joshthehodge

My Faith Testimony- Joshua Hodge

December 18, 2024December 18, 2024Posted in UncategorizedTagged bible, christianity, church, depression, faith, forgiveness, god, healing, jesus, testimonyLeave a comment

I sat down. “You have time?” I asked Luke. “It’s going to take a while.”

And I began…

I explained it in pretty full detail. I explained how I grew up in a family of loving parents, and how my father was a pastor. I shared how I had a good upbringing as a child. Then in high school I had acquaintances in my life and the mere mirage of friendships, but I was very alone. At school I did not connect with anyone on a deeper level. At the church youth group many of my peers were purely nasty to me. The local church was a major contributing factor to everything in my life at the time, and there was so much division and so much sickness in this church. It was the church my father was pastor at, but its troubles were not his fault. It had a long broken history and chronic sickness. Through a series of events, I became very depressed, and to top it off I had become sick with chronic juvenile pancreatitis. Many nights I cried myself to sleep between feeling loneliness, physical pain, and despair. Nobody knew this. I kept it all inside. It came to the point that I didn’t want to live. One night I cried out to God, “Why did you make me if I’m just going to suffer?” I was angry at God. Despite me and my behavior, looking back, I believe God blanketed me with peace that dark and lonely night.

I carried on and it eventually came time to graduate high school. I left Massachusetts to go to school in Kentucky amidst one of the largest episodes of drama in the church. With my dad being pastor it was inevitable that church life would be unavoidably integrated and profoundly impactful on our family life. What happened? I was an inquisitive and keen observer in my youth and I had some suspicions that held true. I caught the youth pastor embezzling money, something he had been doing for a long time with the help and assistance of other church members. Another youth leader was glorifying sexually promiscuous behavior online and flippancy towards God’s word. I felt I needed to bring these areas of darkness and expose them to light. In doing so, I felt I nearly put the nail in the coffin of the church. The fighting, backstabbing and polarization within the church reached new levels.

When I left to go to school in Kentucky, these culminating events at the church would propel me into a faith crisis. I moved into Asbury College, far from home. Here immersed in a Christian culture, contemplating my faith and the church was inevitable. I was struggling. If the people at my church were “Christ followers” and “the people of God,” is God even real? I considered this because their behavior was antithetical to the teachings of Christ and no different than the rest of the world. From what I had experienced, their behavior was perhaps even worse. These people were mean towards one another, lying, stealing, and giving into the lusts of this world. Not everyone at the church was this way, but it was perhaps the most influential ones to me whom I had been most focused on who behaved this way.

During my first week of college, one night I needed some alone time. I had thoughts and things to sort out. I walked to the soccer fields. I laid down in the middle of one field and gazed up at the stars. My faith was deeply scarred. So looking up at the stars I said, “God, if you are real, I need a sign, because I feel as though I don’t have faith anymore.” I figured the all-powerful God of the universe, if that’s who He was, could prove himself to me in this moment. But I found myself walking back to my dorm thinking, well, if God can’t even prove himself to me, why should I believe?

I used to be a staunch rule follower, and I wanted to do things the way they are to be done, and so I wanted to be the best Asbury College student I could be. Many chapel speakers and professors kept driving in their point that we all should have a life of “devotion,” meaning we needed to be reading the Bible and praying daily. If that was expected of me, I wanted to do it, even if I didn’t see the value in it, not sure I believed any of it anymore. However, the first evening I sat down for my devotion time, I found myself in the first chapter of James. It reads, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, for you know the testing of your faith develops perseverance, and perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. And if any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God who gives it freely to all without finding fault…”

I was blown away, completely captivated, spoken to by this Scripture. I was to consider it “pure joy” to face trials of many kinds and the testing of my faith? My faith had surely been tested. The testing of it had been a stress on me for a while. The first directive was clear: be joyful. The second directive: to persevere. Okay, I’m going to persevere in this so-called devotion time, despite my lack of faith. Then I focused on the third directive: ask God for wisdom, and so I did just that. It was one of those prayers that started out like, “God, if you are real…,” then concluded with, “…I ask you for wisdom.”

