear accelerator and BINGO: weird things occured.
Such was the case many times when we lived on Gilbert Road in Yakima, Washington. Our barn sat very close to the road and it fascinated the girls who wanted to sleep out in it. Foolishly, we let then do so and now, years later, we are finally hearing about some of the questionable things they did after hours. One of the events we did witness many times was “Murder at the Barn.”
During the summer season, the best times for sleeping out there, fruit trucks would endlessly roar passed our place, headed for the Borton’s warehouse and loads of apples. These truckers were the preferred audience of our two demented actresses, although any stray car that passed by was also pounced upon. The drill was that one of the two, (I mostly remember Cece) would lie on the ground by the edge of the barn and mere feet from the road. The other would wait for a car or truck to come close and then scream or shriek loudly, brandishing a huge knife and acting as if they had just stabbed, or were in the act of stabbing the prone victim. I also remember red food coloring being implicated and maybe even catsup was used a time or two. Little sister Becca was encouraged to stand by the side of the bank, bordering the road, shrieking and clutching her teddy bear in sheer terror as the car or truck passed. Oh, the fiends!!!!!
To my knowledge, no cars ever stopped and no sheriff ever came to the door to investigate an alleged homicide. The drivers, certainly if they were truckers frequent to the warehouse run, must have figured out that it was just two demented teens, getting their “yah,yahs” out in a creative (?) manner. Both Cece and Rosa possess a dramatic flair and I tremble when I think of what could lurk in the future when they get together!
10-2-2010
Such was the case many times when we lived on Gilbert Road in Yakima, Washington. Our barn sat very close to the road and it fascinated the girls who wanted to sleep out in it. Foolishly, we let then do so and now, years later, we are finally hearing about some of the questionable things they did after hours. One of the events we did witness many times was “Murder at the Barn.”
During the summer season, the best times for sleeping out there, fruit trucks would endlessly roar passed our place, headed for the Borton’s warehouse and loads of apples. These truckers were the preferred audience of our two demented actresses, although any stray car that passed by was also pounced upon. The drill was that one of the two, (I mostly remember Cece) would lie on the ground by the edge of the barn and mere feet from the road. The other would wait for a car or truck to come close and then scream or shriek loudly, brandishing a huge knife and acting as if they had just stabbed, or were in the act of stabbing the prone victim. I also remember red food coloring being implicated and maybe even catsup was used a time or two. Little sister Becca was encouraged to stand by the side of the bank, bordering the road, shrieking and clutching her teddy bear in sheer terror as the car or truck passed. Oh, the fiends!!!!!
To my knowledge, no cars ever stopped and no sheriff ever came to the door to investigate an alleged homicide. The drivers, certainly if they were truckers frequent to the warehouse run, must have figured out that it was just two demented teens, getting their “yah,yahs” out in a creative (?) manner. Both Cece and Rosa possess a dramatic flair and I tremble when I think of what could lurk in the future when they get together!
10-2-2010
Famous Footwear
A most memorable event occurred to Kate and I when we visited Lassen Volcanic National Monument in 2009. Lassen has always been fascinating to us. I had been there with Walton’s Post Camp in 1973, and Kate and I had taken the kids there in the 1980’s. This was a short “memory walk” for both of us, a two day stop on the way down to visit Becca in San Jose for wedding planning. We enjoyed the place thoroughly!
Our first full day there, we hiked Broke-Off Mountain, the second highest peak in the park. This was a detour from Lassen Peak itself as that trail was closed for maintenance. The hike was a good one, gaining a lot of elevation and coming to a wind-swept, bitterly cold and barren knob that we did not dally on. The way down was punctuated by lunch and the visitation of a mysterious and ethereal “God Cloud” that reminded us of something biblical as a celestial message from the almighty. It was shaped in a perfect oval and was all alone in the sky by Broke-Off’s summit. We wondered about it for hours.
After coming back to the car we decided to visit Bumpass Hell, the region of mud pots, fumeroles and vents accompanied by its attendant vile smells. This hike was wearing on this author. I was ready for something less strenuous but we pressed on and saw and smelled and were sated. On the way back down the trail, and interesting character with a thick accent stopped us with a strange request. He was a German photo journalist and was touring this country taking pictures for sports magazines back in Germany. He had spied my old, shredded and raveled Boy Scout hiking socks and wanted to take pictures of my feet! He claimed that the red was the needed color addition to compliment the volcanic grey and tan colors that made the backdrop so bland.
Acquiescing to his requests I hiked back and forth about seven times on this one stretch of trail while he pointed one and then another camera at my feet. Giving me verbal commands such as: “One more time;” “All Right, now walk backwards;” “Hmm, maybe just once more;” “Now, faster” and finally, “All Good.” I am sure we made quite the sight to anyone that might have been looking on. Kate was chuckling in the background. Luckily, for me, the trail was deserted. We have laughed many times over the fact that somewhere in Germany my legs and not my fine physique are captured forever on a sports magazine cover or two. Good thing I have a tough ego!
10-2-2010
Our first full day there, we hiked Broke-Off Mountain, the second highest peak in the park. This was a detour from Lassen Peak itself as that trail was closed for maintenance. The hike was a good one, gaining a lot of elevation and coming to a wind-swept, bitterly cold and barren knob that we did not dally on. The way down was punctuated by lunch and the visitation of a mysterious and ethereal “God Cloud” that reminded us of something biblical as a celestial message from the almighty. It was shaped in a perfect oval and was all alone in the sky by Broke-Off’s summit. We wondered about it for hours.
