The Goats of Mt Adams (HikingLog 9308)

Hiking Log 9308



There is a breed of men that don't fit in. A breed that can't stand still. They break the hearts of kith and kin to roam the world at will. They range the field and … the flood … … the mountain crest. There is in us the… of gypsy blood and we don't know how to rest.

Attributed to Lou Whittaker


At nine a.m. Saturday morning, Tami walked in. We had four days to ourselves. Half an hour later we were on the road, fast and light. We took a left onto Route 82 and raced south over the Columbia River and into Oregon. The river cuts a wide channel through dry granite and sandstone hillside as she meanders to her home to her cynosure in the West. It's all physics, baby. We turn right and put the Denali on autopilot. The road wends its our way thru rougher and steeper territory. On the dashboard of the Denali were: Chicago Manual of Style, Roget's Thesaurus, and yet another book of verse by Alan Ginsberg.

Somewhere in Oregon, Tami removed a 4-by-6 white card on which she had written while I spoke to her over the phone the previous night:

The 8 Fold Path

Right View

Right Intention

Right Speech

Right Conduct

Right Livelihood

Right Action

Right Mindfulness

Right Concentration


The Four Noble Truths:

The origin of life is suffering

The origin of suffering is attachment

The cessation of suffering is attainable

The path to cessation


The first three Truths seem accessible, but the fourth does not make sense to me. As we talked about each line, I found myself marveling at the terrain and our discussion when suddenly I found we were in hills too green! We had driven thirty minutes past our exit! It was looking like we would not make the Lunch Counter today. I turned us around heading East and then turned North at Hood River, OR, and we crossed back over the Columbia River. The channel was narrower here, with steeply rising hills on the North and South, and we gained a thousand feet of elevation cutting through the upland hills. We passed the town called BZ Corner where "Adventure Rafting" and other outfits were poised at the tops of the rapids streaming down from the mountain, thirty miles to the North. We arrived onto wide rolling land and we made it to the ranger station at four p.m. Maple, mostly short and vine-like, were just beginning to turn. Dairy farm turned to ponderosa forest at the ranger station. The ponderosa gave way to other conifers the way up, and we were in Cold Spring Campground (5.600 ft) by 5:30. The late afternoon was still and warm, this last weekend of the 'regular' climbing season and the skies were clear as we set off on trail 183. We took two pictures loaded fast and light by the car and made good time up the trail. We passed several hikers on their way down; we were the only one's going up. The conifers turned to scrubby juniper-looking trees, and then faded our completely.

At 7,300 ft we found ourselves at to the base of Crescent Glacier. I felt we were on the stage of a large natural amphitheater. Above us, rising fourteen hundred feet in the air, was a bowl of rock and snow – carving out from the mountain. The crevices and surfing ridges looked an anthill after a rain. I hold my hands at the mountain, my arms are straight out, and my view is 180 degrees. I have one half of the mountain on each. Tami and I have fond memories of this place earlier in the season. Then, the snow began on the flat area we were on and was continuous all the way to the crest of the next plateau above us. Now the snow field in front of us had been hideously whittled away.


At that time, Tami and I eagerly put on our crampons and marched up the initial 30 degree slope. Tami lead, German style. Half way up I entreated her to exchange one of her ski poles for an ice axe. I told her that every book including the New Testamant would indicate she should use an ice axe. She complied. When Tami was faced with a sudden transition to 40 degree slope, she stopped. She asked me how her style was and I replied that she had excellent form. Apparently, she was expecting me to respond more intimately because she said, "You would care if it were Remi." And she took off up the glacier. I was furious. I had had enough, and was finally resolved to stop this one outlet to me. I took off after her. She was thirty feet above me and past my line of site; the cliff rose to the sky above me. I was kicking my own steps after her.