Then in the upcoming days, weeks, and months, things started to shake! I was still dealing with my depression, but in moments of mental anguish I always seemed to come across the right Scripture, or someone would speak a word of encouragement into my life, or I’d read something by a true believer that inspired and spoke directly to my situation. I prayed for strength. God gave it to me. I prayed for perseverance, God gifted it. I prayed for friends, and they came, and they were so very different from the so-called “Christians” from youth group. These people would engage with me in conversation, care about what I was going through. There was a light they carried I hadn’t seen before this close-up. I was starting to see, there really are “people of God.” Their lives were evidence. I was starting to feel incredibly blessed. Day by day my faith in God was growing stronger and stronger. Eventually phrases and words would come to mind, as if out of thin air. They would provide me strength, perspective, and propel me forward– gifts from God perhaps? I’d rush back to my Bible to confirm they were in accordance with the Word. They were! God was ministering directly to my soul! He was pursuing me!

I was still feeling hurt by my past church, I was still trying to adjust to college so far from home, and I had a lot of insecurity from past hurt that caused me anxiety in making friends. A lot was going on. So in my devotion time, I had many prayers, and many prayers were answered.

One day in our college chapel service, everyone was given an index card upon entry. The chapel speaker delivered his message and we were all instructed to write a note to God. I wrote three specific things: 1. I thanked God for all the good things he was doing in my life and for all answered prayers, 2. I asked that God would show me how to worship Him. My only view of worship was through praise songs. There had to be more. What was a “life of worship,” and 3. I felt God’s presence so near to me. I prayed that I would always feel his presence close to me. I was sitting up on the balcony. I walked down to the front of the chapel where we were instructed to plsce our cards on the kneeling altar in front of the podium. We were told to grab a Bible verse out of a basket. I did so. I got back up to my seat on the balcony. I read it and burst forth silently in tears. This was the ultimate sign. God responded directly to my three requests. The card read: “‘I will make an everlasting covenant with you. I rejoice in doing good things for you. I will never stop doing good things for you. I will instill in you a heart of worship, and you will never leave me.’ Jeremiah 32:40”

My faith had been growing over the past few months, but this was the final push- the final verification. God was real! He was with me! He was here! And he had been here all along! I also realized in the moment, this was the sign I prayed for months ago when I was laying out in the soccer field at night. I realized during the past few months God was teaching me patience and perseverance. Now I was a complete mess of gratitude. I had a class I was supposed to go to after chapel, but I stayed. I skipped my class, and wept and thanked God. This was momentous in my life. My faith became real and became my own.

Then it was time to get to work spiritually. God had pursued me. He caught me, and now He wanted to restore me. We had to bring my own darkness captive to the light. I thought my faith alone, my belief in God, would resolve my depression. It didn’t. Some days I didn’t want to deal with life, with my own thoughts, my own problems and insecurities, so I developed a habit of just sleeping them away. I was aware of this. It had to stop. It was a big step for me to seek counseling. I thought only truly crazy people did that. I was wrong. I had to set my pride aside. My counselor I believe was ordained by God. She was able to reach into my life and rework the wiring. I had developed some horrible snowballing thought processes that led to anxiety and depression. She taught me how to stop my thoughts in motion, hold them captive, and expose them to Truth. I also had trouble opening up to others in any capacity. I was an extremely private person, because of my own insecurities. The counselor said, after hearing all my stories and learning who I was, “I believe the world is really missing out on Josh Hodge.” That was profoundly impactful for me to hear.

