#this car climbed mt. washington

[sohannabarberaesque]

From the Home Office in Melrose, NM ...

The Top Ten Reasons Why You're Unlikely to See The Hair Bear Bunch at Clark's Trained Bears act in Lincoln, NH:

10) Their background including time in an ill-managed zoo 9) Scheduling conflicts over the bear mating season 8) The tone and tenor of their humour perhaps being a little too much for the more conservative New England taste 7) Risk for being seen as "unfair competition" in the ursine acting arena, with even Variety taking notice 6) The likelihood of the bears in the Clark's act having heart attacks when they see the madcap ursine trio formerly of the Wonderland Zoo 5) New Hampshire isn't exactly Malibu 4) Their preference for being more in northern Minnesota or Wisconsin, perhaps even in Montana at times, during the ursine mating season 3) Bubi's part of the act potentially crossing the line into ad-libbed raunch which would surprise especially the Boston crowd 2) Titus Moody and/or Earl Pitts likely being in the audience, and unlikely to approve of it when all is said and done 1) Imagine one of those "This Car Climbed Mt. Washington" bumper stickers on Square Bear's Invisible Motorcycle, let alone one for Clark's Trained Bears

With full appy polly loggies to David Letterman throughout

[newhampshireofficial]

"This Car Climbed Mt. Washington Bumper Plate" from the 1950s

[rustystars]

long shot but does anyone remember that art of a car with a million joke bumper stickers... it couldve been a photo but i'm like 80% sure it was a drawing. one of the bumper stickers was a This Car Climbed Mt. Washington sticker but like jokey. like this car fucked it or something like that. that's all i remember i've been thinking about it for weeks😭

[rejectedfables]

"this car climbed Mt Washington" this and "proud parent of an honor student" that. Tell me something exciting. Something new! What about "this car is an honor student" What about "proud parent of George Washington" What about "this car climbed a proud student" Where's the intrigue, where's the suspense

[chessentans]

Gets a tramp stamp that says "this car climbed mt Washington"

[johnhardinsawyer]

A Change is Gonna Come (They Usually Do)

John Sawyer

Bedford Presbyterian Church

2 / 19 / 23 – Transfiguration Sunday / Scout Sunday

Matthew 17:1-9

Exodus 24:12-18

“A Change is Gonna Come”

(They Usually Do)

“This Car Climbed Mt. Washington”

According to the number of bumper stickers I’ve seen that say “This Car Climbed Mt. Washington,” there are a lot of cars that have climbed Mount Washington in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.  On occasion, I have also seen a t-shirt that says, “This Hiker Climbed Mt. Washington.”  I tell you. . . I want one of those t-shirts – but only if I earn it.  Some of you might have earned both the bumper sticker and the t-shirt by now.  But I?  Well. . . I have ridden the Cog Railway to the top of Mount Washington, twice.  Does that count?

The more recent time I rode up the mountain, it was cloudy and stayed cloudy the whole time.  It was also raining sideways, which – from what I understand – is decent weather up there on top of the mountain.  But the first time we went up Mount Washington, there were thick clouds that were blowing through and all we could see were clouds.  And then, quite suddenly. . . poof!  The clouds blew away, the sun came out, and we caught a breathtaking view.  We could see for miles. . .

They– whoever “they” are – say that when it comes to the weather at places like Mount Washington, just wait five minutes and it will change.  But the weather isn’t the only thing that ever changes, as most of you know.  We are surrounded by change in the natural world.  We encounter change in our bodies and relationships, and in our ways of thinking, feeling, and doing.  Oh, and there is also change that can take place in our believing.  

No matter where we are in life, a change is gonna come.

Today’s scripture readings are all about change – change that can take us by surprise, change that leaves us breathless with wonder, change that we embrace, and change that we might not like.  

When we meet Jesus and his disciples in today’s second reading, a change has already taken place.  Just prior to today’s passage, Jesus’ disciples are feeling pretty good about life.  They have been traveling around the countryside with this amazing healer and teacher who has attracted crowds of people at every stop along the way.  They have just been to Caesarea Philippi, which is a place that is filled with the sound of flowing water because it is the source of the River Jordan.  Caesarea Philippi was, in Jesus’ day, a summer retreat from the heat of the city and it sat at the foot of Mount Hermon (which is the only place in present-day Israel where you can actually go snow skiing).  Anyway, as Jesus and his disciples sit in this place of lush vegetation, and flowing water, and shrines to Greek and Roman gods, Jesus asks them, “Who do people say that I am?” (Matthew 16:15)  To which Simon Peter responds, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”  (16:16)

This is a remarkable claim – that Jesus of Nazareth, this teacher and healer, this flesh and blood human being, is actually the Son of God.  To think that these disciples – common fishermen, and tax collectors, and merchants, and farmers from Galilee. . . regular folks – have been living with and breathing the same air as the Son of God is an amazing thing.  Their lives have changed, dramatically, since Jesus came into their lives and said, “Follow me. . .”

If I could imagine myself in their shoes, I’d feel pretty good about myself – called by God’s own Son to follow.  I would feel like I was part of the in-crowd – a coveted spot in Jesus’ inner circle – a much-sought-after position that all of the people who had recently been crowding around Jesus could only dream of having.  This would be the kind of thing that I would always want to stay the same.  I would never want it to change.  

But, a change is gonna come.  They always do.

Imagine the surprise of Simon Peter and the other disciples when Jesus tells them that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.[1]  This does not go over well with the disciples.  I mean, what would you do if the most amazing person you ever met told you that they were on their way to be arrested and killed?  

So, as today’s reading begins, a change has already taken place.  Six days have passed since this strange and terrible announcement by Jesus – six uncomfortable and awkward days during which the news has begun to sink in.  As the story goes, Peter, James, and John – whose lives and ways of thinking have undergone a lot of change (some of it welcome change, some not-so welcome) – are taken up a high mountain, led by Jesus.  Now, anyone who has climbed a high mountain knows that there are certain things that change as you climb.  The vegetation changes, the terrain changes, the air changes, the weather changes.  

In today’s story, amid all of these changes, an even more dramatic change takes place.  Jesus changes.  In the original language, Jesus undergoes a metemorphothe – a metamorphosis.  He is transformed – transfigured – before them.  The simplest reading, though, is that Jesus “changes in form”[2] right before their eyes.  Jesus’ face begins to shine like the sun and his clothes become dazzling white.[3]  

The Jesus that the disciples think they know so well – the Jesus who is a teacher and healer – can literally now be seen as the Son of God – walking and talking with two powerful figures from the past:  Moses and Elijah, symbolizing the law and the prophets.  “Could this even be real?” the disciples must have wondered.  The answer to this question comes quickly enough, in the form of a bright cloud and a loud voice, which says, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” (17:5)  “Just in case you’re wondering,” God is saying, “yes, here is the One for whom you have been waiting.  I am proud of him.  Listen to him.”

If we were to put ourselves in the shoes of Peter, James, and John, we might just be blown away by all of this.  The disciples all fall down, overcome with fear.  

