Start with a flashback: to Scotland, to the Isle of Skye and an attempted traverse of the Cuillins in 2003, a precipitous, ominous, and ragged range rising out of the North Atlantic and Loch Bracadale. There I was at the tender age of 20, standing on the knife-edge ridge top, jaw dropped and eyes bulging at the sight before me. The clouds had formed a perfectly flat, white surface below and the Highland sun was finally, thankfully, shining from behind. The sun cast my shadow across the soft, expansive canvas of cloud and from behind my head, in concentric rings, rainbows shone, expanding outwards into the sky. I couldn't believe it, I was stunned, caught off guard by the magical, majestic image; it was a dream, I was in heaven. I immediately thought to take a picture but stopped…it wasn't worth trying to capture something so spiritual and soul-shaking as that on a disposable camera; it seemed wrong, almost disrespectful to the experience and thrill of seeing it in the first place. So my mind took its own pictures and I soaked in the moment as best I could. I was sure that such a sight was only a once in a lifetime phenomenon…
When I saw my vision, as I like to refer to it, I knew I'd heard of something like it before, remembered having seen an image of something similar in a climbing magazine. So I looked it up; trusty 'ol Wikipedia had this to contribute: "A Brocken spectre (German Brockengespenst), also called Brocken bow, mountain spectre or glockenspectre is the apparently enormous and magnified shadow of an observer, cast upon the upper surfaces of clouds opposite the sun. The phenomenon can appear on any misty mountainside or cloud bank, or even from an aeroplane, but the frequent fogs and low-altitude accessibility of the Brocken, a peak in the Harz Mountains in Germany, have created a local legend from which the phenomenon draws its name. The Brocken spectre was observed and described by Johann Silberschlag in 1780." This amazing and breathtaking visual delight is also known as a "Glory," which is defined as: "an optical phenomenon that resembles an iconic saint's halo about the shadow of the observer's head. The effect is believed to happen due to classical wave tunneling, when light nearby the droplet tunnels through air inside the droplet and, in the case of Glory, is emitted backwards due to resonance effects." To be honest I'm not even sure what all that means; what I do know is what I saw and that it reached the core of me and has solidified Nature as my church forever more.
Now a flash forward: to last weekend, Sunday afternoon, January 20th, 2013–a decade after the Glory in the Cuillins–on the ridge top just off the summit of Hamilton Mountain on the Washington side of the Columbia Gorge; my new home turf. The late January/early February good-weather window, that long-time PNW'ers always spoke of, was in effect and I had been dying to get out in the mountains. The temperatures were crisp, the sky blue, sun bright. I was dealing with a couple small, early season running ailments and told myself I would take it easy on Sunday (after 23 miles in Forest Park on Saturday) but, of course, with the conditions like they were it was hard to enforce. After sleeping in and taking the first half of the day off, I simply couldn't help myself any longer, I needed to do something active…so I headed for the Gorge. I first thought to do a short and easy ~5-6 mile hike/run to the top of Angel's Rest but found myself speeding by the exit on the highway, wanting something new instead. My dear friend "Great Blue" (a.k.a. "the Hoosier") had been talking about Hamilton Mountain and I still had never been up there so that became the new objective; I made the call, crossed Bridge of the Gods and was on my way. By the time I bought the parking permit and was ready to hit the trail it was already around 3:15 and the sun was starting to get low (I had a headlamp in tow just in case.)
I wanted to just take it easy and see a new place: another dimension of the Gorge, another piece of the glorious puzzle, one more stitch of our rich, local natural tapestry. I'd just bought a pair of Kahtoola Micro Spikes (shoe attachments for gripping slick surfaces) and wanted to test them out too, so I was hoping for snow and ice up high but wasn't sure of what I'd get. Really I just wanted to be the mountains to stretch my legs and fill my lungs and have a little solo adventure on a Sunday evening; simple as that.