Also at this time, a part of God’s plan for my restoration, was introducing a specific friend into my life. This was the most overtly influential friend I have ever had. His name was Danny. I had seen him around campus. He was a student athlete, and I thought he was way too cool to be my friend. One day, walking across campus, he approached me for the first time. “I know I don’t know you, but I want you to know I’ve been praying for you… I’ve seen you around campus and God told me to pray for you. So I have been,” Danny said. I opened up to Danny and he did the same with me, telling me he was once a drug addict and given completely to the lusts of the world, but then he surrendered to God and his life was completely changed. He soon became my best friend.

Every night we’d meet together to pray or read the Bible. He’d leave voice messages of encouragement I needed to hear on my phone at just the right moments. I still hold those very special to this day. He seemed to know my heart more than myself, almost in an eerie way. He also prompted me, or told me to go on a mission trip to Mexico City through one of the student missionary organizations on campus. I went. Danny told me, “God is going to use you on that mission trip. Watch and see.” I went and I shared my story of faith thus far at two churches. It was very fresh and raw to me at the time. Surprisingly it had brought some to tears, and two members of my mission team sought me out privately to say my story really spoke to them. My story of brokenness was now being used for something beautiful, for encouragement and inspiration to others. Wow! I marveled at it. My past hurts were not scars, not a dark spot on my life. Now these experiences were being redeemed. I was being redeemed! This was a new concept to me. Twice on that trip, journaling at night, sitting by a window in Mexico City, God spoke to me saying I was to come back to Mexico City. I was taken off guard, not expecting this. I wanted to know when. That detail I was not provided. God told me just to trust Him, and so I did.

Back at Asbury College, Danny continued to bless me richly with his friendship. The theme and Bible verse of our friendship was Proverbs 27:17: “As iron sharpens Iron, so one man sharpens another.” We sharpened each other greatly. I tutored him and helped him academically, he encouraged and mentored me spiritually. He often reminded me of Romans 8:28, “We know that all things work together for good for those who love God and have been called according to His purpose.”

One night in the midst of a terrible nightmare, Danny barged into my dorm room, woke me up and prayed for me. Many things like this happened with Danny, that I simply cannot explain apart from God’s Spirit at work. How else would Danny know? It was like he was sent.

I was very sad when I learned Danny would not be returning to Asbury the next school year, but instead would pursue seminary studies at a school in Florida. I was losing him, and for a while I was deeply saddened. Then I realized I can’t be selfish. Danny had been so powerful and influential in my life that I needed to let him go and do the same he did for me for others. The next semester, we lost contact. His phone number ceased to work, His email, invalid. I tried to reach out to him in as many ways possible. Others who knew him at Asbury experienced the same results. I do not know what happened to Danny. I have some magnificent speculations, but all I truly know is that his friendship continues to be a model for me today, and his influence lasts with me today. It has been woven into the fabric of my character.

Between the counselor at school and Danny, God had worked a number on restoring me. I often wondered why God didn’t perform the miracles I’d read about in Scripture anymore, but I realized God had performed a miracle on me. His hands were at work through Danny and my counselor. I also came to see that He performs many miracles all around everyday. He channels His healing power and his wisdom through His people and through medicine. Who brings wisdom and knowledge to man? Who gives power for enzymes and for chemicals to react?

Despite all my progress I came to realize I’ll never be fully restored until I am with God in His Heavenly Kingdom, but here in this life, we are able to, and should, bring darkness to light. I can say with confidence, by God’s working in my life, and his hand through the people he placed in my life, I have fully conquered and overcome depression. Glory to God!

When I returned for my sophomore year at Asbury, I came early, for despite my rocky first year, I was chosen to become a T.A.G. leader. The acronym stands for Transition and Guidance. I was assigned a group of about twenty freshmen. Me and another sophomore would be their leaders and guides throughout freshmen orientation and throughout their first semester. We’d check up on them regularly, hold weekly meals together, and plan monthly events.