You know, in this story, in which the most obvious change involves Jesus and his bright appearance, probably the most important change takes place in the experience of the disciples who love him and the way this experience changes their minds, and hearts, and fragile faith.  Here, the true identity of Jesus is confirmed by miraculous sight and sound.  And, as they lie – trembling – on the ground, the identity of Jesus is confirmed, yet again, when he reaches out, touches them, and says, “Get up and do not be afraid.” (17:7)  

It should be noted that with this gentle touch, Jesus is able to do what God has never really done before.  For example, in today’s first reading, we see Moses going up the mountain to wait for God to give the commandments which God has written for the people.  But God never reaches out to touch Moses.  It would have killed him.  The image of God in this story is so powerful:  “The appearance of the glory of the Lord was like a devouring fire on the top of the mountain.” (Exodus 24:17)  Moses enters the cloud and is there, with God, for forty days and forty nights.  You should know that partway through those forty days and nights, the people down below start to think that Moses has died – because who could survive up there with all of that fire and cloud?  But Moses does survive, carrying the commandments of God down the mountain with the understanding that if the people follow God’s commandments, they will be blessed.  This agreement – this covenant – between God and God’s people was something new in the ancient world, a change in how divine and human relationships worked.

But sometime between Moses up on Mount Sinai and Jesus on top of the Mount of Transfiguration, another change takes place.  They usually do.

In Jesus, we see God operating in a different way.  God knows that no matter what the commandments are, people like you and I won’t be able to fully follow them or live up to God’s expectations.  The people who received the commandments in the wilderness tried, but often failed, to follow them.  The bumbling disciples didn’t always get things right, either, even when they were right there with Jesus.  We don’t get things right, either.  This is where God’s unique grace and mercy enter the picture.  Where, before, God had said, “If you follow the rules, then you will be blessed, and if you don’t, you will be punished.”  Jesus is now saying, “You are going to break the rules, but my love is here to help you.”  This is where Jesus – filled with all of the holy power of God – reaches out and touches us, and tells us “do not be afraid.”  Do not be afraid, because God’s unchangeable love and mercy are great.  Do not be afraid, because Jesus is with us – God with us – in the flesh.  Do not be afraid when all seems dark and we cannot see the light.  Do not be afraid when the Holy shines so brightly that we have to shield our eyes.  Do not be afraid in the moments when everything changes.  Do not be afraid – no matter the changes that come.  

Because the changes will come, won’t they?  

Perhaps the most dramatic change that takes place if you ever climb a high mountain is that you have to come back down, at some point.  You can’t stay up there, forever.  You might remember that Peter wants to build some kind of buildings up on the mountain, but this suggestion doesn’t really go anywhere.  He might as well have just bought a bumper sticker that said, “These eyes saw something that can’t be described – something that can’t be proven to be true, and now I’ve got this bumper sticker to remember it.”

It is on the mountaintop where you and I might experience some great change, some great epiphany, some great vision, some great experience.  And then, we have to go home – or back to life down below – carrying the change in our hearts into whatever future lies ahead.  For Jesus, the future includes Jerusalem, and arrest, and death, and rising again on the third day.  For the disciples, the future includes watching all of these things take place and then going on to tell the wondrous story.  And for us?  Well, God sometimes gives us moments of bright clarity – mountaintop experiences – that are unique to each of us.  And, if we are paying attention in these mountaintop moments – or, at least carrying them in our memories – they can help us through some of the great changes that come our way.  They can give us strength when we enter the dark valleys of life through which all of us must tread at one point or another.  They can inspire us with something to hold on to when all else seems lost.  

You know, they (whoever “they” are) say that the only constant thing in life is change.  If you were to imagine the great changes that we have seen just in the past three years, it boggles the mind.  It also probably stresses some of us out, especially since we do not know what the future holds.  Change can do that, and some folks deal with the stress better than others.  

But I don’t believe that change is the only constant thing in life.  God’s powerful love is a constant thing, too, thepowerful love that is with us in every moment, offering comfort and saying, “Do not be afraid,” the powerful love that can change us – our hearts, and minds, and believing – so that we can be true disciples. . . followers of the One who came into the world to change everything, making all things new.  

Friends, may we listen for the powerful, loving, and transformational voice of Jesus – whether we are high on a mountaintop or deep in a valley – and may we follow where that loving voice leads, and not be afraid.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.    

-----------

[1] Matthew 16:21. Paraphrased, JHS.

[2] Walter Bauer, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1979) 511.

[3] See Matthew 17:2.

[transgenderer]

@sexhaver said:

"THIS CAR CLIMBED MT. WASHINGTON" bumper sticker right next to one saying "THIS CAR TRAVELED TO THE DEPTHS OF A NUCLEAR INTERNMENT FACILITY"

THIS CAR CIRCUMNAVIGATED THE GLOBE

im not certain but i think the tunnels here in the onkalo repository are like truck width. really like this image. driving a car down the biggest spiral ramp.... extremely good. i wonder what the lowest point navigable by car is. possibly a mine but maybe some sort of nuclear repository, i think a mine is more likely to have specialized equipment for getting stuff in and out

[jay4firefic]

Hi! I’ve been reading through your Buckeride fics and I know this isn’t on your prompt list but I can’t get the idea of long-distance Kelly and 118!Buck where Buck sends him postcards like he used to do with Maddie. Like imagine a post card with a pic of Buck and the first baby he delivers, or Buck mastering a complex Bobby recipe or screenshots of a daring rescue. And Kelly peppering his locker with all of these.

So this is definitely not what you requested, but it's where my weird little brain took me. 1200 words, Buck x Kelly. Buck copes with losing Kelly by hiking across the country. Kelly copes with losing Buck by reading his postcards and sending replies in the form of books. Fair warning, I haven't read all of the books mentioned in this but I'll get around to them eventually.

The first time Buck drops a postcard in the mail to Chicago is a generic shot of the desert, picked up for 60 cents in a tourist trap not far from the head of the trail. Buck prints the address of Firehouse 51 carefully onto the back of the card and spends the rest of the night agonizing over what to write on the rest. In the end he scrawls a messy 2,653 miles to go, wish me luck, and drops it into the mailbox outside of his motel without a return address - he doesn’t have one.

The second is a black-and-white reproduction of Ansel Adams’ Monolith, the Face of Half Dome tucked inside the front cover of the artist’s biography and shipped together in a package from the same post office where Kidd mailed his latest resupply. Yosemite was too fucking crowded. Ansel Adams Wilderness was beautiful though. Did you know he did a whole series on Manzanar, the Japanese internment camp? He was an interesting dude. Hang onto this book for me if you can, please.

His next care package contains a book - Only What We Could Carry: The Japanese American Internment Experience - and even though he hasn’t factored an extra book into his pack weight, he tucks it into his bag along with everything else. When he cracks it open in the fading light of a high altitude sunset he nearly chokes on a mouthful of trail mix. There, on the inside cover, is a note in Kelly’s neat-but-cramped handwriting, just like in every other book he’s ever gifted to Buck. Why do you always pick the most fucking depressing topics to take an interest in? Tell Kidd where I should ship the other 3 books about internment camps when you get off the trail, I’m never going to reread them.

Buck closes his eyes and tips his head up to the sky, staring at the wash of red and orange the sunset paints behind his eyelids until the sting that threatens tears fades away. By then it’s nearly dark - too dark to read, but not too dark to thumb through the pages to find the ones that are dog eared, the passages with stars next to them, the notes in the margins careful never to overlap with the text or images. He doesn’t open it again for almost a week, spends another few days reading it slowly, savoring the notes in the margins and writing his own in return. It’s the continuation of a silent conversation they’ve been having since the first time Kelly picked up one of Buck’s dog-eared, highlighted, scribbled-in books off of the nightstand and returned it to him with three questions and an opinion Buck absolutely had to argue with scrawled inside the back cover.