Below me a lady fell and slid down the slope, stopping below my vision. She was unhurt. Her partner called his dog, and he slid down after her. I was not scared for me and I was not scarred for Tami because when her bad-ass button goes off, she is just that. By the time I got to the top I was lived. I accused her of everything but fear; she has none, nor at least less than I. "You are not to mention 'Remy' again,"I told her. The next day we climbed higher, then, on the way back down, we had our longest glissade to that point in time. I captured the action on video and then jumped down the chute. About half way down I managed to stop and help a very pleasant lady from Seattle, staying with her while she put on her crampons. Then I slid the rest of the way down and got a beautiful round purple bruise on my right thigh that I showed to people at work.



A glacier is a beautiful thing. "When the ice is 80 or 100 feet thick, its weight causes ice at the bottom to become plastic, and the block will begin oozing slowly down… as a glacier." (New Testament page 27) The Crescent is very small glacier. Beneath a variegated but typically navigable surface of flowing water, huge masses of ice and compact snow vie for gravitational supremacy with a slowly disintegrating mountain of volcanic ash. The one with the most wins. The ice gouged great valleys out the rock, leaving sharp ridges, boulder, and chutes. It looked like a bowl of jagged boulders that seem to have just fallen into position – and are likely to fall again right now. It is only in the deepest gullies that the offending compact and wind-carved snows still remain. At the top of the bowl, where the climb had been the steepest the first time, was a thirty foot waterfall. Just to the East, the main snow band descended another fifty very steep feet, ending at a dangerous gully of the largest boulders. The only way to avoid them would be to walk up to the long thin snow field, climbing up to the West of the largest boulders. The start would be quite easy; we just walk out on the smooth sandy soil from where we are standing that merged invitingly with the "terminus or snout" (Mountaineering: Freedom of the Hills, page 316 fig. 13-2 item number 8) of the snow field. It would have been simple to just start out and amble up a 20 degree ice field. We could travel easily two hundred yards. Then we would cross East (climbers right), above the largest boulders. Just East of the waterfall we would catch the main snow band rising up to the top of the plateau above us.;

It was so wonderful we set up our blue two-man three-season tent on the smooth sandy plateau: Camp 1. We were the only ones there. That, and it was 7:30 and starting to get dark. I took one picture with the camera and it died. We got no more pictures after that. In the morning, we briefly considering attacking the dangerous gullies, but were one trip wiser. We took the easy trail up the Western ridge: the donkey trail. Between us we had one ice pick, one glacier light, one phone, and one (half programmed) GPS. We were going to use them all.

The next day broke clear and we got out of camp by nine. We made good time on the ridge on the Western ridge and crested the bowl. From there the rock and snow rose yet higher, but more gently. We recognized the sporadic fortresses from our previous trip. Aggregating in social nodes among the most advantageous spots, rough walls of stone formed primitive three sided wind shelters. Each was rectangular with the open end facing to the East. We sat in the smooth sand platform and Tami cooked up Ramen noodles. We were comfortable, enjoying the climb - and each other - and in not too much of a hurry. Perhaps we should have been. The sun was out.

"What is geometry? Tami asked.

"In conics I can floor peculiarities parabolic (pronounced: par-RA-bol-ic)." I botched the line from The Pirates of Penzance, but the idea was there: mountains. "Picture two cones pointing at one another. Perfect circles are at each end, straight lines connect them. Slicing at different angles can define these and many more shapes, like parabola and hyperbola." I found myself dragging my finger thru the smooth soil. I drew a circle centered on an X-axes and a Y-axes, with a radius of one, and told her this is a circle. It is perhaps best described as the Form of a circle, as Socrates would have us think. Every feature of a circle can be analyzed using this reductionist technique. The location of each point on the floor of the fortress was described by two numbers, x and y. (0,0) was the point in the center. (0,1) was the point at the top of the circle and (1,0) was the right-hand point. I asked her to believe, as I had done so many times over the ages, to believe some very specific but recondite fact, that the equation for a circle is c2 = x2 + y2, and that every point on the circle is describe by that equation. Further, there is a point half way between (0,1) and (1,0) at which the x- and y-values will be equal. I was just about to explain that the values for both x- and y- were "two divided by the square root of two" ... when Tami asked: "Is this reality?"

"Yes."

"Then what about a rock? What about a person?"

"Very complicated," I responded. "But we have to start with a circle."…. We lost an hour of prime hiking time.