The night before all the freshmen arrived I was starting to feel anxious. I had some social anxiety, and the thought of twenty freshmen looking at me at the same time felt overwhelming. I didn’t have the social confidence for this. Despite all the training I went through, I didn’t feel prepared. So I went for a walk at night to the same soccer field I had prayed at during my first week of college. The first time I went there I was in my faith crisis. Now, I had faith. I was just dealing with my own insecurity. Laying there, I talked to God. I wasn’t praying necessarily as one might think. I was just sharing my feelings. It went something like this, “God I feel like this is all a mistake. I don’t think I should be a T.A.G. leader. I don’t have the skills for this. I feel so anxious about talking to all these students…” I went on and on. Woe is me.

Then God spoke, and boy did He speak! It’s interesting how the first time I came to this field I had no faith, yet I sought something miraculous. Now, I had faith, and wasn’t expecting anything, but from my line of vision all the stars in the sky disappeared except for one. There was one single focal point, and God said directly to my soul, “Don’t be distracted by all the fears around you. Focus on me and everything will be fine.” I was amazed. I ran back to campus to share the news. God’s directive was exactly what I followed. I resolved to set my fear aside and be courageous in what I do, and I truly focused on caring and loving these freshmen. I did it all sincerely and as an act of worship, focusing on God. He was teaching me, as promised, how to worship Him through loving others. I would say the semester was a success. After all, three of my freshmen went on to become T.A.G. leaders the next year. I felt truly blessed.

After my mission trip to Mexico, I had felt convicted to study more Spanish, knowing God was taking me back to Mexico City at some point, but I found it hard to learn Spanish in Kentucky. I wanted to study abroad so badly, and of course I was dead set on studying in Mexico City and nowhere else. However, Asbury would not approve of a study abroad semester in Mexico City. If I wanted to study there, I’d have to drop out, apply as an international student, and reapply to Asbury as a transfer student with no guarantee I’d be accepted or they’d accept my credits from Mexico. It was a big risk. I was contemplating this risk and also considering how I could follow the natural progression of leadership opportunities at Asbury and become a paid Resident Assistant and have the potential opportunity to have influence over a whole hall of students. Oh what to do?

I went for a walk to pray. Lord, should I study in Mexico or should I stay and be an R.A.? I wanted a clear answer. I got one, but it wasn’t what I was expecting. God said, “I have given you the wisdom to make this decision. Make the decision and it will be the right one.” I was incredibly humbled. I couldn’t have come up with this answer. I had incredible peace. Okay, I’m going to Mexico…and so I did.

I could write a whole book about that experience. I shared my faith a number of times in Mexico City, and went through a time of great spiritual and personal growth. I was also able to witness to a family with a son going through grave sickness. He was expected to die in a week. That’s what the doctors said. In the hospital I prayed for the young man. He was unresponsive and on life support. A week later he was completely healed. The mother wanted to credit me, saying I was sent by God to heal her son, but I could not take any of the credit. It was all God’s power at work. Because of the miraculous healing of her son, and realizing it was God who healed him, the mother of the family developed a renewed faith and started a Bible study in her home. It’s quite amazing how God works!

I wanted to stay in Mexico. It didn’t work out. I came down with severe ulcerative colitis. I truly did have a dream of living in Mexico City. It was everything I was working for, but when I realized I could only get therapy for ulcerative colitis in the United States, my dream came crashing to the floor. It was hard being sick and dealing with a shattered dream at the same time, but I had to eventually surrender my plans for God had other plans for me. I just couldn’t see it at the time. Through my sickness God also witnessed to me immensely, speaking to me a number of times promising to restore me and make me strong and doing just that.

I spent my first year out of college teaching in inner-city Houston, Texas. The big takeaway from that experience was the influence of the church I was a part of there. It was extraordinarily healthy. I needed to experience this after my rocky church experience as a teenager. I was a part of a study group and we went over the basics of our faith but in a indepth way. We studied topics of forgiveness, mercy, grace, glory…. These were all words I’d heard, but came to understand at a much deeper and more meaningful level. There too, in that group, I shared my faith story. I was so excited about it!