Except this time...this time Buck can’t read his commentary aloud to Kelly at the end of the day, or ask him to expand on one of the thoughts jotted down at the bottom corner of a page. This time he can’t talk to Kelly at all.

Instead he takes a selfie with the PCT mid point sign and then backtracks to hitchhike into town. He celebrates with a motel room, a shower, and a night in an honest to god bed. Pancakes at the local diner taste like heaven in the morning, he calls Kidd from a curbside bench with a beautiful view of the mountains, and he’s in too good a mood to question it when his feet lead him down the street and into a shop advertising printing.

He has two copies of his selfie printed. One goes into an envelope addressed to 51, alongside a postcard of Mt. Lassen thanking Cindy for the cookies and Mouch for the hockey themed wool socks in his latest resupply. The second he addresses to his old Kelly’s apartment. Thanks for the book. I think I’m going to visit Manzanar after I finish the trail - it’s only a few hours from LA. Maybe I’ll climb Whitney while I’m out there. Hey, did you know Lassen and Shasta are part of the Pacific Ring of Fire? The volcanic landscapes out here are awesome.

Buck almost doesn’t put the second envelope in the mail. He almost puts the book in a box and sends it to Stella instead. But in the end he mails the card, tucks the book deep into his bag where it will sit undisturbed but impossibly heavy with emotion for most of the next two months, and hitchhikes back to the trailhead.

By the time he makes his first stop in Oregon there’s another package: food, socks, a newspaper clipping of Truck 81 saving a little girl and her dog from an overturned car, and a book. Surviving the Stone Wind, clearly purchased used, the cover fraying at the corners and the spine cracked. Inside, beneath a faded note indicating it was once a gift for someone else, Kelly has written Don’t get killed by a volcano. That would be a stupid ass way for a firefighter to go out.

Buck sends a picture of himself from central Oregon tucked inside the cover of the book when he returns it, his handwriting a barely legible scribble beneath Kelly’s sharp letters. At least if I die in an eruption it’ll be quick. I’ve been thinking - there’s a lot of time to think out here - about how we would survive if the Yellowstone Supervolcano ever erupts. The answer is that we probably won’t, but if we did, living through the endless winter afterwards sounds pretty nasty. You know how I hate to be cold.

I bought more hand warmers for the emergency kit, Kelly replies, weeks later, from between the pages of a book about Yellowstone. But I think you’re right. I’d rather go in the explosion.

Buck has another hiker take a picture of him on the Bridge of the Gods, smack in the center of the Columbia river, and scrawls on the back of two copies before sending them off in the mail. The Columbia used to have the largest Salmon run on Earth. I never realized how much we’ve fucked up the environment before spending all this time out in the middle of nowhere. Not that the trail is even the middle of nowhere - thousands of people walk every part of it every year. I wonder what it all looked like before we colonized the West.

The Organic Machine: The Remaking of the Columbia River gets to Buck when he’s a couple of hundred miles into Washington. He flips the cover open eagerly, touches his fingers to the only form of communication he’s had with the love of his life in months. Seems like people have been changing the environment out there since long before white colonizers showed up. They just made it a lot worse. This isn’t going to be one of your “if I had a time machine” obsessions again, is it?

If I had a time machine I’d only go back 10 months, Buck writes inside of the cover. He shoves the book deep inside of his pack, beside the first, and mails back a generic postcard of the Cascades instead.

[thehikingviking]

Boundary Peak & Montgomery Peak from Queen Canyon Trailhead

Memorial Weekend was approaching and I wanted to plan a family trip up a noteworthy peak. Believe it or not, I actually caught Asaka perusing Peakbagger one night. She was looking at state high points. She already has climbed the high points of California, Hawaii, Oregon and Washington (in addition to the high points of Mexico and Japan), so it made perfect sense to climb the high point of Nevada next. I had put off this peak for no good reason, so now I finally had enough motivation to write this one down on my official calendar. Also in the nearby vicinity of Boundary Peak is Montgomery Peak, which I needed to climb as well. I studied the distance, elevation gain and difficulty of the two peaks and came to the conclusion that I would be able to carry the baby to the summit of Boundary Peak, but it would not be prudent to continue to Montgomery Peak with the baby. Since Asaka was mostly interested in the Nevada high point, we agreed that I could leave the baby with her on Boundary Peak, and she could get a head start and carry Leif down the mountain without me. The second major challenge was how to manage the long drive. Our solution was to break it up in segments. We planned to lay over one night at my family cabin in Sonora. Our second night we planned to stay at Benton Hot Springs, stopping along the way for lunch and a short hike. Our third night we planned to camp near the trailhead at Queen Canyon Mine after doing a few short hikes in the greater Benton area. For the sake of completion, I will include a short summary of these small side hikes in my trip report.

I sent out some feelers to some prospects that I guessed would be interested. Brett Marciasini, Scott King and Sean King took the bait. I then extended the invite to some of my non-hiking friends Brian and Zach. I refer to them as my non-hiking friends not because they don’t hike, but because our friendships started from working at Texas Instruments at one point in time. They have been projects that I have been sculpting over time in the effort to develop new hiking partners. This would be a good test for both of them, as I planned a hybrid dirt bag weekend. While I usually take care of most of the specifics with regards to preparation, this time I felt they were ready to take on more responsibility, such as managing their own food, lodging and transportation. This new freedom would allow me to focus more on my wife and baby.

After our first night in the cabin, we drove over Sonora Pass and then down Highway 395 to the Mobile Mart where we had lunch. There was an easy peak called Sagehen Peak referenced in Andy Zdon’s book “Desert Summits” that I wanted to climb. Good dirt roads took us to the Sagehen Saddle, located less than a half mile from the summit. We possibly could have driven up to the summit, but we were all a little restless from riding in the car and we wanted to get some fresh air. After a short walk up the sandy road, we found a rocky outcropping that required a short, easy scramble. It was easy enough for me to climb with the baby in my arms.

Off towards the east were Boundary Peak, Montgomery Peak and Mt Dubois. A late season storm struck the Whites a week prior, and there was a little more snow that I anticipated.

To the north was Mono Lake.

It was a nice little peak, and we rested awhile on top, but there was a slightly higher summit called Crooked Benchmark to our west. We started back down the road so I could get started on the bonus peak.

A twister swirled through the forest on this calm and sunny day.

Zach decided to join me for Crooked Benchmark while the others waited at the car. I didn’t even bother putting on my hiking shoes expecting an easy walk up, but we soon found ourselves bushwhacking through willows. Zach decided early on that this was not fun, and smartly made the decision to turn around. My obsessive compulsiveness had me push forward, but it was rather unpleasant. I kept thinking that the brush would abate, but it remained consistent almost all the way to the top. I found a register at the summit and I had a good view of the Sierra Nevada.

