fools and englishmen

We have recently experienced what the NPR meteorologist described as a "classic heat wave," and it would seem that I am no longer the heat-tolerant--nay, heat-seeking--creature that I once was. A few days ago, Kendall and I set out with the dogs, thinking that forests and mountains would offer kinder temperatures than our house.

Excited by the prospect of the green stillness of an old-growth forest and a new perspective on the Twin Sisters mountains, we set off to explore the Elbow Lake trail. At the trailhead, however, we found a river impassable due to high water. The same was true at the Ridley Creek trailhead, just up Forest Road 38. July is the true beginning of summer in Washington and is therefore prime hiking season, but we're still on the cusp of it: the warm weather has yet to melt the snow on the upper trails even as the run-off it generates can complicate the hikes at lower elevations. Grumbling about the many long months without a proper hike, Kendall set off in dogged pursuit of views of the surrounding mountains, all confirmed by the Garmin, the compass, and the topographic map.

As I staggered up an old logging road in the late afternoon heat, however, I began to question the logic of our course. Unlike Kendall, I am not motivated by views alone, nor do I feel a compulsion to finish every trail I begin. Even under the best of hiking conditions, I am much more apt to lag behind, looking at unusual rocks or grasses or soil patterns, or to obsess over what might be a possible change in the weather. His persistance has led me to many more spectacular vantage points than I would have pursued on my own, for which I am genuinely grateful. On this particular afternoon, though, I was just hot. And tired of looking at trees.

Unfortunately, our best views that day came on the drive in; we chalked the experience up to a fact-finding mission and headed home. Nature breeds patience, no matter the season.