Through all the sharing of my story this, and every time, I notice in retrospect, I never have addressed repentance. That is to say, talking about asking God for forgiveness of sins through Christ Jesus. This is essential for salvation and a relationship with God. Without repentance, the relationship is damaged. There is separation from God. Jesus’ sacrifice makes it possible for the forgiveness of sins. He paid the price. If we repent and accept this forgiveness, it leads to the repairing of the relationship. It makes us right with God. Recently I’ve been pondering this as it pertains to my story. I’ve asked for forgiveness of sins countless times. It’s a continual thing. Growing up in a Christian family, I always had a solid understanding of sin and my need for forgiveness.

When I share my story of faith, I have made it sound as if I first came to know God that day in chapel at Asbury. However, recently I’ve come to realize I did have a real and alive relationship with God as a child. I confessed my sin and prayed for forgiveness sometime as a small child, and it was real. I knew God to be real and He provided me immense comfort as a child. I had this burning desire, especially as an adolescent and young teenager, to study God’s word and know Him better, and I can recall a number of times the Spirit at work in me, speaking to me and prompting me. But during all this time, I had the faith of a child. Some might call it ignorance. I don’t think so. Rather I say pure faith. But then the world came in and corrupted it with all its confusion and all its doubt. My faith was tested, and it was tested severely. It went through the refiner’s fire for sure. I had to transition from my childhood faith to a mature faith. By mature faith I mean a faith put up to the test of the world. During the end of high school in my broken church, and in the early days of college, my faith faced that test of the world, and God carried me through.

Now when I think back to when I was a child, I am so incredibly humbled and so full of praise and gratitude that God was pursuing me back then. How incredible that even with all the powerful figures of the world, the Lord and master of the universe, pursued a mere helpless child for His Kingdom. I am so blessed, and I am so nothing, yet He pursued me and continues to pursue me. Some think it’s crazy to believe in God, but after all I’ve experienced from my childhood to now, it would be simply crazy for me not to believe in God.

I finished my story by telling Luke I was sick again, and I didn’t know what this meant. “I don’t know what God is teaching me, but it’s heavy and it weighs on me. Looking back I’ve seen God has carried me through a lot, and I believe he will carry me through again. I also need to remind myself of his promise to me ‘I will never stop doing good things for you.’ So all I can do is press onward in faith.”

Upon finishing my story, Luke was eager to tell me his faith story too. In brief, and it was brief, according to him, he was tripping on acid and mushrooms in the woods and almost walked off a cliff, the very one we were sitting on. He then slipped into the spiritual realm and saw creatures with lots of eyes and the plants talking to him, and he felt God. That was it….The end. What can I say? Only God is the judge. I sincerely hope Luke has since found the richness of a true relationship with God.

Onward I’d Run

November 18, 2024Posted in national parks, nature, travelTagged adventure, glacier national park, grizzly bear encounter, highline train, hiking, montana, national parks, st. mary, suffering, travel, ulcerative colitisLeave a comment

I was trying to catch my breath. I had run and sprinted, giving it all I got, putting all my strength and force into the end of this run. I was running along the creekside on the road just outside of the St. Mary KOA on the east side of Glacier National Park with the towering Rocky Mountains in the distance. Behind all this was not just the motive of wanting to take a morning run. It was a physical manifestation of my frustration, an outpouring of my emotion. I was so fed up with my body and this illness. Sometimes I’d feel fine. Then I’d be plagued with the most uncomfortable feelings in my gut, reminding me I was unwell, and this grave feeling of desperation would take over.

So this early morning, I ran, faster, and faster, and gradually ran more and more onto the front of my feet. Soon I was sprinting. As I did so, my heart pounded forcefully in my chest, feeling as if it was about to burst out. My sides began to ache, naturally from the exertion and I wasn’t accustomed to running this fast. The exertion was painful as my lungs were desperate for more air than they could take in. Normally I’d slow down, or take a break, but I pushed onward, relentless to the pain. I was fueled by fierceness. I suppose maybe in some ways I felt, despite my will and desire, my body had control over me lately with this illness, and now through forcing it through such extreme exertion I was proving to myself I still had control over this vessel, or maybe I just wanted an outlet for all this build up burning frustration.