I didn’t want to retrace my steps back down to the car. I walked to the ridge and yelled down at the others to pick me up on the south side of the summit. I don’t think they were able to understand me. I also sent a GPS pin to Brian, but received no response so was unsure if he got it. The southern slopes were much easier. I dealt with some sage brush scratching my shins, but this was a minor inconvenience. I walked out the road, and I eventually found the others parked where I left the pin. We then drove to Benton Hot Springs where I checked in for the evening. We barbecued on Zach’s grill and drank some beer.

I felt a little awkward since Zach and Brian would be left on their own to camp in the desert while Asaka, Leif and I had reservations at the historic inn. I booked the last available room and there was simply no other option. I drove them to a flat tract of BLM land and apologized. Zach responded by stating something along the lines of, “Are you kidding me? This area is incredibly beautiful and we are happy to stay here.”

It was beautiful as dusk descended upon the snow covered Boundary Peak and Montgomery Peak above. I no longer felt guilty. Leif was sleeping when I returned, so Asaka and I snuck out to enjoy the hot springs.

Montgomery Peak was visible from our tub.

The next morning we regrouped at Benton Hot Springs and awaited the arrival of Brett and the Kings. After a round of introductions, we followed Yellow Jacket Road south through the Benton Paiute Reservation. I turned left on a 4WD road I spotted from satellite view and the topo map. We planned to hike from here, but I decided to see how far I could drive. Scott was a little less zealous about driving up the road than I was, so he and Sean piled into Brett’s truck and they followed me. With a great deal of patience, we made it almost the whole way up the peak. We parked at a mine in between Blind Spring Hill and Diane Peak.

It took us all but five minutes to reach the to of Blind Spring Hill.

To the southwest was the Sierra Nevada.

To the west was Glass Mountain Ridge.

To the east were Montgomery Peak and Mt Dubois.

To the southeast was White Mountain.

While the peak was “just okay”, the summit register contents were a treat. Scraps went back to 1966.

The refurbished book was a standard Gordon Macleod and Barbara Lilley register, which is almost a standard for all the arcane desert peaks throughout the southwest.

One of the early signatures was from Andy Zdon, the author of “Desert Summits”. If was solely because of his book that I decided to climb this peak in the first place. 

In addition to Blind Spring Hill, there are six other named summits in close proximity along this ridge. These little peaklets were most likely named because of mining claims, and are hardly peaks at all. Since we had a full day ahead of us, we decided to only climb Diana Peak as a bonus peak, as this was less than a quarter mile from our car. 

The little bump was not much of a peak, but allowed us to pad the stats. 

We walked back down to the car and drove back to Benton. We were ahead of schedule so we decided to visit Trafton Mountain and Antelope Mountain just north of town. I led the way with my Jeep, but unknowingly made a big navigational error. There is a very good 2WD road that follows a powerline that crosses over the saddle between Trafton Mountain and Antelope mountain, but I somehow missed it. Instead, I led the group up a rarely driven 4WD road. It was incredibly rough and sketchy in parts. At one point we had to get out of our vehicles to move a fallen tree.

I was relieved to finally reach the better powerline road, but I was a little ashamed. We wasted a lot of time and mental energy dealing with that section of road. Asaka and Leif decided to skip Trafton Mountain and instead ate some lunch. We left them in the shade and started hiking towards the peak.

We hiked southwest up sandy and rocky slopes. It was a little too warm for my liking. Brian ran into a little issue when he kicked a cactus with his finger shoes. It took us about an hour to reach the summit.

We were again blessed with another Zdon signature in the register.

One the way down we found the remains of a deer.

Brett had a go at it, ripping the head clean from the still attached leg.

Brian was a little surprised to see us admire the carcass with such enthusiasm. I told him that dismantling dead animals is what white people do for fun.

We found sandy slopes on the way down. In the end it was a 2.6 mile outing.

Once reunited with Asaka and Leif, we got back in the car and followed a spur road all the way to the summit of Antelope Mountain. There were several structures on the summit. To the west was the salt flat called Antelope Lake.

To the south was Trafton Mountain.

I was mostly satisfied after 3 summits from Andy Zdon’s book. We drove back to the freeway following the good road this time. The difference was night and day. After filling up gas in Benton, we drove into Nevada, then took a right on Queen Mine Road. We spotted a Mustang in the canyon below Mustang Peak.

We stopped at Queen Mine where we decided to spend the night. We considered camping at the Queen Mine Trailhead, but settled on this location because it offered wind protection. Also, it was a really cool spot.

We spent the next few hours grilling Brett’s self-killed Bison, drinking beer and listening to music by the campfire. Sean and I thought about heading up Mustang Mountain, but in the end I decided against it, feeling a little worn out from earlier.

The next morning we drove the remaining mile up the road to the Queen Mine Trailhead. My Jeep and Scott’s 4Runner had no problems with the road.

I told everyone not to wait for me, since I would be slow carrying the baby. Asaka picked up Leif and then left me! That message wasn’t meant for them.

I organized some last minute things then started off at 6:45am.

The trailhead is at 9,800 feet, which is pretty high. I spent the first mile or so focusing on breathing. Asaka thankfully waited for me and we hiked in unison.

It felt like a Martian landscape with the moon setting above the desolate terrain.

There was a really good trail climbing up the ridge. A lone deer watched me as I slowly lugged my payload uphill.

Even with my extra weight, I passed Brian early on. I hoped that this hike wasn’t too much for him. After a mile, Boundary Peak came into view.

T'was a lovely family day.

The trail stayed flat for 1.7 miles until Trail Canyon Saddle. Brett, Zach and the Kings were already way ahead of us and out of sight.

To my pleasant surprised, we ran into a herd of mustangs.

I think one of them was pregnant. There were several foals among the herd.

Brian paused for a while to photograph the ungulates.

We stopped for Leif’s breakfast along this flat portion. Maintaining his schedule is very important, even if it means falling further behind the group. He ate his blueberry oatmeal and banana without a care in the world. I was concerned since Brian hadn’t caught up to us by the time Leif finished his breakfast, but my priority was with my family. We continued all the way to Trail Canyon Saddle.

The fun part was now over for me. From here on out, I had to put in the work. The route continued steeply from here on out, but this was made easier since the trail remained underfoot. I finally spotted Brian down below and by all indications he was continuing. Across the saddle was Trail Canyon Saddle Peak. I hoped to tag this bonus peak on my return.

The false summit of Hosebag Peak was a little deceptive. It would have been worse if I didn’t expect. It was a little demoralizing to know that I still had to climb 1,000 feet from here, but it was still early and I was making good time.

Love.

The trail stays atop the ridge. The snow caused no impediment.

The ridgeline became more serrated and the trail eventually petered out. There are class 2 ways up from here, but if one is not paying attention, they can easily find themselves on class 3. 

I could spot Sean and Zach on the summit from below.

Asaka chose a lower route while I stayed closer to the top of the ridge. I felt like we were going slow, but then I spotted Brett and Scott not so far ahead of us.

A light trail reemerged higher up the mountain. I worried that Sean and Zach were waiting too long for me on top. I worried that Brian wouldn’t make the summit.

I had to cross some soft snow as I neared the top, but this was not a challenge. Montgomery Peak finally came into view beyond.

We reached the summit at 10:45am, four hours after we started out.

I unloaded the baby, inadvertently waking him in the process. Hey bud, welcome to the high point of Nevada.

