Chapter 17 ~ Page 229
CHAPTER XVII
Mount Adams to Snowqualmie Pass
Unlike the sound of raindrops drumming against the panes of glass of a French door overlooking a sparkling rose garden; unlike the dramatic revitalization of a dusty desert soaking in life itself; rain in the Cascades is not a pleasant experience.
True, it is necessary to prevent forest fires, or sometimes put them out, and to nurture thirsty Douglas Fir saplings that grow to reclaim burnt over forests. But, due to the pattern of warm and dry "Mediterranean" summers in the Pacific Northwest, and a statistic of 50 to 100 inches of rainfall in the average year, it is obvious that there are weeks and weeks of cloudy skies and wet, drippy, weather, in the spring and fall.
Living in the rain is not at all as delightful as singing in same. Yellow slickers, so cute and efficient when worn by grammar school tots splashing their way for a block or so to catch a school bus, instead, become a cumbersome covering that merely prolong the agony of rivulets running down one's neck when it is necessary to depend on them for mile after mile in the saddle.
On the trail, each overhanging bush and bough, laden with droplets, instead of providing temporary shelter from the ever falling rain, become an obstacle to avoid. Touch one accidentally with your shoulder and a dam bursts. You notice a dank, organic smell, so different from a fragrant breeze scented with the perfume of wildflowers.
Also, when dark skies close in and obliterate the beauty of the colors of the forest and mountains, and panoramic views, it hardly seems fair that the cities, what with stop-and-go lights reflecting in the sheen of mirror-like asphalt streets, can be more visually exciting.
Our sunshine days came to an end just two days after leaving Mosquito Lake. We had only covered 60 miles in the last two weeks. Now we could look forward to "swimming" our way the last 400.
If all this sounds as if I am a pessimist about Washington's weather; if you are wondering, if we were wondering, if this trip was worth the misery—you are right.
However, those first days watching Tag, tag along, made the price we had to pay in delay, and the rains that followed, a bargain. We took it easy. Ten miles per day. Slow, yet full of fun.
Mount Adams to Snowqualmie Pass
Unlike the sound of raindrops drumming against the panes of glass of a French door overlooking a sparkling rose garden; unlike the dramatic revitalization of a dusty desert soaking in life itself; rain in the Cascades is not a pleasant experience.
True, it is necessary to prevent forest fires, or sometimes put them out, and to nurture thirsty Douglas Fir saplings that grow to reclaim burnt over forests. But, due to the pattern of warm and dry "Mediterranean" summers in the Pacific Northwest, and a statistic of 50 to 100 inches of rainfall in the average year, it is obvious that there are weeks and weeks of cloudy skies and wet, drippy, weather, in the spring and fall.
Living in the rain is not at all as delightful as singing in same. Yellow slickers, so cute and efficient when worn by grammar school tots splashing their way for a block or so to catch a school bus, instead, become a cumbersome covering that merely prolong the agony of rivulets running down one's neck when it is necessary to depend on them for mile after mile in the saddle.On the trail, each overhanging bush and bough, laden with droplets, instead of providing temporary shelter from the ever falling rain, become an obstacle to avoid. Touch one accidentally with your shoulder and a dam bursts. You notice a dank, organic smell, so different from a fragrant breeze scented with the perfume of wildflowers.
Also, when dark skies close in and obliterate the beauty of the colors of the forest and mountains, and panoramic views, it hardly seems fair that the cities, what with stop-and-go lights reflecting in the sheen of mirror-like asphalt streets, can be more visually exciting.
Our sunshine days came to an end just two days after leaving Mosquito Lake. We had only covered 60 miles in the last two weeks. Now we could look forward to "swimming" our way the last 400.
If all this sounds as if I am a pessimist about Washington's weather; if you are wondering, if we were wondering, if this trip was worth the misery—you are right.
However, those first days watching Tag, tag along, made the price we had to pay in delay, and the rains that followed, a bargain. We took it easy. Ten miles per day. Slow, yet full of fun.
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Text and Photographs © Barry Murray 1971-2007 Mac&Murray Multimedia