The more I pushed myself, and the more I ached and desperately drew in breath, the more I realized it was pointless. I was sick. I could pour out all my efforts, all my strength, all my energy into this; and my desire could be so strong, my efforts relentless, yet this wasn’t going away. I was still going to be sick. This wasn’t all on the forefront of my mind, but it was buried in there somewhere, and it explained how suddenly my legs and arms became limp, as I slowed down running. I hit a realization as tears of desperation and frustration ran down my face. I stopped running. The harsh reality fell upon me again. I could not not make this go away. Alone, I was helpless. I wanted to be in control. It was all out of my control.

Just a few days before, I had my great moment of declaration upon the Highline Trail, in which I resolved I would not give into despair, and no matter my circumstance I’d bring glory to God through my illness. Often when we make ground spiritually and draw close to the heart of God, the devil has a counter attack. He did here I believe. Just moments after my heartfelt declaration of resolve, I experienced great cramping, desperation and urgency. Sparing you from unpleasant details, I was above the treeline, on tundra, exposed. There was nowhere to run away to, no privacy, and tourists were around me. With great anxiety I made do. But it happened over and over again, a persistent physical attack, leaving me exhausted.

Exercising, especially running, I thought would be an outlet for this stress and inflammation in the body. After good exercise the body calms down and relaxes. I needed that. Ulcerative colitis also sometimes feels like there is a misplaced energy or fire within the body. The energy or fire was focused on attacking and burning my intestines. If I could, through physical exercise, displace the fire from the intestines and channel that energy into a more productive means, I’d be okay. It’s an abstract feeling that I know is not exactly medically accurate, but it’s how it felt. There was also the feeling that I could force this all to go away, just as it came on so quickly, so too it could leave, like there was a switch in my body that needed to be flipped and it’d all be over. I felt I could flip this switch through exertion. I was trying so hard to displace this energy and flip the switch. After all, I felt there had to be something I could do to fix this problem.

“Forgive me God, for putting my body before you…” I prayed “…for setting it up as an idol, for being so caught up in my health and physical strength and appearance that I failed to put my deepest value in you. I let myself become distracted from that which is most important” I knew this illness would be painful in any circumstance, but the fact I had idolized my body so much, made it all hit harder emotionally, now that I lost my health. I realized I needed this moment of repentance. “Help me focus on you and put you first.”

I continued onward calm and quiet in the presence of God on the Highline Trail among the majestic mountains and alpine meadows. For a while I escaped the turmoil of my condition. I had distractions.

“Look there are two bears,” another hiker called out. Sure enough, pretty far in the distance, but still visible with the naked eye, two big grizzlies grazed on the mountainside. This was my first grizzly bear sighting! I was approaching the Granite Park Chalet. Here hikers lucky enough to score a spot can stay in the rock chalet overnight. I was only there briefly, observing the bears and heading descending four miles to The Loop.

Just in time I caught the last bus back down to the Apgar Village. I was the only one there at the bus stop. I didn’t realize it was the last bus until the bus driver told me how lucky I was. I was exhausted. I had hiked around 15 miles in total, and my legs were very heavy. Although I had completed it, I went through such physical desperation and anxiety with my colitis, that I in many ways felt defeated by this hike. I enjoyed it in some short spurts, but mostly I was in survival mode. I didn’t conquer this trail. It got the best of me.

