Wenatchee Guard Station — Monday, Dec. 19, 2011

While most folks were busying about with work, family, and filling that oversized holiday prescription, I fled to my usual backcountry retreat. And as is typical, no other pilgrims took me up on my foolhardy offer; obligations are a powerful force this time of year. So it was me and the hound. Wenatchee Guard Station is located in the SE corner of WA, on the NE edge of the Blue Mountains. It has a commanding view the Snake River drainage, The Wallowas in Oregon, and The Seven Devils range in Idaho. The 16X24’ cabin was built around 1934 by the CCC. It features a kitchen, living area, and bedroom. There are three bunks and a futon sofa, sleeping 5 comfortably. Propane powers the fridge, lamps, cooking stove/oven, and a fireplace stove. The windows are tic-tac-toe wooden frames holding rippled panes of old window glass. The drive required about 8 hours (a neat diagonal) from Bellingham. This took me through some interesting high desert country of WA on quiet roads. To ensure an early start on a short winter day I stayed at a cozy motel in Clarkston. The drive to Cloverland Sno-park took another hour the next morning. I set out from the sno-park on an A/T ski outfit towing a pulk with 95 lbs of gear & supplies. Navigation was a little uncertain due to the spur roads being largely unmarked. I just stayed on the main snowmachine track, but this could be harder with a fresh dump of snow. After 90 minutes of skiing, Bodhran & I arrived at the cabin and unpacked for our 7 day stay. Bodhran quickly became acquainted with his stove-god. I was hoping for a storm or two to freshen up the scant foot of snow around the place, but only mustered a one-night flurry. We otherwise had to suffer clear skies and sun, with a waning crescent (& Mercury) in dawn skies, and Venus steeping in a rich gradient of evening color. The low was around 19 degrees most of the time. Each night the parade of stars would begin with Jupiter leading The Pleiades, Taurus, Orion, and Canus Major on their dark patrol. Sometimes coyotes would sing a dusky chorus nearby to herald the event. I once tried to steal audience outside, but a creaking door hinge foiled my stealth; I sprayed the door hinge with the only “lubricant” I could find, Raid fogger, but only repelled the sly coyotes; they never returned again. Precious winter, I tried to breathe it until my lungs hurt. Crystalline snow, hard enough to send shards of sun into my eye, shushed any sound. I shivered with the diamond-hard night for as long as I could, until fingers and toes tingled their warning, and then retreated to fireside. I am not animal enough for winter; my pink/soft ways have their limits, even with spun plastic garments and fire. I spent lots of time exploring about on skis, and on foot, sometimes sledding the nearby hill. I took a couple thousand photos, mostly time-lapse projects. The proper exposure for changing light in a sequence still causes me some trouble. More to practice. Otherwise it was water chores, reading, siesta, tea, and writing. I never had trouble with boredom. This trip gave me a chance to refine the DIN settings on my Dynafits. They were originally too tight and probably would have twisted my leg off at the knee like overcooked chicken. Some meager turns were found north of the cabin where the machines had not tracked. Sunrise was around 7:30, and sunset at 4. A mere 96 degree sweep of the sun separated the two for 8.5 hours of daylight. The stars were spectacular; a dazzling haze in the windows with a backdrop of midnight blue all night. Ursa Major became my cosmic time-piece in the window above my bed, spinning backward into the new day. Because of the marginal snow, I only saw 5 machinists over the 7 days, no contact though, not even a wave (they were probably crabby about the conditions). I love winter and quiet solitary time. Snow makes any picture 10 times more interesting. And Solstice darkness means I get more time to fraternize with the rest of our Galactic neighborhood. Very humbling stuff, including the morning indignity of sitting on the 19 degree privy seat (good thing it was not metal!). Retreat is a good word for the whole affair. In escaping the shrill script of x-mas, I traded the consumptive arts for an experience of quiet simplicity; a shameless consort with winter’s blue shadows, heartless cold, and vivid stars. I joyed in sunshine and played in the squeaky snow. I became reacquainted with the fire within me, its limits, and my need for external fire. But in the end it is about the experience; safely smuggling home a bit more of that gift of living on this splendid planet to nibble off of, and share with others. Happy Solstice! And as I’ve written before about this time of year: “We may turning the corner into winter, but it is ultimately toward the light.”