Sean had been waiting on the summit for over an hour. He beat Zach by 20 minutes. Brett and Scott were only about 10 minutes ahead of Asaka and me. Brian was still nowhere to be found. I texted Brian and told him that he had a 1pm turn around time, and I told Scott to tell Brian to turn around if he had not made the summit by that time. I relieved myself of baby carrying duties and let Asaka take care of the rest. Brett, Sean, Zach and I turned our focus to Montgomery Peak. We dropped off the mountain and hiked towards the saddle where we crossed the California and Nevada border.

We had read a diverse set of claims from various trip reports and weren’t quite sure what to expect. In the end, the traverse was mostly class 2 with some easy class 3 and a few sections of loose rock.

We hiked mostly on top of the ridge, but in the places where the ridge became sharp, we stayed underneath the left side. The route finding was very easy and well placed cairns but and end to any doubts.

A lone climber passed us on the final stretch. Once on the summit we introduced ourselves and I learned that he went to my same climbing gym in San Jose. To the north were Mt Dubois and White Mountain.

To the southwest were Benton Point and the Sierra Nevada.

Way below us to the northwest were the diminutive Trafton Mountain and Antelope Mountain. Beyond that were the high peaks of Yosemite and a sliver of Mono Lake.

Way off to the north were Mt Grant and Walker Lake.

To the northeast were the Volcanic Hills and desert wasteland.

To the east ran Middle Creek Canyon.

The conditions couldn’t have been better. On our return, we decided to pick a route staying along the top of the ridge. Brett, who was a little nervous of the ridge traverse at first, mastered this knife edge section and proved to all that he is a master scrambler.

-Middle Creek

Our remaining group was gone by the time we reached Boundary Peak.

We took only a short break here before descending back down. Brett and I stopped to bag Hosebag Peak, which stood just a few minutes off the trail. Sean already did this on the way up, and he had his eyes set on the bonus peak Mustang Mountain on the other side of Queen Canyon Saddle. Zach didn’t seem to care about any more bonus peaks and simply continued down.

From Hosebag Peak, we followed the trail down to Trail Canyon Saddle.

Brett and I then marched up barren slopes to the summit of our last bonus peak for the day.

The views from the summit were sublime.

From the summit, we continued down the ridgeline until we naturally intersected the trail.

I left Brett somewhere along this off trail section and began a powerwalk once I reached the trail. 

I soon caught up to Brain. I was thrilled to learn that he made the summit before his turn around time. He seemed to be having a great day.

I was surprised to catch Zach next. He was seriously feeling the altitude. I bade him farewell and continued ahead. Asaka and Scott just barely beat me back to the car. I was happy to see my wife and baby happy and in one piece. Apparently Leif spotted a herd of deer and pointed them out to the previously unaware Asaka and Scott.

Brian finished the hike at the same time that Sean came back from Mustang Peak, so timing was perfect. After some hydrating, we all hopped back in the cars and drove back out to Highway 6.

Once on pavement, we said goodbye to the Kings who had High Sierra plans later in the week. The rest drove back to Lee Vining for dinner. Asaka was tired and the baby was fussy, but things got better once we all got some dinner inside of our bellies.

After dinner, we found a dirtbag spot just outside of Bridgeport where we spent the night. We planned to climb South Sister in the Sweetwaters the following day before driving back home to the Bay Area.

[sohannabarberaesque]

Another poll, as long as it's on my mind

[thehoneybuzz]

Ashes to Ashes

Before April 23rd, I had never seen Mount St. Helens. She was a legend from my history textbooks - a harbinger of dark skies and an earth shaker. The Yakima Indian tribe calls her Si Yett, meaning woman. According to tribal mythology, the Great Spirit placed Si Yett between the battling brothers, Mount Adams and Mount Hood, to protect the region. Like other legends, Helens is a great marker of time. The question of, "Where were you when…" elicits memories as vivid as the glint of the glassy snow I found on her peak. 

After her eruption, some thought the world was ending. Observing her crater, her jagged peaks, and the ribbons of steam issuing from her, still - silent reminders of her violent potential - you are struck by her serenity as well as her power. Her allure is not a mystery, and it is that allure which called to me.

I thought she would make a perfect beginning. With peak elevation at 8,366 feet, she doesn't quite make the top 10 list of Washington's highest summits. Even at her tallest - 9,677 in 1980 - she only ranked at number five. Despite her diminished proportions, her treachery remains in her grade. You gain one thousand feet of elevation over each mile which makes her a formidable challenge. It was just the challenge I was looking to find. 

I packed and repacked gear, reviewed chapters on ice ax use and cold-weather layering in the Mountaineering Bible, and streamed endless hours of online videos in preparation. I hoped that all of this, in addition to my physical training, would be enough. I would be climbing my first mountain, and I would be facing the challenge alone. My companion was another inexperienced climber, and in conquering Helens, I would be solely responsible for my success - or my failure. 

Alone isn't something I'm afraid of - there is something to be said for self-sufficiency. My self-reliance has taken me to beautiful and terrifying places, unlocking the world in ways I couldn't anticipate. Being prepared, however, is critical. 

In aviation, before each flight, you inspect your airplane. The procedure never changes. Check oil, check gas, wings, ailerons, flaps, luggage compartment, rudder, elevator, wheels, brakes, antennas, lights, avionics. At this point in my flying career, the movements are automatic. I'll never forget the words of my first instructor, who told me, "You never want to be in the air wishing you had checked something on the ground. If you can be proactive, you should be. It could save your life." 

I took the lesson with me into mountaineering as I obsessively cycled through my gear list. I knew I was ready. So why did it feel like something was missing? I searched myself for answers. Charlie, our dog, sensed my impatience and rolled over on top of my neatly organized gear - adding a collection of his hair to my merino wool base layers. I laughed as I knelt to scratch him.

"Extra protection," I thought. 

That's when it hit me. 

Growing up, I lived on 20 acres adjacent to miles of preserved natural land. I spent most of my childhood with a book, a pocket knife, and a dog exploring the wilderness behind our home. It's where my love of nature was born. Jake, our family dog and a legend himself was my eager companion. 

"You can go wherever you'd like..." my mom would say as I packed a lunch for the day, "... so long as you bring the dog."

Jake was freedom, a good listener, and a ready companion. He was our protection. When my parents told me they'd be dividing our land and developing a new housing community, I mourned for myself, but I remember thinking what would happen to Jake. Had my parents forgotten him in their grand planning? I didn't know how he would survive in a shrinking world. 

It ended up not mattering much. My mom and step-dad divorced before the development took off. My brother, mother, and I moved into a one-bedroom apartment, and we took Jake with us. I was right to be worried about shrinking worlds but underestimated the magnitude. 

As I agonized over my lost home, Jake took on a new kind of protection. A constant in the raging sea of our changing lives, he remained steadfast. Unbothered by his changing condition, his fur caught my tears, and his ears caught my troubles. As a family, we rebuilt our lives. 

Jake held on for years for us, but after his hips went to the dysplasia typical of his breed, he simply couldn't hang on anymore. He let us know it was time - another one of his great mercies - and we did right by him. We lost our best friend that day. For all the space I thought he needed, what he wanted most was to be in our arms. That is how Jake left the world. If love could have saved him, it would have. 

No one quite knew what to do with his ashes. At first, it felt too soon. Having to say goodbye again so shortly after his loss seemed impossible. So Jake's ashes went into a cupboard, and there he stayed for 15 years. No moment or location ever seemed quite right. 

