Chapter 16. The Buddha Marmot Lives!
NOCA: A Daily Testament of Youthful Discovery in the Wilderness.
“It would be well perhaps if we were to spend more of our days and nights without the obstruction between us and the celestial bodies, if the poet did not speak so much from under a roof, or the saint dwell there so long. Birds do not sing in caves, nor do doves cherish their innocence in dovecots.” — Henry David Thoreau, Walden
July 24
The beginning of the end of my field biology internship in NOCA. Our last week of fieldwork is upon us.
Julia and I are finally going out into the field together. I am eager to hang out with her. I can feel change creeping into my bones. My stomach is aflutter, my mind hums away. I try and stay busy, packing carefully, cleaning Heather and my room. Heather left early for her trip with Amity to Hannegan Pass and will surely take in awesome views of Mount Baker. She will witness the great mountain that supports 13 glaciers.
Julia and I were scheduled to do field work near Cascade Pass and we were asked to perform point counts for Andy, Kurt and Rob’s project. We decided to spend the night at The Bird House and start our adventure the following day. I spent time cleaning, organizing gear and preparing for the long drive home. I stared at a road map for a long while, trying to plot a scenic path back to Clearwater, Kansas, where my parents lived. The preliminary route I devised included traveling Highway 101 south, cutting east to Boise, across the corner of Utah, into Colorado and finally across the state of Kansas. We considered driving all the way to St. Louis, Missouri to pick up our dog before heading to the Ozarks to float the North Fork River, where we were to meet a bunch of my old pals for a float trip.
Everything is unfolding, a whirlwind of change is blowing me away from NOCA. My life twists and turns, my sense of place is fading. NOCA will soon be in my rear view mirror.
July 25
Julia and I bummed around until it was almost too late to head towards our destination. I struggled to pack for two nights out more than I had for a seven day outing. We had no idea what lay ahead. After having a nice vegan lunch, we hopped into Julia’s Jeep named “Bob”. We listened to tunes as she flew up the Cascade River Road, at break neck speed. When we came around a sharp corner, an out of control mini-van slid directly into Bob. The mini-van had been making the turn poorly and it slammed on its brakes too late and skidded into Bob’s front left fender. The accident seemed to take place in slow motion. A gray haired man with long bushy eye brows and a dark tan emerged from the van saying how sorry he was. He slipped Julia a fifty dollar bill for the damages. There weren’t any noticeable damages to Julia’s already banged up Jeep, but she was happy to take the old man’s money. His plastic Plymouth Voyager didn’t seemed damaged either. No humans were harmed.
At the trailhead, we were greeted by a flock of day-hikers, but we weren’t too suprised; the day was perfect. It was a casual 3.7 mile hike to Cascade Pass. The clear sky and dazzling sun made the walk an absolute pleasure. Many folks struggled up the hill in their jean shorts, most of them in their fifties or sixties, though there were some thirty-somethings out with their kids as well. Everyone seemed happy to be alive; fortunate to be experiencing the wonders that NOCA had to offer. I am convinced that a week in the wilderness with a backpack on, would turn even the most hardened city folk into tree huggers.
At Cascade Pass, Julia and I reconsidered our plans. We were scheduled to camp in Pelton Basin and do a point count up the Sahale Arm in the morning. Pelton Basin was on the opposite side of Cascade Pass, when you hike in from Cascade River Road. We had heard rumor about a camp up the Sahale Arm, below Sahale Glacier. The hour was getting late, the sun was setting, we weren’t wearing enough clothes, but we knew we wanted to see that glacier.
Julia and I climbed the Sahale Arm in record time. Along the way, we glanced down to the round Doubtful Lake and were greeted by an animal that came to be known as “The Buddha Marmot”. That furry critter sat upon his fuzzy haunches in a patch of mountain heather, seemingly meditating on the setting sun.
“Even in the empty forest he finds joy, because he wants nothing.” — Buddha, Dhammapada
Near the apex of the mountain, the trail became less obvious and moved up a talus slope. We passed a young couple struggling on the shaky rock. Julia and I powered by them with good vibes on our soul quest. Where the scree leveled out, we were suddenly exposed to a mass of snow and ice called Sahale Glacier. We had to walk across the base of the glacier to reach our proposed campsite. The campsites at Sahale Camp were unique; each site sat on its own tiny mountain. We discovered two pairs of men with their own mountains already, but the most spectacular campsite remained for Julia and me. We anxiously skipped towards our home for the night, threw down our packs and gave each other a hug in celebration. We had made the climb and the magic of the sunset had only just begun.