After coming back to the car we decided to visit Bumpass Hell, the region of mud pots, fumeroles and vents accompanied by its attendant vile smells. This hike was wearing on this author. I was ready for something less strenuous but we pressed on and saw and smelled and were sated. On the way back down the trail, and interesting character with a thick accent stopped us with a strange request. He was a German photo journalist and was touring this country taking pictures for sports magazines back in Germany. He had spied my old, shredded and raveled Boy Scout hiking socks and wanted to take pictures of my feet! He claimed that the red was the needed color addition to compliment the volcanic grey and tan colors that made the backdrop so bland.
Acquiescing to his requests I hiked back and forth about seven times on this one stretch of trail while he pointed one and then another camera at my feet. Giving me verbal commands such as: “One more time;” “All Right, now walk backwards;” “Hmm, maybe just once more;” “Now, faster” and finally, “All Good.” I am sure we made quite the sight to anyone that might have been looking on. Kate was chuckling in the background. Luckily, for me, the trail was deserted. We have laughed many times over the fact that somewhere in Germany my legs and not my fine physique are captured forever on a sports magazine cover or two. Good thing I have a tough ego!
10-2-2010
Paradise Perfection
Soft afternoon sun warms my back and shoulders. Stiff muscles and sore quads let me know that I have done something today as I lounge on the porch at Paradise Inn, Mt.Rainier. I write this while Kate ascends to Panorama Point via Glacier Vista and fulfills her quest for this weekend. This sixtieth birthday from Mom Coop, has been both wonderful and invigorating
Paradise is so alive; animal, vegetable and even the mountains, mineral, seem to live and breathe a freshness and crisp aura of life. The weather, cold and stormy yesterday, is glorious today. Sun and cooling wind all are so welcome. The mountains, and especially this mountain seem to speak to Kate’s soul. Always sensitive to nature and its beauty, her heart seems to swell with the mountain scenery, the air, scents and sights. Her eyes flash brighter sand her pace quickens; she certainly outdistances me on the trail…but what is new? Where I am “done” after five miles, every new and untried path or bend in the route beacons her on, singing a siren song of mystery and adventure. She is tireless. Life, for her, has flowed very close to the surface these last two days. That in itself is a statement.
The human element at Rainier is amazing as well. A cacauphony of languages assaults one’s ear; a perfect babble. Myriads of tourists dressed in fine clothes push past hikers dressed for the trail and climbers loaded with steel to conquer the upper reaches of this edifice. Wonder and amazement show on many faces. On one trail we saw three bears the first day and Kate saw three more the second. Few people venture far out enough to see these shy denizens of the slopes. However, closer to the visitors center, a HUGE crowd is gathered around a volunteer ranger all pointing animatedly and whispering excitedly, “A deer, I see a deer!” Paradox abounds!
There is no gainsaying that Rainier is majestic, mystifying and magical. I have fallen under its spell as well. No matter how often you gaze up at the monolithic mountain, a different mood meets your eye. Orange and golden in the sunset, eerily frosted in the night with a phosphorescent glow, draped in haze and veils of mist in the early morning, it is ever changing. The many photo stops that Kate has taken, the many interesting plants, animals, vistas, scents and colors she calls to my attention, her obvious inner joy and very aliveness, add to a wonderful and phantasmagorical experience to remember forever.
10-2-2010
Paradise is so alive; animal, vegetable and even the mountains, mineral, seem to live and breathe a freshness and crisp aura of life. The weather, cold and stormy yesterday, is glorious today. Sun and cooling wind all are so welcome. The mountains, and especially this mountain seem to speak to Kate’s soul. Always sensitive to nature and its beauty, her heart seems to swell with the mountain scenery, the air, scents and sights. Her eyes flash brighter sand her pace quickens; she certainly outdistances me on the trail…but what is new? Where I am “done” after five miles, every new and untried path or bend in the route beacons her on, singing a siren song of mystery and adventure. She is tireless. Life, for her, has flowed very close to the surface these last two days. That in itself is a statement.
The human element at Rainier is amazing as well. A cacauphony of languages assaults one’s ear; a perfect babble. Myriads of tourists dressed in fine clothes push past hikers dressed for the trail and climbers loaded with steel to conquer the upper reaches of this edifice. Wonder and amazement show on many faces. On one trail we saw three bears the first day and Kate saw three more the second. Few people venture far out enough to see these shy denizens of the slopes. However, closer to the visitors center, a HUGE crowd is gathered around a volunteer ranger all pointing animatedly and whispering excitedly, “A deer, I see a deer!” Paradox abounds!
There is no gainsaying that Rainier is majestic, mystifying and magical. I have fallen under its spell as well. No matter how often you gaze up at the monolithic mountain, a different mood meets your eye. Orange and golden in the sunset, eerily frosted in the night with a phosphorescent glow, draped in haze and veils of mist in the early morning, it is ever changing. The many photo stops that Kate has taken, the many interesting plants, animals, vistas, scents and colors she calls to my attention, her obvious inner joy and very aliveness, add to a wonderful and phantasmagorical experience to remember forever.
10-2-2010
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