We had to move several boxes to find him. I remembered the sound of his collar as I gently divided his remains, securing a healthy portion rather unceremoniously in a ziplock bag. It was decided. I was taking Jake to the top of the mountain - My protector.

When I made it to the summit, I sobbed. I was overwhelmed at the release I felt - making those last few steps and revealing the world in all her glory. Mount Adams feels so close you truly feel as if you can reach out and touch his peak. The cornices that form atop the crater's edge tempt and terrorize you as you long to peek over their precarious ledges to view the scenery below. Rainier - invisible behind the peak - comes into view so sharply and suddenly that it shocks you. I don't think I'll ever be able to describe the peace and power you find at the top of mountains. 

As I took Jake's ashes from my pack, I looked up to find a group of skiers summiting behind me. I gasped out loud when I saw their companion. They had brought their young yellow dog - a ghost of Jake - to the summit. The dog smiled at me and came over.

I couldn't hide my tears as I buried Jake's remains in the snow. He had waited so patiently and so long to be back in nature. Putting him there felt almost spiritual. Ashes to ashes as two legends and mythical protectors - mountain and dog - laid together. Through tears, I shared my story with the group. Pippin, their lab, licked my ungloved hand as the alpine sun dried my tears. We toasted summit beers to mountain dogs and took off down the slope together. Having protected me one more time, Jake lay at rest on the summit at last. 

This June, I'll attempt Mt. Baker, and Jake will be with me again. It's been so many years since his passing; I was shocked at the depth of my emotions as I kneeled with his remains in the snow. I know rationally that his ashes add weight to my pack and don't offer any 'real' safety. You can't burn them in the cold; they don't purify water or offer sustenance. They are frivolous from the rational perspective. Yet, I can't imagine a summit without him. 

Growing up, I wanted a dog so badly that I gave my mom a PowerPoint presentation about why I deserved one. It's the irrational I'm interested in now. Knowing that when I needed him most, Jake was within arms reach, ready to guide me home. 

I honestly don't know if this is a story about mountains or a story about dogs. If it's a story about mountains, I could describe how every moment spent on the descent, I marveled at the beauty of the natural world. If it's about dogs, I could tell you about the two wet noses that welcomed me home: Sophie, my perfectly round Beagle with soft ears, and the sweetest hellos. Charlie, my foster fail, who, despite having been hit by a car as a puppy, approaches each day with an unrivaled sense of enthusiasm and joy. His love for life has reached me even in my darkest moments. Many happy years remain before I carry them up the summit, and for that, I am grateful.

By the time my feet hit the pavement of the trailhead, I could wring out my socks. They had been drenched in melting show. I was happy and exhausted. It struck me again how the world keeps turning even in those surreal moments when time appears to stand still. Our descent had been complicated - but proved I could endure difficult things. I sang as I removed my boots and smiled, leaning against the trunk of my car. I looked up at the mountain - invisible in the evening mist - that I had just conquered. 

Mountains and dogs, I thought. A girl doesn't really need much else. 

[itracing]

Travis Pastrana's Record Run Mt. Washington Hillclimb

Subaru Motorsports USA driver, Travis Pastrana, set a new record of 5 minutes 28.67 seconds at the 2021 Mt. Washington Hillclimb on the way to an overall event victory at the wheel of the Airslayer STI, his 862-horsepower Gymkhana 2020 Subaru WRX STI.

The new mark cut more than sixteen seconds from his winning time from the 2017 running of the event up the narrow, steep and treacherous 7.6-mile Mt. Washington Auto Road. Pastrana blitzed the mountain to set a time that was over 45 seconds ahead of the second-fastest competitor.

The Mt. Washington Hillclimb, traditionally held every three years, is one of the most challenging motorsport events in the United States and the oldest hillclimb in North America. In addition to its long history, the tallest mountain on the East Coast brings famously unpredictable weather and a mixed-surface road, forcing drivers to contend with grip levels that shift suddenly from tarmac to gravel and back again in the middle of the climb. With an average grade of 12% and an uneven surface bounded by serious drops above the treeline, Mt. Washington requires courage, skill and the right equipment for the challenge.

The highly developed aero package on the Airslayer STI provided a significant downforce advantage against the 600-horsepower WRX STI rally car used by Pastrana to set the 2017 mark. Along with a significant power bump, major suspension advancements and an ultra-light curb weight, the Airslayer was tailor-made for the wide-open mentality of hillclimbs. Still, the level of commitment displayed by Pastrana on the record run meant huge entertainment for the thousands of fans who lined the road at the spectator points along the roadway.

[universe-in-the-void-in-the-cube]

I think I figured out my core problem in life.

Drama! 

And before you get up on me for it, just take a breather and listen to me while I’ll explain myself.

For as long as I can remember all I have known is negativity, stress and drama in my life. Basic timeline of my life.

Age 2 to 3 - As my first memories I lived in cockroach infested apartment complex, inhaled lead based paint fumes and I broken my wrist from climbing up a slide backwards. 

Age 3 to 4 -  Moved into a shitty 70s build trailer house in tornado prone Oklahoma experience in tornadoes for the first time and getting lost in the mall. 

Age of 4 to 5 - Moved from Oklahoma to Washington. Lived with grandparents before my dad got a job and found us a home.

Age 5 to 8 - Moved to a new apartment complex, get bulled and beat up by the kids at school, get lost walking home from a friends house, get on the wrong public bus on the first day of kindergarten. Having to become a big sister to a new baby girl and experiencing my first major volcanic eruption. Yes I lived in Tacoma when the 1980 eruption of Mt. St. Helens happened. 

Age 8 to 9 - Get beat up and bullied at school so badly that CPS was called and I was taken away from my parents and placed in a foster home with abusive foster parents the refused to let me drink ANY liquids and made me sleep on the floor with cockroaches, mice and rats for a week. Before being move to my grandparents for the summer then to a new foster home with a foster mother that had dementia before being returned to my parents January 1st of the following year. And transforming schools as well and forced to go to therapy that seemed a bit off.

Age 9 to 11 - Move back in with parents, mother blames me for being taken away by CPS, tells me that I am to old to play with toys of any kind and force to go to therapy that somehow didn’t feel quite right. Mom goes through her first religious zealot stage. And I broke my left leg, underneath the kneecap on Valentine’s day of all days, and the doctors office didn’t think I broke it and had me on a damn splint for a week till my parents took me to the major children’s hospital where they did tons more x-rays than my normal doctors office did and found out I did brake my leg. And when they took off the cast the first time they realized they set my leg wrong and had to rebreak it and reset it so I have knee problems till this day.

Age 11 to 12 - Forced to move again because new apartment complex owners kicked every one out, and had to live with my dad’s brother, his brother’s wife and 4 cousins in a one bedroom house with the basement converted to 4 bedrooms that had a bad problem of getting flooded when there was to much rain. Get transferred to a new school that was so backwards that my education and grades nosed dived and badly, and moving to two homes in less than a year. As well as starting my period for the first time.

Age 12 to 14 - Go to middle school for the first time, get bullied again and sexually harassed and totally confused about things and mom goes through religious zealot stage 2 and start getting emotionally and mentally abused by my mother. My grades drop even more. Wasn’t allowed to have a boyfriend.

