Mailbox Peak

So after days of lazing around, reading my weight in books, swimming in the lake, ignoring the few calls that actually make it thorough the cell-dead-zone and trying to teach Dante to swim (more on that later...) I decided it was time for a little action. So I grabbed a day hike book, there were lots of choices, ranked from Easy to Moderate, Difficult, and five that were "Extreme". I'm sure you see where this is going...

I picked "Mailbox Peak" it sounded reasonable, after all someone apparently hauled an actual mailbox to the top (I would later think back on this moment and remind myself of the availability of small for-hire aircraft that were surely involved in that endeavor). The near middle age man who wrote the book made it up after all, and those guide books usually overestimate the severity of a trail, especially day hike guides. Don't want to scare kids or anything. Anyway, so off I went this morning, down a meandering, nothing of a little path that I was told led to this "Extreme" trail, I was met with the little picture to your left. They even gave it it's own structure, a roof and all...now I've been on some steep trails, things that I might label "extreme" and I'd never started out with an official warning sign. I paused, long enough to get the camera out. In case you can't read it, here's a summary "WARNING: Hellishly steep trail ahead, you will beg for your mother, we are not lying, don't be stupid, go get a mocha".

One word continuously crossed my mind about a mile past that sign, as I (I the non-stopper, who likes to see how high they can get their avg MPH on a decent elevation gain) stopped repeatedly to catch (more like reach for, grasp and haul back into my lungs with great difficulty) a breath. Even Dante, who has basically done everything but bounce off the walls thanks to my lethargic pursuits this past few days, stopped dragging me up the trail at that point. There was much to contemplate as I continued the climb, the first being why the hell didn't I get a bigger dog? Something in the semi-horse size, large enough that I could in theory and today in practice actually ride it. I also contemplated the sign, more specifically the passage that related to the commonality of rescue crews sent out for "Hikers in Distress", and wondered to my self, what defines "distress" because I'm pretty sure that I was in "distress" several times. I also decided that I was going to call that number on the sign, as a professional marketer they seriously needed some help in making that sign effective...warning my a$#. Still we climbed, over "stair" like tree roots that held straight vertical lines across my upper thigh (yes, that's what I mean when I say vertical, a little more than 1000 ft per mile vertical, brutally vertical, like climbing three stairs at a time for MILES). I also contemplated the meaning, or rather my personal definition of "recreation". Somewhere along the line that word apparently got confused with "punishment" because that's what I was in for today my friends. Oh but then, as promised, my sweat, dirt smeared gaze cleared the tree tops and my exact (aloud for all of no one to hear) words the moment I saw the distant snow capped Rainier were "Holy Shit". I stopped, it was breathtaking. This was the view a little higher still...


It was worth it. Totally. And then after some more candid moments (I'm sorry,these are cell pics, I even have video but I forgot my card reader so those will have to wait).

And then I learned one of the fundamental lessons in life. Something to do with gravity. What goes up, must come down. Unless it gets airlifted out via helicopter, unfortunately those were few and far between, and by that I mean none, and trust me, I looked. Hard.

Down...this is where the dog came off leash in a "dogs on leash" only area. I don't care who you are and how much you hate breaking any tiny little rule, anything larger than a baby mini-poodle on your leash and you would've unsnapped him too. What felt like near climbing for the past three hours now turned into a form of controlled falling. They call this stuff scree, I have a theory on that, the man who named it tried to scream and all anyone heard was the first part. So I skidded, clutched trees, hopped (unintentionally), and sometimes jogged (also unintentional) back down. Usually the down hill side is the best part of the hike, you look fondly back on the rigors that brought you to the top and the view that is your treasure at the end of the hard won physical rainbow and then you come down, it goes faster, things look prettier...not this hike. Within a half mile my calves and hamstrings were singing a merry "I-told-you-so" tune to my quads. My legs are still shaking and it's been four hours since I climbed into the car (oh how I love that car). Dante however loved this portion of our journey, free of me/leash, and taking full advantage of his two extra legs and the five+ extra feet lower to the ground he enjoyed pummeling down the cliff/trail and merrily chasing squirrels. I tried to keep track of him but within a mile and legs like jelly I shouted in his general vicinity (he sounded like a crashing bear in the woods, trees shaking, bushes shaking, squirrels chattering) that he could just stay up here with the squirrels (actually the statement was a little different, but I retain full editorial control over this blog so...) if he wasn't going to be any better of a hiking "partner" than this. Dogs.

After what seemed like hours, but was truly only a little over 1, I heard something and recalled the creek that marked the beginning of this epic little journey. I love creeks, really, as a general rule, but this one now holds a special place in my heart :-)

So now we're back on solid ground, Dante has not left his bed since he walked into the cabin and I'm sure that even though I'm in town away from him now that remains true. I'm searching for food like a bear in April...

I love hiking :-)