As we walked on up the gentle incline towards the wide plateau above us, I wondered if an alien archeologist would deduce, surreptitiously investigating this small corner of the planet, what the curious structures were for. And if so, would he understand our passion for the climb? Is what we do (as I hope) universal? And my thoughts headed to the heavens even as I stumbled on stones at my feet. At 2:30 p.m. we reached a broad shoulder, called the Lunch Counter (9,400 ft). Our view of the mountain was as if I had moved my outstretched hands forward by one foot; I could see more around it. I settled into a fortress and waited for Tami. What were we going to do? It was far too early to call it quits for the day, yet the barren peak loomed three thousand feet higher. From here on up, there were no boulders larger than feet in diameter - just a long steep talus slope. The peak was visible against a blue sky as grayish pinnacle. There were rock infested fields and fewer ridges, but there was one lateral prominence to the right (East) and I concluded that there must be a chance that could find a level space on the col between two subsidiary peaks. Tami joined me in the fortress. She was tired.

We could hear ice axes banging among the rocks, with a characteristic tinkle that is instantly recognized. A small party crossed our way and told us that it was twenty-seven degrees (F) on the peak last night, and someone had camped there. However, between the Lunch Counter and Piker's (False) Peak (11,657 ft) there was no flat area the size of a tent. Tami was exhausted and I felt an urge to have a "run up some mountains," but was bright enough to not know we could not make it. I accepted her physical condition, as a state of our lives. We had plenty of food and fuel, and were well on our way. Tami lay down, claiming she needed two hours to rest. I gazed at the challenge ahead. With the sun going to set at 7:30 that night, I could still make it up to that level spot. If it were suitable, I could leave my pack there and come down and I would carry Tami's pack for her. She wanted me to wait. I couldn't. I set out.

The climb was on a smooth path for half an hour, but soon degenerated into two foot boulders and I stopped and turned around. There was Tami coming after me! Facing out of the mountain and looking to my right (West) there was a table of smooth sand with three decomposing fortresses just above the Lunch Counter. That site would gain us five hundred feet of elevation and the view was even better. I tossed out my idea of some impossible site higher for the pleasure of snatching such a beautiful perch to launch a summit bid the next day. I headed down and to the West. Tami crossed that way and we met at a creek running next to a snow field. We filled our water bottles and set up our tent in the eastern most rectangle on this more lofty promontory. I took off my boots and sat on the sand leaning against a three foot face of a rock. I was facing West, watching the sun slowly dip below the sun shield of my 'old man's hat' (with a circular sun brim). I held in my hands the 8 Fold Path, and I tried to memorize the steps the on my fingers, along with the ideas I expressed to Tami two nights previous:


Right View: Understanding, purpose

Right Intention: Thoughts, and honest pursuit

Right Speech: Meaning, articulation

Right Action: Forward, mindful

Right Livelihood: Self sufficient, and without attacks

Right Effort: Challenge and application

Right Mindfullness: Knowledge, composure, and critical understanding; awareness

Right Concentration: Self determination, responsibility toward goals.

The fourth Noble Truth now made some sense to me: The path to the cessation of suffering is the 8 Fold Path, which ends the cycle of suffering [reincarnation] or the cycle of wandering in the wheel of becoming, craving, ignorance and delusion.



In The Mountaineering Handbook (the New Testemant) by Craig Connaly there is a section on the personal aspects of climbing. Included is a list of readings, the first of which is The Snow Leopard by Peter Matthiessen In that book, Peter and G.S. lived for a time in a barren Himalayan valley studying the blue sheep. His partner is always referred to by initials until G.S.'s notes are referenced, towards the end of the epic. Peter spent his time meditating and chanting and observing the species of interest. He presumably labored to take extensive notes, though these are not mentioned in his writings. It is as though a muse of Botheus kept the author neatly and precisely on the [neumenal] aspect of his journey in 1973. At the time, it was not know whether the species were sheep or goats, and like breaking the koan of the yin-yang symbol, G.S. concluded from their mating behavior that they were goats.

