Saturday, December 20, 2008

SEA 4 - Tour de Cap

SEA 4 -- Tour de Cap
The snow falls silently on the city streets. The over head lights give
the world it's orange hue as the sky is filled with flakes this
Saturday evening. My glide follows the lines of another Nordic
traveler as I make my way towards the Roanokee at the end of the
hill. After 5 km of skiing, a Jolly Rogers winter ale seems to
apatite the taste buds and set the tone for this little ski bar at the
north end of the hill.
Back on the streets, I pass through groves and trails that seem to
come out of a city that has been ordinary since I return. The cold
chill reaches deep into my chest and brings forward vitality of life.
I feel as though this recent storms that have painted the city white,
have repaid the peoples tempo as well. The city has hovered at being
shut down for days, but now the foot of fresh makes it the domain of
the skier and the shoer. And I work my 10 km Tour de Cap.
Tomorrow I had planned to head to the mountains. But Solstice will be spent skiing the hills of Seattle instead...

Along the waters of a Seattle Rain Retreat,
Ridgewalker
山武士
seattlerainretreat.blogspot.com

Sunday, December 7, 2008

SEA 3 - Roaming the Frozen Silence

SEA 3 - Roaming the Frozen Silence

There has been a sense of anticipation in the city lately. The lack of
real snow seems to have the snow worshippers edgy lately. Huddled over
their beers watching old ski videos and talking in low tones about the
banana belt that has been holding back that Arctic flows from the
north. Usually, Warren Miller & Banff lead the huddled masses towards
inspiring dreams. But this year they have been wanting in the
inspiration they yield. And so left with this all I find myself
driving deep up the S Fork Stilly to find inspiration, maybe even some
snow.

The road twists and turns about corners and bends in the river.
Emereld pools and lichen filled cedars line the river bank of this
hidden ribbon. With the window down the crisp morning day fills the
car, refreshing the lungs and the spirit as the mountains steep sides
begin to close in upon the old route to Monte Cristo, the promised
treasure of gold at the end of the line. Catching glances into the
forest floor after Verlot, I catch a brief sight of a stoic Elk
looking out towards the passing vehicle, half hidden by a stand of
Hemlock. This forest has eyes today.

The long road ends at the base of Dickerman, a mountain that vaults
skyword without regards to the weary traveller. The switchbacks began
in ernest, climbing continously with a steady rythmn across the
forested slope. With it an erie silence to the ascending canopy,
clinging to the ground with long arms of wood wraping around every
boulder and contour of the land. A chill holds the forest, yet lacking
snow. Only ice and the echos of drops falling upon frozen pools. I
climb higher, repeating each switchback with the beat of a metronome.

A raven breaks the silence, I hear only the whipsing haunts of it's
flights as it finds a limb to inspect me. Cauking it's head in
inspection it's eyes gaze deep into my soul inquiring as to where I
had came from and my intent. For this is a forest in waiting. The hunt
is over, and man has left it's groves in anticipation of the coming
winter snows. And yet the wilderness still remains, living through
this silent time. It haunts me as I climb higher towards the summit,
luring me on. It is the time of between, it is now that spirits are
exposed and left to dwell upon past events. And yet this forest seems
highten in sense. I hear eveyaction, quickening my pace.

Reaching a alpine meadow, summer has faded leaving a light snow and
ice crusted trail. Each step brings the repetative sound of crnching.
My movements seem the only occupent of this realm other then the low
roar of the Stillaguamish far below. The view opens up to the grand
peaks of the Monte Cristo Range. Dressed in the light lace of white,
almost highlighting each's features. Big Four stands broad shouldered
with might, each line of it's many cliffs highlighted to the vally far
below. Del Campo, with it's tilted lines lifted towards heaven, the
imagination swirls with thoughts of alpine ascents along each line.
And Vesper, gilded with white fields to her rise, it alures the
backcountry with in me.

Clouds abound, turning black in places. Yet they pulse like velvet to
create a cloth above each pinicle, each peak. The low light with a
trim of gold to the south only seems to harness all the feeling of
this cold alpine silence. This landscape begs me to explore, an
undeniable calling. The mountains are empty and beholder to none.
There for the exploration. A faint trail leading up to Sperry's
heights and Vespers height seem to call for tommorrow. With many more
miles before I sleep, I turn back knowing that in the next day I'll
return. Following the rivers from the Sound, forests silent and deep,
more to explore towards those peaks.


Along the waters of a Seattle Rain Retreat,
Ridgewalker
山武士
ridgewalkernw.blogspot.com