The campsite was a flattened pyramid of rock and there was just enough room at the top for two people to sleep. To protect us from the wind, we squatted behind the rock wall that was about three feet tall and fully encircled us besides the tiny entryway. I was overwhelmed by the immense views. We laid out my poncho, put down our Therma-Rests and sleeping bags and decided to go tentless so we could watch the night sky unfold. To cook, we huddled around the stove because the breeze was so intense. Julia prepared bean burritos, which were packed with energy and goodness. We threw on all the clothes we had with us and huddled behind our wind block to stay warm while we worshipped our home for the night…This is it! Life at its very best. My heart is pounding with amazement. How could I get so lucky? I must tell the world about this spot, so we can save places like this, not only for the sake of human enjoyment, but also for the sake of all the plants, birds and animals too. Long Live The Buddha Marmot!
Julia and I hopped into our sleeping bags to watch the earth spin…We have reached the pinnacle of our experience in NOCA. We are lying at 7600 feet under the first star and the quarter moon. Sahale Glacier is 100 meters away; it is singing a lullaby. If more people could see this special place, how different things might be. To Julia, I said, “It is so great out here, it really is.” Julia responded from her tightly cinched sleeping bag, “It sounds nice too.” Life is grand in this amazing campsite. Down below, the calm Doubtful Lake drains into Pelton Basin, the place we were supposed to call home tonight. Fate and a whim drove us to this camp, three miles and 2500 feet up and now we are as giddy as children on Christmas, or Hanukah as Julia said.
The glowing moon gently crawls up and overhead, the wind rips over our barrier wall, white Sahale Glacier is to my right and beyond my feet is Stehekin. I cannot imagine a better way to spend the night. The stars are thickening above us. My mind races and I can’t help but think about driving back to the Midwest. Can I ever go back and be happy, knowing this is here? A scurrying glacial mouse dives into crags around our fortress, trying to find scraps of food we might have left. It is 10pm and the sun is painting a pale blue on the horizon. We will have a clear night without a tent overhead. It is only a sleeping bag and our tent rainfly over our bodies to keep in the warmth. I am so close to the stars, my heart fills. I could cry. Good night sky. Good night Heather. This place is intense, well beyond my scribbles.
July 26
As the night grew on, I struggled to find sleep. I would close my eyes for a few seconds and then pry them open to witness the magic taking place above me. The celestial bodies had become tremendous dots of light in every direction and formed many patterns. There was one particular star, right above our pinnacle that was the center of all the stars. From it, the universe seemed to spiral away. At that moment, the sky was an orb of eternity and I felt centered in space. I floated around in my thoughts, my senses on overload; I barely got an ounce of shut-eye. I saw hour upon hour go by, but didn’t mind a bit. At one point, I got warm enough to shed my rainpants, jacket and gloves. The wind’s whipping sounded like the ocean’s waves.
Towards morning, the breeze stopped and we were left with an intense silence, even the sizzle of the melting glacier stopped because it was cold enough for it to freeze. It remained clear and calm the rest of the night and daybreak came quickly with the sky turning light blue and orange across the jagged east. When we rose from our sleeping bags, a frigid gale arose. An amazing light show took place in the east. Julia and I packed up and said goodbye to Sahale Glacier Camp by 5:30am. All of our neighbors still rested on their own pinnacles of rock as we walked down scree, across the glacier and to our point about 1000 paces down the Sahale Arm. Clouds rolled over the arm ferociously; it looked as though there was a layer of cream cheesing being spread upon the earth. The sun hadn’t quite come over the eastern range, so it remained chilly as the wind gusted. We walked along the trail, through heather and rock, around tiny patches of sub-alpine fir and mountain hemlock.
I point counted while Julia did the vegetative analysis. Most of the birds I saw, rather than heard. It was exciting to watch the breeze for Oregon juncos, American pipits, pine siskins, fox sparrows and one lonely red-breasted nuthatch flew by my face, being dragged along by the breeze. The views became enormous as the morning clouds burned away; a few puffs of gray held tight to The Triplets, a jagged set of three peaks in the distance. I enjoyed traveling down the trail as the sun rose and melted the frost from the lupine and saxifrage. Marmots screamed into the morning air as we headed to Cascade Pass to hit the latrine, lay around until we would walk to Johannesburg Camp.
