Mt. Shasta

Michael is pumping veggie oil at a restaurant in Mt. Shasta. We came up Friday and got our first ski in as the sun was setting and the snow was turning to ice at Bunny Flats. Without new snow there is a constant cycle of freeze and soften with every night and sun, so just a half an hour after losing the direct warmth of the sun the snow can have the icy slick sheen you see in this photo. (Looks like I downloaded the photos opposite of the time line....typical..)
A good thing about that night was that we could give a ride to Francisco, who had stayed too long to capture the pink last light on the mountain and then had no way down.
The mountain really does hold you in its orbit, I definitely feel that and our weekend was an example of it.
The second day we went across the valley to the west, up to Castle Lake, where devils throw moaning sounds up through the ice. We walked out on the lake where ice fishermen and people yakking along on snow shoes seemed at ease and I heard more stories of Michael’s youth. Between his adventurous youth and time in the Vietnam War, I don’t know how he made it this far but I’m savoring every day we have.
I thought about the people who have lost their lives on Mt. Shasta and I was glad we were ski slogging through manzanita later on Saturday after our logging road turned into a deer trail. We were way out on the fringed wooded collar of the great mountain and spent the night where we could appreciate the last and first light on its great northern face.
This morning we just did some crunchy snow walking without bothering with the skiis. We also made a loop through the Veterans Memorial off the highway. The last time we visited these powerful ant-like sculptures they haunted my dreams. I know we can never totally leave behind the things we fear: old age, death by accident, death by war, death by illness… I just appreciate being here in the voyager with the warm sun lighting the mountain, even if the snow pack is crumby and Global Warming is clearing the way for more things to worry about.
Now we head home for the stupor bowl.