Age 14 to 18 - Go high school, grades improved, mother becomes more controlling to the point I wasn’t allowed to go to school games, participate in sports or any other extra curricular activities, or any school dances. (I missed out on both my Jr. Prom and Sr. Ball), finally allowed to have a boyfriend who cheated on me with 4 other girls, 3 of which were my friends all at the same time. Mom ended up having throat cancer and a month after she had surgery my parents had to stay in an apartment in Seattle for chemo, my sister had to stay with my grandparents in another town and I lived at home alone as a latch key kid. Then my dad has a heart attack and I was the first one to be called and I had to call the entire family and I was by myself with no one to comfort me.

Age 18 to 19 - Graduate high school, my grandpa dies, get caught shop lifting, go to jail for a month, forced to go to Job Corps, met my husband, get kicked out of Job Corp and move back home, mom kicks me out to move is my future husband’s alcoholic step dad for a week, almost get raped by the prick, come home a week later get married. New husband’s mother visits me and my mom kicks me out of the house again and forces me to live with my mother-in-law who was a nasty alcoholic at the time while husband was still at Job Corp.

Age 19 to 25 - Live with mother-in-law, get in to fights, go to jail for domestic violence, get extremely sick with the stomach flu and almost die with an 105 temp and extremely dehydrated, and end up hurting my back by falling down the stairs hitting the area between my tail bone and lower back twice causing me to have back problems till this day. Go to collage as my husband goes to jail for writing bad checks and end up going through the first hints of emotional brake down.

Age 25 to 27 - Move into my first apartment with my husband alone. Have a slum lord as a landlord, first major blizzard and ice storm, get on SSI, doing good till one day I was cutting up meat and suddenly had the urge to cut myself. AKA my first psychological brake. Go to mental health after that. 

Age 27 to 32 - Move to my second apartment, having unintentional roommates put on me and my husband, then 911 happens, then get a series of earthquakes in the city I live in, get the room makes moved out, get a new one for a while that meets the cunt that ruined my life, get the dick head on again off again roommate and having to constantly deal with his shit, my dad dies, then my grandmother dies, get an inheritance, the cunt my second roommate knows gets jealous and accused my husband of being a pedo and arranges the situation by bribing the cops that interviewed my husband (since the detective on my husband’s case was friend with the cunt’s mother) and the judges with her mother’s money, husband goes to prison for 5 and a half years.

Age 32 to 40 - Living without my husband, on again off again roommate gets so drunk that he threatens to kill me so get a restraining order on him. Get coned by an asshole which causes me to loose money, computer and laptop brake, car gets stolen, have to sell the car or get it towed when I get the car back, have the asshole roommate move back in. Having to deal with his bullshit with his family and girlfriend to the point they are all living with me and my property gets stolen.

Age 40 to 45 - Husband gets out of jail, he is forced to not live with me or I will end up losing my housing. He ends up getting a job and everything is good. I get thyroid problem, sex drive plummets and he ends up cheating on me and getting the girl he was fucking pregnant, deal with my asshole roommate with is asshole girlfriend who are both addicted to meth and badly and do drugs in my home, more stuff get stolen. Find out that I am infertile and can never have kids when my husband told me what he did, get new management in the apartment complex that I live at for almost 20 years, they give me hell and force me to find a home in less than 30 days and do tons of illegal stuff to me and other tenants in the complex to the point one had their cancer (which was under remission) come back and kill the poor man causing him to die of cancer. 

Age 45 to 47 - Find a new apartment thanks to the old realtor company, still have the asshole roommate move in with me, losing about half of all my clothes and being in debt for a few months thanks to husband and the new realtors of the old apartment. Go to the hospital under suicide watch because of all the stress. then Covid 19 happens, drives my roommate to controlling situation and abusing me mentally and emotionally till I am nothing but an empty shell of a human being. Finally had enough, get a new restraining order on him, deal with a bed bug problem and feel like I am not going to make it then heater goes out then the lights and I have a nasty mental brake down and end up getting psychological help.

Age 47 to current - Get the bed bug problem fixed, get he heater fixed, roommate no longer lives with me, I am going to therapy and improving every day. All my bills are paid in full, I have food in my kitchen and enjoying life finally. The first time in my life I have never experienced stress and that negative aura of doom and gloom around me. But... it scares me since I am waiting for the other boot to drop since my life has NEVER been this peaceful and good EVER!!!

So because of this revelation. I believe that negativity, drama and stress is normal for me because that is all I have known in my life. To have a peaceful and content life is so abnormal and strange to me that it feels wrong and bad and I should feel guilty. Hell I do feel a strange sense of guilt to. But I shouldn’t feel that way. I should feel happy. So I need to be reprogramed so I can convinced that my current situation is what life should be and can be for me. Not doom and glove negative aura cloud surrounding me like a thick fog.

[capecode]

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[thiswasinevitableid]

indruck volcano pls?

Here you go! I based Indrid’s mer-design on a Chinook Salmon.

Duck’s search history is getting weird. 

In his defense, the last few weeks have been pretty damn weird. 

It started two weeks ago, when he was checking tree specimens along the river. One minute he was engrossed in his work, birds chirping and the sky blue above him. The next the hair on the back of his neck was straight up, and he was positive someone, or something, was watching him.

Gradually, the feeling subsided, and he chalked it up to random case of the heebie-jeebies. 

Except, two days later, it happened again. And then again the day after that. Each time he looked around, kept his ears on high-alert, and came up with nothing. The fourth time it happened, he got a glimpse of the back and tail of something human-sized and pinkish-red disappearing beneath the water. 

He knows his wildlife well, but he’d never seen anything like that. That night, he sat down at his computer for research. 

River fish of the pacific northwest?

Biggest species of freshwater fish in pacific northwest?

Are there pink sturgeon?

Pink fish near Mt. Saint Helen's?

How to report illegal, exotic pet selling ring?

The next day, he was leading a tour around the river walk, when something pink-red caught his attention. He kept one eye on it as he spoke, noticed it disappeared under the surface whenever anyone else turned to look it’s way. Towards the end of the tour, he glanced over to find, instead of reddish scales, red eyes watching him from a definitely human face. It blinks, then ducks beneath the current. 

Mermaid sightings in Washington?

Animals commonly mistaken for mermaids?

Are mermaids real?

Proof of mermaids other than that freaking discovery channel mockumentary?

Two days later, he’d been bending over the embankment to see if that was a native turtle or a released pet in the water when his hat dropped of his head and into the water, rushing away before he had a chance to go in after it. It was, as his friend Aubrey would put it, a bummer. That hat had pins from all the parks he’d been too, and the first nametag he was ever given as an official member of the park service. 

Just before his rounds took him away from the river, he spotted something on a rock at the edge of the water.

His hat.

He was about to thank his luck that it got caught on the stone when he noticed that it had clearly been placed there, and that there wasn’t a speck of mud or dead leaves on it. And whoever put it there had thoughtfully weighed it down with several colorful rocks. 

And there were no recent footprints on the shore save for his own. 

“Uh, thanks?” He called out over the water, feeling sillier by the second. No response came. 

He turned, headed up the bank, and swore he heard over the burble, “You are welcome.”

Can mermaids talk?

Are mermaids friendly?

Which brings him to now, several days later, as he’s back in the same patch of water, trying to fish out the turtles that were, indeed, someone’s non-native pet that had been turned loose. 