The rest of the evening was relatively relaxing. There were other great distractions from my illness and my body was for the most part at peace. One such distraction was my visit to the Lake McDonald Lodge built in 1913. It’s a National Historic Landmark and built in the beautiful Swiss chalet-style. Inside it is composed of rustic National Park Style architecture, in which design elements mirror the natural surroundings. It featured exposed rough wooden logs as beams, and railings and fixtures carved of rough planks and tree branches. It had a coarse stone floor and taxidermied animals of all kinds all over, including elk, moose, and goat to name a few. Great big murals of mountain landscapes and native americans adorned the walls, and an enormous chandelier of Native American lanterns, painted on in a petroglyph manner, glowed warm in the otherwise dimly lit space.

The focal point of the lodge was an enormous stone fireplace and chimney, so big there are benches within the mantle, like a foyer to the fire. The precise term I learned is called an “inglenook.” I’m a big fan. There is nothing that says northwest North America greater than this lodge. I poked around its three different levels and balconies, observing the art and taking in the extraordinary ambiance. Around some chairs and leather couches, animal furs hung and coffee tables stood on Native American rugs. Theodore Roosevelt would have absolutely loved this place. It was just his style, and although gentle and calm, it seemed to boastly proclaim such words as “hunter.” “taxidermist,” ”naturalist,” “America,” and “the great outdoors.” I thought about how I’d love to sit here and work on my writing. It would be the perfect cozy and inspiring place to write.

After snooping around the lodge a bit, I returned to the East Glacier Village and had my first elk burger at Frieda’s. I decided to go full-on tourist and pay a pretty penny for the burger. Its lean and gamey meat was delicious. It was also relaxing to be waited on and enjoy a full meal after such a rigorous day. Having multiple cups of water brimming with cold refreshing ice was also just what I needed. This evening I felt normal and at peace. The next few days I’d have other moments like this, in that for a while I escaped the reality of my illness, but then at times- something would shift within my body and the feelings of being unwell would kick in with the anxiety and desperation that accompanied it. Over and over again I’d shift from feeling well and carefree then slapped with reality that inside I wasn’t well. I had to come to terms with this reality not just once, but over and over again. In more ways than one, it was exhausting and frustrating, leading me to my fierce early morning run ending in a tearful mess and the feelings of defeat…but I’m not defeated, I’d remind myself. It’s only an emotion. I must live and lead a life above these emotions. Onward!

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “God’s Glory in my Suffering (victorious no matter what happens!)”

Visit www.joshhodge.com

Going-to-the-Sun and Grinnell Glacier

November 15, 2024Posted in UncategorizedTagged glacier, going to the sun, highline, hiking, montana, national parks, travelLeave a comment

In my mind Glacier National Park was the National Parks of National Parks, like a next level experience only conquered by the very bold and adventurous, or something like that. I made it! I had seen pictures of course and was astounded by the unbelievable views, and now I was here! I turned left off Highway 2, through a little tunnel under the railway, and into the little tourist village of West Glacier. I passed by a visitor center for Alberta, Canada. Although I was not in Canada, I was so close. I also passed by a few little tourists shops, Glacier Raft Company, and a little restaurant and ice cream shop called Friedas.

The pines hugged in closer after I crossed the bridge over the Middle Fork of the Flathead River, and there in the shade of the dark rich pines was the National Park sign. Bold and beautiful it read, Glacier National Park. I admit it’s now commonplace for me, after having spent many summers in Glacier, but at the moment this was a big deal. It was my first time here. This was an accomplishment. This was one of the more out-of-the-way National Parks I’d been to. Its mountains were extreme with moving Glaciers, and its forests held grizzly bears and wolves! This was no ordinary place to be. I was swept with a sense of accomplishment, gratitude, and wonder being here.

Nearby I parked at the Apgar Visitor Center. It was early and it was still closed, but there was a National Park bus stop on site. The plan was to take the bus up to Logan Pass, the highest point on the famous Going-to-the-Sun Road. From there I’d hike the Skyline Trail one way about fourteen miles up to the Garden Wall to catch a view of Grinnell Glacier, then I’d continue north to the Granite Park Chalet where I’d take the Granite Park Trail down to “The Loop,” another spot on the Going-to-the-Sun Road. There I’d catch the bus back down to my car. This would be a full day endeavor hence the getting started so early.