We hung out at Cascade Pass until humans began to crowd in, then we decided to move down to Pelton Basin, our camp that never was. Pelton Basin was a giant drainage basin in which much of the glacial water from the surrounding mountains flowed. In the basin, I scrambled barefoot on flat rocks and walked along the brownish mossy bottom of Pelton Creek. I had been dying for some water to play in, so I bathed in the nude as Julia hid further upstream, doing her own bathing. After my bath, I sunned on a big slab of rock that had fallen from Magic Mountain. It was fantastic to be surrounded by peaks, listening to the rush of a clear and frigid glacial stream. Further down, the stream widened and there was a giant meadow with boulders standing around like a herd of elephants. There were still four small snowfields in the basin and I was naked, about 100 feet from snow.
We eventually trudged up the talus slope to Cascade Pass, then through a stand of fir and hemlock to Johannesburg Camp. While we walked, we grew disappointed to be leaving the allure of Sahale Glacier behind. Johannesburg Camp was small and we would not be able to sleep out without a tent because of all the the psycho flies. We did have a massive Western hemlock neighbor and could hear the flow of a stream in the distance, but it was difficult to get over Sahale Glacier Camp.
We set up the tent and were close enough to Julia’s car to take a joyride down the Cascade River Road to a waterfall that I remembered seeing on our drive up. Once we saw the falls, we knew we had to sit and worship for a while, so we stayed for dinner. We had couscous on tortillas and enjoyed the spray of water from the falls. I stripped to my shorts and waded into a deep pool beneath the twenty foot cascade. The frigid water revived me as I washed and I screamed out with approval. A tiny rainbow was cast across the water.
After a filling meal, we lounged around and wrote in our journals. The sun inched its way behind Johannesburg Mountain. We ventured back to camp to lay down and through the mesh window of the tent we watched the coming of the night. The brilliant sun vanished, casting orange across the sky. Persistent bugs tried to find their way into the tent so they could snack on us. A few actually made it in while the doors were open upon entry.
I imagine Heather eating her dinner at Hannegan Pass. After this, she will be going back to school in Springfield and I will be going to stay with my parents in Kansas. How will it ever work?
Tomorrow will be the last day of field work for the summer. I am not happy to see this job end, even though I have dreaded it many a morning. I am going to miss the places these long transects have taken me; deep into the gut of NOCA wilderness. Camping at Sahale Glacier, bathing in Pelton Creek, showering in the cascading stream, the pain of trudging up a mountain with a pack on my back has been part of my job. I will miss it. I am afraid that I may never be happy in the Midwest again. To know that NOCA is here is enough to keep me constantly distracted.
July 27
I slept terribly at Johannesburg Camp and the morning’s work wasn’t great either. We slaved back up the switchbacks that led towards Cascade Pass and I did the veg-work as Julia point counted. I was miserable and had a bad attitude and I wanted to be done with vegetative analysis. We finished, in spite of my bitching and moaning and drove away from Johannesburg Camp, Sahale Glacier, Pelton Basin and the swarms of flies and people. Our time at Sahale Glacier Camp was impeccable; the hike, the sunset, the feeling of vibrancy under all those stars. My mind was on overload as I tried to sleep in the rock-built shelter on top of a tiny mountain, below a glacier.
Back at Marblemount, Julia and I were the only crew members around, so we discussed our options. We could hike to McAlester Pass, spend the night at Hidden Meadows and work Andy’s plots, or we could drive to Mazama to drink wine and chill by a stream. The answer seems obvious, but it was not. We struggled with our obligations and our tendency was to enjoy pleasure rather than work. The hike to McAlester Pass would have been nine miles. As we deliberated, we at tempeh with seaweed, zucchini, pasta and all sorts of vegan fixings. We enjoyed The Bird House and our backyard. Will came over and smoked some of his famous “goo buds” with us, which only added to our indecisive haze.
We ended up driving to Bridge Creek to begin the hike to McAlester Pass. After we loaded Bob with all the necessities, we headed out. The drive was nice, we listened to Utah Phillips, a folk singer, writer and anarchist that Julia was into. His words were put to the music of Ani Difranco. I loved all the poetic tunes; he seemed to speak my language. When we pulled into Bridge Creek parking lot, we were struck with a massive wave of indecision. We flipped a coin and the coin wanted us to hike McAlester Pass, but in our hearts, we wanted to drive to Mazama.
The quaint country store in Mazama was the best of all convenient stores. The smell of fresh baked cookies floated through the air, mixed with the scent of pine. I bought a Fishtail’s Mud Shark Porter, a roast beef sandwich on rye, a “Mazaman” cookie and I felt as light as a cirrus cloud streamed with yellow sun. I was more content than a drifting ponderosa pine cone, in a cold mountain stream. High above Mazama, the sky was passion blue mixed with gray gloom and the sun glistened from Motele Creek. We drove to the banks of the creek and took the day off. The water was smooth as it winded around a bend from our camp. I scrambled barefoot on rock and driftwood looking for a twisted porous piece of wood to carve with my knife.