Tami called to me from the fortress. She had just gotten up from a half hour nap. "David, look to your right." Ice axes clanged against the stones as the last of the days climbers descended the peak. There, not forty feet away from us was a pure cream colored Mountain Goat, browsing slowly on the few remaining patches of vegetation. It's dark nose and feet were the only color it had. There were two, four-inch horns on the top of its diminutive head. It's strong shoulders(or at least with thick fur) were four feet tall. Its large hind quarters stood three and a half feet. The fur stopped four inches above delicate bifid hoofs, as though it were talking on tip toes. Tami came over to me and we watched while it munched for a while. Then a trio of climbers passed west of the goat, and for a time the goat scans us both, always favoring the clanging people. We sat still. Tami had on her hiking boots with socks coming out three more inches. She was wearing tight black long underwear and a thin, white down jacket. She had on dark classes and a blue knit cap with BCFD 2 in white letters. I had nothing on my feet, khaki wind pants, a blue pile jacket and that telling beige hat. We felt like we had dissolved into the goats visual environment as it meandered closer. Twenty feet away, it scuttled off down the lip of the plateau and out of sight.

Mount Adams was created by the subduction of the Juan de Fuca plate during the late Pleistocene. It grew by several episodes of lava extruding eruptions, and in the long periods of dormancy it eroded down to below the level where we now camped. Two eruptions occurred ending 200,000 and 100,000 years ago during which the peak as it stands now was formed, from brecciated lava. From 1931 to 1935 iron ore was mined on the mountain, which accounts for the red tint of many of the boulders we see. Tami told me that the red tint (iron ore) on the rocks was evidence of space aliens, and discarded wires on the ground were antennae. It seemed to her that I had brought her to a crux from which she would be abducted to a world in which she would never see again. We were once again alone, on our plateau and on the entire Lunch Counter, as the sun set in the West.

The next morning we got up at six and left with one backpack. We carried the stove, one bag of Raman noodles, jackets and mittens, energy bars, and the ice pick. We left the crampons. We each had our trekking poles. Tami climbed in her soft leather boots, and I in rock shoes received as a hand-me-down from Ross Dickerman. By seven we were off and I led us straight up the face. Fifteen degree slope turned into twenty five. Tami wanted to find a trail to the West. The going was extremely rough, and it seemed we chose the more difficult path. We hiked all morning and arrived at the Piker's Peak at noon. Strangely, there was a beautiful fortress right on top. The sun was warm and Tami took off her top, and I took off my shoes. We rested.


The self-confidence of the warrior is not the self-confidence of the average man. The average man seeks certainty in the eyes of the onlooker and calls that self-confidence. The warrior seeks impeccability [of his actions and feelings] in his own eyes and calls that humbleness.

Carlos Castaneda, Tales of Power


The true peak rose like whole other mountain, this one pale yellow. With no vegetation, the spire of bare earth looked huge and far away, 900 vertical feet above us. I thought again of the mystical northernmost monastery that Peter visited in Southern Tibet. He relates the story that he and G.S. were sitting in the upstairs, meditation room. The walls and floor were bare and there was a single window, beyond which rose the clear blue Himalayan sky. "You got to have some-thing coming in," remarks the exasperated G.S. The sparseness of the pinnacle and the contrast against the faintly gray sky spoke to me of the challenge we had set before us.

To our right (East) the glacier had pulled away from it's head-wall, creating a valley called a bergshrund. Stuck to the rock was a brilliant blue-white cliff of ice. It was beautiful. We had come so close, yet it seemed so far away; and this is when Tami had a meltdown. "How do you know we can get up and back in four hours?" Tami protested. "You always do this. I have no sense of direction and you have no judgment."

"We can make it," I told her. "We push ourselves and we make it to the top. If it looks dangerous before we get there we can turn around." She took some comfort in this, still not sure of whether she could trust my words. I was not finished. "I don't need you to do this." I thus turned over a card which I had never played before, for it is the promise with which I had started us on this journey: I cannot do this without you. I had stuck by it and we have climbed step for step up to this point. Early, early in our career (some time in May) Dan Lowe looked at me, in the soft brown chair, and swiveled his lanky body towards Tami. When his head finally locked onto her, he said, "Now wait a minute, David. Tami has to climb her own mountain." And he was right. Now was the time for her, me, and her therapist to realize this fact.

