TR: N. Side Mt. Rainier 4 day adventure, Osceola Traverse
The Osceola Traverse (Carbon to White River)
March 7-10, 2013
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“I spent my entire youth writing slowly with revisions and endless rehashing speculation and deleting and got so I was writing one sentence a day and the sentence had no FEELING. Goddamn it, FEELING is what I like in art, not CRAFTINESS and the hiding of feelings.” —Jack Kerouac
I look at my hands, they seem to fit onto my camera like they have grown roots into the dials. What would they do without each other? How lonely they would be. How empty.
This camera I carry always is a burden as much as it is a partner. It’s not just the weight, either. Not the tripod, three lenses, filters, batteries, etc and their nearly twenty pounds. No, not that. Even before my fingers pull it from its case, I feel the weight. Lines crisscross my vision. Darkness and light dance. Clouds caress mountainsides. People move. I feel reckless trying to capture an instant I saw an instant ago. So recklessly trying to chase what may never come again. I feel rushed. Climbing and photography don’t mix and I swear at the ungainliness of it all! At least at first that is how it appears. Then I fall into stride. I stop trying to see. I look. I record. I work within the confines of what I have at hand, not what I want to force into my grasp.
I pass my camera to the anxious ranger at the Carbon River entrance of Mount Rainier National Park, elevation 1700’. He takes an image of Kyle Miller, Ben Starkey and I in our packs with skis astride them. In the image we are all smiling like just-found puppies - a moment frozen in time. This ranger made taking an image look so simple. But is it just as easy as that?
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Reminiscent of James Michener’s monolithic tales, five thousand years ago Mount Rainier’s northern flanks and far-reaching watersheds were changed forever. The top two thousand feet of the mountain peeled away in a massive slide that reached all the way to the Puget Sound, fifty miles away. It was the biggest slide ever recorded on the mountain and was named the Osceola Flow. Our traverse certainly was appropriately graced “The Osceola Traverse”. It would take four days, cover thirty-six miles and climb nearly twenty thousand vertical feet.
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Most of all, what will make this traverse special is the winter snows gracing the higher hills thousands of feet above us. Winter is special. It is not a functional environment for humans for very long, not without resources like food, shelter and clothing.
A worn trail disappears under snows two hours and two thousand feet higher. Tree branches are filled with millions of white flakes. They shudder under the load. At the same time light breaks from the clouds and a dreary forest instantly transforms into a wonderland.
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At Alki crest the trail has long since been lost to its snowy grave. The wind scoured ridge offers little snow to skin on. There is no trail here at all, so we trade between walking and skinning until we arrive at the false summit of Florance Peak (~5500-ft).
Heavy snows chase us down to a flat bench as we traverse our way toward Howard and Tolmie Peaks. The further I go, the better I feel about the traverse. Clouds part even more and there is even a glimpse of Mount Rainier. Certainly that is a sign? Good tidings are in our future.
A weary climb leads to Tolmie Lookout. We rest on the boards and stare down to Eunice Lake. We haven’t far now. I melt water. The others do, too, on another stove. Meanwhile I notice skies darken. By the time we get up to leave, snow falls heavily on our shoulders.
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The descent takes us past Eunice Lake and with some traversing puts us fall-line to the snow covered Mowich Lake Road. Preserved in the trees is wonderful snow that makes for excellent skiing. It was so good for me that I easily forget about the last few miles of road. My reminders come as soon as skins are attached and made even more apparent when my flashlight brightens the dark corridor ahead.
The chill crawls into my fingers as the tent goes up. It gets better as I dig a place to sit, so before I get colder I make my bed with the others. Above me then, even as snowflakes continue to fall, I see stars. There isn’t a cloud in the sky. A quick meal follows and happy dreams about the beautiful weather I am sure to rise with consume me. They do so long before I close my eyes.
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Frozen gear is encrusted in feathers of white. We await the sunlight that crawls achingly slow towards us. It can’t possibly take that long, but it does. Ten minutes more someone guesses. To stay warm and busy, I skin around in circles and look for images. I find nothing special which surprises me because it is a pretty place. There must be something, but I can’t find it, so I give up my search and enjoy the dawn colors as they paint the hillsides.
With packs astride shoulders we travel across Mowich Lake. Finally meeting us, the sun chases away the low-hanging fog. We take a right into the trees, once again returning to the shadows as we climb toward Knapsack Pass, a process that takes a few hours. At the pass, I see the high country. This is what I live for, the wide views and big sky. It’s a desert of ice and snow instead of sand and just as inhospitable.
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Up and down, across gentle slopes and into Spray Park. My last time there was in summer. How hard it is to imagine this place covered in white when all I can remember is color. There I am imagining flowers reaching over the tops of other flowers, mosquitoes chasing butterflies and ponds whose pristine surfaces only brake by the leaping of frogs and swimming tadpoles. While the difference is stark, I appreciate the seasons. They both have their wonders.
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Rising up further, we ascend to a point below Observation and Echo Rocks. Our goal is to continue between them. For now there is time to rest. In front of us is a perfect canvas. I itch for Kyle and Ben to continue climbing. For me, humans are the ink that tells the tale. They make images stand out more so than if there were no humans at all. Sometimes I wonder if I’d make a good nature photographer. My guess is no, at least not specifically. Becoming a slave to any one vision would be suffocating. My thoughts are stifled as I join the others in stuffing my face. I do so faster since time is shorter for me. There is never enough time.
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While the others break trail, I stay behind. The mountain, the peaks, the slopes, the sun, the texture and the rocky foreground make for perfect pictures. Now it is easy. This takes no talent. Am I just a photographer with a good camera or a good photographer with a camera?
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>>>>>CONTINUED