“You are going to lose your hat again.”

“FUCK!” He stumbles back, landing on his ass in the shallow water. Across from him, peering around a rock, the man who definitely has a fishtail, looks concerned

“Oh dear, in most futures you did not fall.”

“You’re a fuckin’ mermaid. I ain’t crazy! Wait, futures?”

“I can see the future. And no, that is not a thing all merfolk can do, since you were about to ask.”

“I...how...god what the fuck is goin’ on?” His pants are taking on water at an alarming rate, but that is the least of his worries. 

“I am introducing myself to you. I thought that was a custom merfolk and humans had in common?”

“It, uh, it is, but, uh, see, most humans don’t expect to ever meet a merperson on account of we assume you ain’t real.”

The merman sighs, “I know. And those who do see us are often frightened. Or try to capture us for money.” Cautiously, he swims away from the rock and over to Duck, stopping a few feet away, water shallow enough that he can keep his arms resting on the pebbly sand and tail flicking drops of water into the air, “but you are not one such human. Which is why I wanted to know you.”

“You, uh, you wanna know me because I don’t seem like I’m gonna sell you off to a sideshow?”

“Among other things. I have been the steward of this portion of river for years, seen many tend to these woods. You have such an air of caring to you when you work, and such competence, it is fascinating to watch. Also I enjoy that you sometimes speak to the trees.”

“I just want ‘em to know they’re grownin’ well.” Duck mumbles, blushing. 

“It is charming. If it is alright, I would like to continue watching you when you work. Perhaps I could even talk to you while you do, if it is only you and I around?”

“Uh, sure?” Duck shrugs, “can’t promise sparklin conversation, but I ain’t opposed to the company. Might learn more about trees than you ever care to know.”

“Splendid!” The merman claps his hands together, “some day, in return, you can come swim with me and you can learn more about fish and current than you care to know.”

His enthusiasm skips across the water and Duck catches it.

“You got a deal. Name’s Duck, by the way.”

The merman grins, teeth sharper than Duck expects, “It is nice to meet you Duck. I am Indrid.”

Mermaids carnivorous?

Should you offer to share your lunch with a mermaid?

Indrid, true to his word, appears now and then over the next few days. Sometimes, if the trails or river are busy, Duck will just see flashes of tail, or a flicker of a face peeking around a rock. 

Other times Indrid will float on his back or even climb up onto a rock to watch him work. He asks Duck questions about birds, and trees, the various behaviors of humans that confound him. Duck, in turn, asks him about his life in the river, about the layout of merfolk up and down this part of the state. 

Some days, Indrid is nowhere to be seen. But on those days, Duck will spot pictures drawn into the mud or sand of the riverbank, as high up as Indrid was able to manage. Sometimes, it’s as simple as a drawing of a merperson waving. Others it tells Duck where to spot a rare salamander or songbird. Once or twice, it’s reminder of something Duck needs to do that day after work, something he meant to write down but didn’t and is glad for the reminder of. He assumes Indrid must use his future sight for those. 

On the days when it’s only messages in the sand, he’s always sure to leave a happy face (or the words “thank you” once he teaches Indrid how to recognize it).

It’s been three days of sand messages, the longest stretch yet (Duck misses him, keeps hoping he’ll turn and see that toothy smile) when Indrid finally appears and asks, “would you like to swim with me tonight?”

Given that it’s pushing a  hundred degrees (the kind of day that makes him feel as though the mountain will erupt at any moment) and he’s fairly certain Indrid either can’t or won’t eat him, Duck says yes. 

When his shift is over, he heads down to their agreed meeting space, an inlet that’s off limits to the public and has a calm current. 

“I assume you wear those because otherwise the water is too cold for you?” He points at Duck’s swimtrunks, the spare pair he keeps in the car.

“Kinda. Mostly to, uh, preserve our modesty.”

“Ah.” Indrid says with the tone and nod that Duck knows means, “I understand but think it is a bit silly.”

As soon as he’s up to his chest in the water, Indrid is swimming around him, talking animatedly and brushing his body along Duck’s back. Duck shivers at the contact, tells himself it’s from the unfamiliar, cool scales. 

Their conversation turns to Indrid’s younger years, and he admits to harassing a flock of college students who were tubing and kept chucking their beer cans into the water.”

“How’d you get ‘em to stop?”

“My tail is rather strong, so I got it under their tubes and just-” he flicks his tail out of the water with a huge splash, the bulk of which hits Duck. 

“Ackhey!” He splutters, giggling. 

“ApologiesAH!” Indrid shakes his head in surprise when Duck splashes him back. The human gets another wave directed at him by Indrid’s tail, and when his vision clears the merman is gone. 

“Uh oh.” He says just as Indrid pops out of the water in front of him, drenching him as he does. The tail sneaks behind his legs and knocks them out from beneath him. But before he goes under, willowy arms grab him. 

“I win.” Indrid grins.

“Guhhuh.” He flails a bit, trying to right himself, and his hand slides up Indrid’s tail. 

“Mmmmmm.” Indrid sighs as he helps him up, “that feels nice.”

“Is it, uh, can I do it again? It’s kinda cool, never felt anythin’ quite like it.”

“Of course.” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder as the human runs his hand up and down his tail, noting the dark flecks in the red.

“It been the same color all these years, or does it change?”

“That’s a fascinating question….”

They talk until the sun goes down, resting against each other all the while. 

Merman tail sexual thing?

Can a human fall in love with a merman?

Can a merman love a human?

Merman porn?

Two days later, Duck is just starting his rounds by the river when Indrid emerges, eyes frantic. 

“Duck, Duck, the volcano-”

“Oh fuck me, is it-”

“No, it is not erupting again, but, but there will be an earthquake on account of it’s seismic activity. You need to clear the visitor center, the roof is going to come down and it will kill twenty five people. You have fifteen minutes. 

Duck runs, is winded by the time he reaches the center, and no matter how he tries, his coworkers will not listen to him (he wishes Juno was working today, he might be able to tell her the whole truth).

Out of ideas and time, he pulls the fire alarm. 

The center evacuates in a hurry, and just as his boss is about to ask what the hell he’s doing, the ground shudders once beneath them. Then again, more violently, thirty seconds and an eternity all once of cracking and shaking and shouts of alarm. 

The visitor center is ruins. 

But everybody is alive. 

-------------------------------------

Duck rolls his pants up, wading a little ways into the water as he chucks stones into it

“You did it.” Indrid surfaces, swimming over to float off to his left.

“Yeah. Guess I did. Got two days suspension for pullin’ the fire alarm though.”

“I am sorry.”

“Ain’t the end of the world. Uh, are there any more of those comin’?”

Indrid thinks for a moment, “No, none so severe in the forseeable future.”

“And the volcano?” He steps into deeper water.

“Still not erupting any time soon.”

“Can, uh, can I ask you the odds of one more thing?”

“Of course.”

“Uh, what, what are the chances of you and I kissin’?”

Indrid swims the few feet between them, looping his arms around Duck’s shoulders and planting a single, cool kiss on his lips. 

“Indrid.” Duck whispers, ready to wade in over his head just for another kiss, knowing for certain Indrid would never ask him to.

“Before you ask: yes, my sweet, I do see many more of those in our future.”