I set a fast pace on the gentle traverse around the crest of the false peak. The ground here was redder, with rocks not larger than a foot across. Then we crossed a frozen level ice-snow surface. Four inch nieve penitents provided easy passage over rivulets of water. This was the last stand for what, in the early spring, must be a glorious bowl of snow. Past the ice, the pinnacle rose steeply with no respite until the top. Can we make it up and back? I did not know. What I did know is that we have placed ourselves here, and are each making the choice we have worked so long and had for: and so on we went. Half way up was a small stream that crossed the path, and we sat down to rest. Looking to our right, we passed close to our first crevasse. When we got higher we came to the level of the ice cliff we could see from below. It is the dramatic cornice of ice and snow. It is a bergschrung, formed when the glacier mass pulls away from the cliff, leaving behind that part of itself most closely adherent to the rock. Sheer faces of broken ice beckon and warn at the same time. If only we had crampons and ice tools! But this is too dangerous a place to play, and we have our first peak to bag. Our day on alpine ice will come.

We arrived at the true peak (12,276 ft), and from there we can see Mt. Hood (11,249 ft) to the South, Mt St. Helens (8365 ft) to the South-West and Mt. Rainier (14,410 ft) to the North. To the West is all flatland, and camp Richland. There is an abandoned mining shack, slowly disintegrating under ice and it's own weight on the top. It smells like an outhouse, so we walk twenty yards East and huddle between two rocks to get out of the wind and cook up lunch. We have made it and, being above 10,000 ft, the Merry Men are at bay. Soon it is time to descend.

We arrived back at Camp 2 and rested; for how long I don't know. But Tami was up and about and making oat meal as evening set in. By now we were rested. "Do you want to go down?"

I thought about it. "Do you?"

"Yes." With expecting to Tami to do anything I ask, comes the obligation to step up to any feat she is willing to attempt.

"Lets go," I said.

Fifteen expert minutes later, we had two loaded packs on our bag. I set a very fast pace down off our embankment onto the Lunch Counter proper, and South towards the edge of the plateau. There was still some light left so I headed down the scree slope, past more abandoned fortresses: we were the last ones on the mountain. Soon I came to the first snow field, and the going was easier. The field branched and I took a right. I looked back and saw Tami stepping onto the snow. She was too far away to yell, so I got her attention by banging my trekking poles together - twice. She saw me make my turn, and she followed. I stopped half way down that second snow field and waited for her. She put on her head lamp and followed more closely behind me now. The suncups at my feet now stood out in more relief from her light and, if anything, it made the footing easier.

Then it got steep. I started kicking twice for each foot placement. It was now dark. I got off from the snow field and stepped down onto a rock outcrop in the mountain face. The runoff from the snow field we were on trickled thru innumerable channels at our feet onto a the flat stony strong-point of the mountain face. These coalesced into a shallow pond on a rock ledge and then descended over the edge and into the darkness beyond. We cautiously stepped out to the edge of the shelf and saw the water fall twenty-five feet below us straight down. The flow of the water waxed and waned, as though the snow were melting with a pulse. This was the steepest part of the glacier that challenged and exhilarated us on our prior climb. We stood and looked out at the steep and dimly lit field of boulders below us. The water splashed on to the rock below. We were at 8,700 feet.

"We can't do down there, obviously," Tami said. We looked to our right, where the sun was last seen thirty minutes ago. There was a large and very black ridge, outlined in angry crags hinting of treachery all the way up. To our left the snow field continued steeply down cutting off the base of the waterfall and continuing down for as far as our light would let us see.

"We can put on our crampons and take the glacier down," I suggested. It would be tough, but it was in our of capability. I felt I could handle it. I knew Tami could, but I also knew would be a hard sell.

"That is too steep! It's too hard for us. Crampons?"

"Yes," I replied as I have affirmed another truism. "And please don't shine the light in my eyes."

