Diablo Lake

"I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling."

- Jack Kerouac, "The Dharma Bums" (1958)

We're a couple weeks away (Oct. 2) from the 40th anniversary of the formation of North Cascades National Park Complex here in Washington state. My own 40th is coming up in December, and PN's 40th was just celebrated (wildly) last Friday night. Interesting timing then, that found myself, PN, and RJ camping last week in a small corner of the NCNPC, nestled up in the mountains, just off the shores of Lake Diablo.

Just a few hours from Seattle, up the beautiful, scenic State Route 20 (the North Cascades Highway), the Park is a wilderness wonderland - kept so pristine partially by the fact that it has just the one highway running through it (good work there, Park people!) We weren't too far from Desolation Peak, on the far side of Ross Lake, where Jack Kerouac sat watch in the Forest Service Fire Lookout Station back in the summer of 1956 - producing the stories in "The Dharma Bums" and "Desolation Angels."

It was a brief, but much-needed respite from the city grind that all three of us love, but at the same time need to distance ourselves from now and again. To regroup. To reset the counter back to zero. To sit near a noisy creek in the dark of the night, the tall trees surrounding you, a million stars overhead, the smell of pine and fresh air - it brings you a little bit back into balance. It heals some of the aches and pains of living. It is a salve for the psyche. We camped for three nights, got in two nice day hikes (one to just below the appropriately named Pyramid Peak), and I swam in the chilly, glacial Diablo Lake - it's hyper-blue/green waters reminding me of the river Inn winding through Tyrol in southern Austria. Burgers and brats were grilled, much beer consumed, labyrinthian conversations woven around the fire pit, and once again a bit of tequila was passed around. We also had Guatemalan cigars to celebrate the recent addition to RJ's family - the wonderfully named Ziya Zappa. 

With all the beer & tequila, the cigars were a bit much and went right to my head. I quickly had to revert back to the liquid barley. No one's soul melted this trip, but the rejuvenation of the spirit was certainly felt by all three.

KJT - Diablo Lake & Pyramid Peak, North Cascades National Park Complex, WA (2008)

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Your Soul is Melting

"The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quiet, alone with the heavens, nature and God. Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature."

- Anne Frank, German Jewish writer/humanist (1929-1945)

Three friends, a few tents, large quantities of beer, and some of nature's northwest bounty.

One of the great things about Seattle is the close proximity to lots of interesting things to do. Within a half hour drive there is great camping, hiking, skiing, many lakes, the Puget Sound, beaches, parks and trails. A little further out and you can really get away. 

We loaded up RJ's van with tents, stoves, coolers, and chairs and set off for a quick camping excursion. We took the ferry across the Sound to Bainbridge Island and hopped across to the Olympic Peninsula and headed north. After a couple hours we found ourselves a great camping area a little way off the beaten path. It was high up in the Olympics above the Strait of Juan de Fuca. The weather was a bit chilly and foggy, but we didn't mind. It was just good to be away.

We woke up in the foggy, grey dawn and I boiled water for French press coffee. Sitting in the stillness of the morning, the enormity of the wild, the hot coffee warming the hands as the birdsong welcomed the new day was invigorating. We hiked through quiet, lush forests and up steep, rocky trails above the tree line. Skirted snow fields and tightroped along narrow ridges overlooking deep, wide valleys on either side. Deer Park to Obstruction Point and back - 15 miles round trip. On a clear day you could see across the Strait, past the shipping lanes, all the way to Vancouver Island, Canada. Vertigo and exaltation. The fog shrouded the mountains and gave the area a feeling of quiet solitude, of generations past, of forgotten times.

The nights were spent around the campfire. Cheap beer and expensive tequila were passed around. We talked of politics and of philosophy. We discussed passion, sex, art, music, and food. We spoke of books and movies and thoughts and dreams. We stared, mesmerized, at the fire until the logs burned down and the coals glowed hot. I noticed that P's shoes were too close to the heat and were beginning to soften. "Your sole is melting," I said to him. He stared dreamily into the radiant coals and nodded, "Yeah, man. My soul is melting." I began to laugh, and pointed at his smoking shoes. "No, your SOLE is MELTING!" I cackled. He jumped up and shuffled his feet in the dirt. We laughed until the tears ran. 

Long into the night we waited for the occasional break in the clouds to give us a glimpse of the myriad kaleidoscope of stars and planets. The heavens high above and the tall trees encircling us relaxed and cheered our hearts. A shooting star painted the night sky. Our souls were rejuvenated and our spirits cleansed.

KJT - The Olympic Peninsula, WA (2006)

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