Off I went, leaving the quiet, filled parking lot to the violent, freezing winds and a banging, clanging Port-a-potty door. I had my trekking poles for a change and set off hiking fast and occasionally breaking into a slow run–the ultra-uphill-shuffle. As I said, I had never been to Hamilton Mountain before so this was a new experience, a totally fresh viewing. Every turn was new, every rock and tree and waterfall a new personality to get to know, every undulation and steep, spiny scramble a new palate to master, a new braille book to feel out. I passed many hikers coming down from their own adventures, heading home after their blue-bird day in the great wide-open. The trail was rolling and ascended relatively gently, climbing steadily but not too steeply from the parking lot to Hardy Falls and the Pool of the Winds. I chugged along, loving the full-body work of the trekking poles, making time toward the summit. I took a branch off the main trail after a spell on the way up and followed the narrow, exposed ridge line for a good section, climbing higher onto the craggy, upper flanks of Hamilton. It was dramatic and exciting–like the feeling you get when you think (or rather wish) you're somehow secretly being filmed for an epic biography/documentary on how awesome your life is in a certain moment, a.k.a. Facebook Syndrome. I was heartily thankful that the frigid, raging gusts were blowing me away from the cliffs that dropped off steeply to the east; I'd have been tossed over the edge to my death had the winds suddenly changed their direction.
The sun shone brightly as I ascended into the snow, into the zone of packed-out, slick white trail. I hadn't thought I was going to get to test out the micro-spikes but the conditions were perfect once I reached that point. I popped them on my shoes and kept charging, feeling strong and moving well through the thinning, scrubby trees. Clouds and fog forms blew wildly over the summit and the ridge to the north and all about in the big sky around. The ochre golden sun shine lit fiery the wild display of moisture being spun through the heavens and it was simply amazing. I stood on top of Hamilton and hooted and hollered into the wind; I was filled with the ecstatic chest-swelling sensations of a truly remarkable run/hike/adventure/outing. This one was extra-special I could feel it. I found exactly what I was looking for: a wild, snowy ridge top with icy, serpentine single track weaving along it. Alone. Sun-setting. Snow and wind blowing hard. Reminding me of all the good and important things.
As I ran along like a gleeful child, I caught something out of the corner of my eye: a bit of rainbow cast onto the cloud to my right. Then it hit me suddenly: The conditions must be right for a Glory! My heart leapt and the electricity seemed to surge in the air around me, pulsing through me chest. There was a little high point on the ridge off the trail and I quickly ascended it and stood tall and, just as I hoped, there it was. Yes! A decade later, from Scotland to the Columbia Gorge, a soul-deep, spiritual body slam administered once more. I outstretched my arms and leaned into the searing wind with an irrepressible perma-grin, then commenced making jubilant, animal-like noises into the blowing elements. The image grew more or less clear as the winds blew and the clouds and fog and light shifted but it was right there for me, clear as day. I stood for 5 minutes, literally bracing my body against the driving force of the wind's energy, and soaked in the spectacle. I thought of all those I know and love, all the people who allow me to be who I am and live where and how I want to. I tried to let loving, compassionate, thankful thoughts drift from my body into the collective wind.
I remembered how I wasn't even planning to make it out that day at all, how I might have just stayed in. I pondered the basic wisdom of how easy it is to forget the wonder and majesty of our own backyard, how we think we've got to travel around the world for once in a lifetime experiences when sometimes we can have them right here, just minutes away.
The heavenly vision filled me with such amazing energy that I wanted to run all night, to continue down that snowy ridge northbound deeper into the wild lands to romp with and raise a toast to fellow beasts and swim laps in the pool of Nature's pulsing flow. I even had my headlamp so I could have found my way but I remembered a sign by the parking lots that said the gate was "closed at dusk." My heart sank for a moment but hey, Hamilton Mountain ain't going no where and I got time to make it back, so I tucked tail and headed home, accepting the way of things.
I knew I would have many more beautiful adventures in the mountains. I knew that it didn't matter necessarily whether those adventures were domestic or far-flung; what matters is whether or not I make it out there, whether I decide to put myself in the game or stay on the bench. In order to experience epic and thrilling things–a soul-deep, body slamming so to speak–we must put ourselves in the position to do so.
In summation…No excuses. Don't wait for the next episodes of Planet Earth to see your vision…get yourself out there now. Find the perfect conditions and go see rainbows shooting from your head. It sounds crazy and it is, but you'll like it, I swear.
Willie McBride is a native of Chicago, IL but has been living in and exploring the American West since 2000. He attended the Colorado College, majoring in English with a focus on Creative Writing, solidifying his love of writing and his need for mountains. An avid hiker, climber, and trail/ultramarathon runner he now resides in NW Portland, close by the trails of Forest Park. He started a personal/group training and coaching business called Animal Athletics (AnimalAthleticsPDX.com) with fellow ultra runner Yassine Diboun in spring of 2012 and the two provide top-notch services to aspiring outdoor athletes of all abilities.
Add The Sports Daily to your Google News Feed!
