(Facebook Picture)
It’s one of those evocative high summer days when it seems as though the winter rains will never return. A dream of a day. On this ragged northwest corner of Washington state, huge cottony clouds pile high in the bluest of skies. The mountain is smiling. Starting at sea level near Bellingham Bay, we wind our way through the Nooksack River Valley. Up and up into the foothills we climb, giant evergreens closing in on either side. Then come those tight switchbacks, zigzagging all the way up to Artist Point. We park our car there and hike across snowfields to the Scramble, a dizzying climb upward on slippery shale. I take a breath and focus on the skinny path as pieces of rock let loose under my feet and tumble down the mountainside.
At last we reach the top. No less than six ridges stretch out before us. One by one, we conquer them, climbing higher and higher, crossing snowfields filled with purple clusters of heather and tiny bubbling streams. On the last and highest ridge, twin azure tarns catch and hold the blue of the sky. And there she is, across the valley, Mt. Baker, all 10,781 feet of her. Shimmering in the sunlight. Kulshan, the Lummi’s call her, white shining mountain. Close enough to touch. I shiver as I peer over the dropoff into the valley below. It’s a long way down.
Top of the world. Will darkness ever come again?