"That would be potentially dangerous."

"I know. But we can do it." Tami was silent for a moment. "I know it is something you really want to do, so I'll do it."

I did not require that. I was not asking her to accept an ever-more-extreme act of bravery and blind 'will of faith'. I wanted her to consent because of her own judgement. I got angry. I was just getting her to do what she could do. I am disciplining her, but well within her range. She is a tiger on snow slopes. Then we could get through the largest boulders and veer right, to where the rocks were smaller. Below that we knew there was a snow field that our camp was in the hollow below us.

"You don't have to say that, Tami. I am not saying I want this like I want so many other things. It's just that this is something we can do. And I don't like the looks of that ridge." When she consented, I hoped it was because of unquestioning obedience to my will, but of her choosing to. The experience we were about to undertake would 'learn; us, either way. We sat on the edge of the snow and put on our crampons. Her headlamp put out enough light for me to see. I adjusted mine for my mountain boots, and she for hiking boots.

I stepped down first, French style, gripping the hard and compact snow with all the points on the inside of my left crampon. I planted a pole below it. Then I jabbed the outside of my right crampon a foot above my left foot, and planted my ice axe (self-arrest grip) above me with my right hand. Pied a plat/piolet ramasse. Tami stood four feet above me, facing West, as I was. "Plant. Plant. Step. Step," I told her after the second step. Tami has natural instincts to brace the center of her weight over her feet, not over the snow. Her legs and her arms are strong. And she planted her two trekking poles with determination. I was proud, but I was also facing the same challenge. We call it slogging, though never in such a usage of extrapolation - which is our wont to do - and braced ourselves for the descent.

When Tami looked down, her lamp illuminated the ridges below me with a harsh glare. I keep myself five feet from the base of the shelf as the snow bank descended and passed to the West below the waterfall. After we had gone fifty feet, the snow leveled and narrowed. There was a gap in the ridge ahead of us and that opened out into another wide white way down. Crampons were necessary here as well. While the incline was less than the chute we just came down, the sun had fashioned the surface into suncups four feet wide. The going was much better than earlier in the day when we tackled a similar slope without crampons. We were losing elevation easily until the snow ran out. Now we were at the top of the steep field of the largest boulders. I dropped my water bottle. We were down to one.

We stowed our crampons and I switched to two poles. This was the hardest terrain to negotiate, because the space between the rocks was deep and dark. We angled West, and after dropping 200 vertical feet, the rocks got smaller. We were doing well and came to another flat outcropping, much smaller that the base of Crescent Glacier. There were too many rocks to set up a tent, though at this point we were not thinking of camping. My GPS indicated the way was thirty degrees west of south and two-tenths of a mile away. We skirted across the outcrop and descended thru smaller boulders. It was still steep, though not as difficult, but monotonous. We were doing excellently, moving with grace and boldness. The trials and tribulations rarely get as difficult as this, nor the rewards as satisfying. We were safe and sane. We were just getting thirsty.

"What are we doing here? Never mind the GPS thingy, can you say that you know exactly where we are?" I respond to her outbursts with tack and encouragement. "We are too far to the West of the waterfall." She feels that we may be lost. I do too, but just a little. We are commanding our movement through an alien environment with belief in our skills, our equipment, and our perceptions.

We came to a small runnel, trickling deep in the recesses between the rocks. There was plenty of snow thirty feet away and we had our stove, but we bent down the running water. Tami held her lamp and the light danced off the water droplets as they spilled over a small prominence. I held the mouth of our water bottle to the lip of the rocks and collected small streams of it. Suddenly, as if the mountain's heart were alive, the trickle grew to a small stream and filled the bottle half way up. Then it dwindled, and we watched it slowly fill again. Tami loves waterfalls. On the way up Rainier they would be a site to stop. "Oh! Let's rest by the waterfall." I came to calling them - because she dreams even while on snow of a lush landscape with lush foliage and shrubbery - landscape features. Now we were garnering the nourishment of a snow field in one. We were thirsty. Not desperate, but how much desire does one need to value such a treasure?

