Chapter 17 ~ Page 230
Everyone wanted to travel behind Tag to watch her antics. She would stop to take a curious sniff at each brand new wondrous sight, kick out her heels, and run to catch up with Daisy again. At each switchback the horses leading our string would hurry around the corner so they too would be met with a whinny, coming and going, as Tag looked up to greet an Aunt Chiquita, or Uncle Jed.
Then there were numerous milk-breaks. We would travel awhile, and have to stop for a "milk break." Travel some more, and Bernadette would holler out "MILK BREAK," once again.
We also stopped for nursery-time naps. It wasn't necessary to tie the rest of the horses to keep them from straying. All of us stood in a circle watching Tag catch forty winks—perhaps while resting her head in BJ's lap—and horse and human talked in whispers, or not at all.
It was while rounding the point of a glacier of ice flowing down Mt. Adams that a chill wind from the west slammed into us without warning. I thought at first we were feeling the influence of the snowfields cooling what had been an over-warm day. Then I noticed that the ice, instead of glowing a chill blue from deep within, was radiating a fire engine red. And across the horizon a squall line suddenly appeared, meaning that a cold front was approaching.
Normally, in summer, a cold front on the Pacific Crest, moving in from the ocean at perhaps 10 miles an hour, will produce a spectacular show of clouds and a few scattered showers which soon pass. As this one swept in, Mt. St. Helens, off to our left, was completely out of view within seconds.
I hoped this storm would veer to the north to help the forest fire situation. The latest report we had on the fire had it reaching within five miles of the PCT. This figure had stuck in my mind as I knew five miles in a firestorm was a skip and a leap. To translate this to the view I was looking down upon, I started measuring the tide of darkness caused by the shadow of a wave of nimbo stratus clouds wash across a sea of forest. Good God! I calculated that this rain storm was approaching at about fifty miles an hour.
Overhead anvil clouds from warm air swept high above the mountain were forming a line of defense in what was shaping up to be a war of the worlds. Thunderstorms are rare in the Northwest, but are noted for their ferocity.
Here we were on an exposed mountainside with the risk of being caught in an electrical storm a distinct possibility. I wonder today what would have happened if we hadn't stumbled upon a shallow, grassy hollow that was ringed with prominent pinnacles and a few lone tall trees to act as lightning rods? The air was tingling with a current that sounded like the flight of thousands of bumble bees.
Then there were numerous milk-breaks. We would travel awhile, and have to stop for a "milk break." Travel some more, and Bernadette would holler out "MILK BREAK," once again.
We also stopped for nursery-time naps. It wasn't necessary to tie the rest of the horses to keep them from straying. All of us stood in a circle watching Tag catch forty winks—perhaps while resting her head in BJ's lap—and horse and human talked in whispers, or not at all.
It was while rounding the point of a glacier of ice flowing down Mt. Adams that a chill wind from the west slammed into us without warning. I thought at first we were feeling the influence of the snowfields cooling what had been an over-warm day. Then I noticed that the ice, instead of glowing a chill blue from deep within, was radiating a fire engine red. And across the horizon a squall line suddenly appeared, meaning that a cold front was approaching.
Normally, in summer, a cold front on the Pacific Crest, moving in from the ocean at perhaps 10 miles an hour, will produce a spectacular show of clouds and a few scattered showers which soon pass. As this one swept in, Mt. St. Helens, off to our left, was completely out of view within seconds.
I hoped this storm would veer to the north to help the forest fire situation. The latest report we had on the fire had it reaching within five miles of the PCT. This figure had stuck in my mind as I knew five miles in a firestorm was a skip and a leap. To translate this to the view I was looking down upon, I started measuring the tide of darkness caused by the shadow of a wave of nimbo stratus clouds wash across a sea of forest. Good God! I calculated that this rain storm was approaching at about fifty miles an hour.
Overhead anvil clouds from warm air swept high above the mountain were forming a line of defense in what was shaping up to be a war of the worlds. Thunderstorms are rare in the Northwest, but are noted for their ferocity.
Here we were on an exposed mountainside with the risk of being caught in an electrical storm a distinct possibility. I wonder today what would have happened if we hadn't stumbled upon a shallow, grassy hollow that was ringed with prominent pinnacles and a few lone tall trees to act as lightning rods? The air was tingling with a current that sounded like the flight of thousands of bumble bees.
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Text and Photographs © Barry Murray 1971-2007 Mac&Murray Multimedia