As the stream rolled by, Julia and I sat on a blanket on the rocks and shared a seven dollar bottle of cabernet and deep conversations about the crew, about men and women, misconceptions preconceptions, childhood, adulthood, drama and love. I learned a lot about Julia as she did about me. We read aloud each other’s journal entries that we had written at Sahale Glacier and we were convinced that it was the best place to spend the night in the entire world. We polished off the wine and I finished my sandwich as the sun slid behind an approaching mass of clouds. We set up the tent in case of rain and each moved to our own private camp. I chose a group of massive cottonwoods as a roof and a patch of sand as a bed.
I am lying on my Z-Rest in the smooth sand near Motele Creek under a tribe of cottonwoods. The leaves are shadowed against the night sky. An angry ground spider threatens me and runs away when I blow in its direction. I can see the work of ants and I hope that I haven’t accidentally camped upon their home. We could be on private property, but it is ours tonight. Dark clouds are moving in and the wind carries the song of life to my ears.
I am tired. The last two nights spent sleeping out, resting very little because of all the excitement, has me worn out. Julia and I have gotten along great and I am happy to have spent some time getting to know her. She is a quality person and I have learned a lot from her. I appreciate her vegan lifestyle. She responds poetically to both tragedy and elation and she loves places of wonder, just like I do. This is the perfect end to my summer of struggle, strength, poetry and wilderness. The people have been as good as the lifestyle. I am anxious about my future. Life is a wild journey, worth living. Tonight I will sleep under these stars and tomorrow I will hopefully do the same. I hope to stay tentless as much as possible, what a great way to be up close and personal with the night.
Heavy wind. Cottonwood leaves stir. I rest.
Whispering to myself, in intangible silence. The roar of the wind.
Half moon. Cirrus gray clouds. Nighthawks swooping.
July 28
I woke in the darkness to the sound of raindrops splashing upon cottonwood leaves. I gathered my sleeping gear, turned on my headlamp and scurried to the tent as the rain began to fall. I opened my door of the Kelty tent and looked inside to see Julia doing the exact same thing, at the exact same time. We laughed hysterically and couldn’t believe the timing. It showered throughout the night, but we were happy and sleeping inside.
We woke to a cloudy vault of heaven; the air was cool and fresh with the scent of rain. The creek meandered by and we spent the morning shin deep in frigid water, wading and bathing. We remained streamside throughout the forenoon enjoying the slice of freedom we had created. We needed to point count for Andy’s project, so we packed up camp and headed to the Mazama Country Store for some treats. As I walked out of that store I had the feeling that I would not be back again for quite some time.
Julia and I drove to Bridge Creek Trailhead threw on our packs and walked into the woods. Neither of us wanted to hike. We had overly enjoyed our lazy time in Mazama and certainly didn’t have a nine mile hike in our spirits. In spite of how we felt, we trudged onward and walked about 1.5 miles, when suddenly clouds parked right over our heads and began to drop rain. We stopped to discuss aloud what we had been discussing in our minds. Julia felt obligated to Andy and wanted to help him with his project, but also wanted to drive back to Mazama and drink more wine. I didn’t care if we worked or not and thought we could justify our decision by heading to Marblemount to clean up The Bird House. The rain dripped from the canopy as we stood there amongst the salmonberry, with indecision written upon our faces. We hiked towards McAlester Pass, then back towards the vehicle and back and forth. It was maddening. Finally, I stopped the drama and decided we should head back to Marblemount and enjoy ourselves.
We made a pit stop at the Texaco in Marblemount, picked up some beers and produce for Julia to prepare a vegan meal. No one was home when we arrived. There was a stench coming from the fridge, the bathrooms were nasty and the carpet floors had not been vacuumed all summer. For a few hours, we scrubbed and strained to get the place cleaned up. Julia and I took a break and ate a vegetable stir-fry as we sat in the backyard. The sun was bright, my feet were bare and my belly was full.
As the sun sprayed its last rays of the day, Julia and I strummed guitars in the clean Bird House. We drank beers and sang many a song together. We burned candles and incense and filled the house with pleasing scents and our voices. I broke my pact to sleep outside, but figured my little white room might have missed me. I opened up the windows and let the bugs keep me company.
Read next…Chapter 17. Overdose and Emotion.