We crossed off the arête and accessed yet another snow field, even more to the West. It had been a week since Naked in the Moonlight, and our lovely orb of night was away for her cycle. How nature turns on us. The slope was 30 degrees – easy without crampons. But we were getting tired, and we started wondering if we were going too far West. "The waterfall sounds too far to the East," Tami expressed. We were in a bowl: camp is down, and the ridge that defines the edge of the bowl - the easiest way down - is somewhere to the West. It is called the donkey trail; it was used to lift the hut to the top of the mountain. I take a reading. My GPS indicates the bottom of the bowl is zero-point-two miles, bearing: 30 degrees. "But it's got some error," I tell her.

We continue our descent. The air was still and I was in wind-pants and flannel shirt. Tami was climbing sleeveless. We were comfortable. We had a pound of food and one liter of water. We were tired. We were enchanted by the muse, which said:


Sleep. Sleep under the stars as gently as you can. Lay your weary head and repose by my side for the night. It will be an adventure. (It was a muse for it was not just I that felt that way, but Tami as well. Not isolate-able to myself: hence a Muse.) We started looking for the closest level spot. There were none: we were on a twenty degree snow field. The only thing that looked promising was to lie down on the lateral moraine (or gutter), at the border between snow and rock. [prior vignette above] We looked closely as we descended, always taking one more tentative step.

Eventually we found a rock, ten feet in diameter, jammed in the gutter. We chose a spot just below this rock, for protection, and laid out our inflatable mattresses side-by-side. Tami curled on her left side, half on snow and half on rock and I lay on the snow next to her. A rock stood one foot up from the surface, and had sloping sides both up- and down-hill. I used the rock to stop my feet from slipping down, and I made an anchor for Tami's feet with the ice-axe and crampons. She didn't slip during the night, but I did. I came to a position of great comfort and unsurpassed security by conforming my thighs and calves to the rock.

Tami got out her cell phone and called her Dad. She told him that we were bivy-ing on the South climb of Mt. Adams, and that we were warm and close to home. Not to worry. "If we don't call by nine tomorrow, please notify the authorities"

"Nice move," I told her. "Now he is going to worry until morning."

We each lay in our 15 degree (F) sleeping bags and watched Orion, fifteen degrees above the south east horizon. Orion peaks as it crosses the meridian on January 25. It was the first time we had seen him this year. What is it doing up so early? I imagined that because of our elevation, and our angle against the mountains, we could see farther around the earth, and that was why Orion looked so high so early in the winter season. Then I imagined that the base camp some where below us was a playground. That was when I knew I had dozed off, and as clouds slowly filled in the view of the start, I knew we were would survive our first bivouac. Tami told me later that I snored a lot that night.

I awoke first. The sun was just below the eastern ridge, and an diffuse light suffused both East and West evenly. I looked down and saw a perfect, large, smooth stopping point just a hundred yards below us. What dumbasses! I woke up Tami to show her. "Dumbass," she said, "that is Camp 1."

There, on the slope down and to the West of our snow patch, was a creamy white goat. It was munching leisurely on the sparse yet tasty morsels of nourishment, winging its small head from one meager possibility to the next. It was alive and beautiful. We were the only ones there.



Post script

On the walk down trail 183 back through tree-line, Tami said she liked the Buddha-thing - except for the harshness. However much it hurt my feelings to hear this, I was filled with ruth. I felt secure that she already knew she was dissimulating. If she were not, then soon she would come to realize how this bastion of thought would disintegrate like delicate glass thru following the mystery that is the Tao.

When I was in high school, I told her, I had a teacher named Mr. Lin. 'I like the Bible,' he told us sitting on his desk between two large bamboo trees. 'I like the line – I am.' Mr. Lin tinged a small brass bell that hung in the small trees and smiled. I remember one beautiful sunny spring day on the grassy slopes of the school grounds. A student older than I said, "Mr. Lin, doesn't this day make you feel great?" 'We do not need the sun to shine, to make us feel good,' he said cheerily. 'We should feel good independent of the weather.' It is partly due to Mr. Lin that I feel such confidence in our path.