As I stood there waiting for the bus, I was cold. I needed the sun to rise and warm things up. I had a few layers on, including my new Under Armour base layer I bought at the thrift store outside Seattle, yet I was still just wearing shorts. I knew it would warm up. I double checked all I had in my backpack: a map, snacks, water, flashlight… just in case. I was prepared. My boot laces were pulled tight. I was ready! Anxiously I walked around, reading all the signs, observing what other tourists were doing, and checking messages on my cell phone. I had caught a wifi signal from the visitor center.

I chose to take the bus as opposed to driving for a few reasons. I was nervous about driving the Going-To-The-Sun Road. It seemed intimidating. The road is known as the most scenic drive in America but was also snug against dramatic cliff edges gaining 2,560 feet in elevation. I knew I would have to drive it to carry through with my next few days’ itinerary, but I wanted to size it up first and just observe it with someone else behind the wheel. I didn’t have to drive it until the following day. I also read that parking can be difficult to find at Logan Pass where my trailhead was, so I didn’t want to risk not being able to park. Lastly, I like the energy in the air on a bus in a national park with everyone geared up for adventure. It’s a unique culture that I find to be part of the park experience.

The bus ride was terrifying! I sat on the right side near the front of the bus. I swear this bus was too big for the road. Around every bend I felt as if my side of the bus was jutting off the cliffside. The first few miles of the road were easy, relaxing, just through the mysterious, dark, wet, mossy forest with light peaking through in the most intriguing and mystifying ways. The bus took us alongside Lake McDonald, the long-stretching wonder. Then we were along the beautiful McDonald Creek, where the water runs clear if not in a surreal turquoise. But then the real ascension began and things got hairy. It wasn’t so bad until rounding a place called “The Loop,” where the road makes a dramatic turn and narrows. There’s supposed to be two lanes, but it seems more like one by any other comparison.

The trees lessened and boulders became more prominent. I began to notice the forest below, no longer aside us. We were up in the mountains. The views were astounding, more magnificent and boisterous than anything I’d seen before, as if the mountains were calling for attention. However, I would appreciate them more the next day. Right now I was distracted by the thousands of feet expanse just beside me to which I felt I’d be plummeting down at any moment if for some reason I didn’t cling hard enough to my bus seat. The tension was real.

We proceeded through a few tunnels of which we were too big for; and a few bridges, built into the rock walls, better suited as foot paths in a Vanderbilt garden. I have never been more nervous on a ride in my life. Around each wind in the road, I felt I was just swinging out over valleys on my corner of the bus, dangling over great heights.

I could not understand how the bus driver was just so casual and relaxed, making friendly conversation with another passenger. She was loudly talking about how she was a school bus driver and this was just a summer job. I was carefully watching her in case I had to spring into emergency assistance, I suppose. At one point she grabbed her water bottle for a sip. Two hands on the wheel! I wished to telepathically impart.

I would be gripping that steering wheel so tight, head tilted forward, focused on the road. I wouldn’t be talking to anyone. I would have to be totally focused on the road. In fact I couldn’t even drive a bus on this road. We would already be plummeting down to McDonald Creek. Maybe if she is so relaxed I should be too. I tried to, but I was so tense. I couldn’t wait to get off this bus safely.

The bus stopped for some mountain goats crossing the road. We were getting close! We were now near the tundra. Water flowed around in many different directions and spread everywhere from the melting snow. Tight shrubs and alpine grasses hugged the rocks, and the tops of mountain peaks stood as monuments around us.

I survived! I got off at Logan Pass on top of the world. Here is the Continental Divide. Water flows east to the Atlantic, west to the Pacific, and north to the Hudson Bay. There’s a real feeling of being at the pinnacle of North America. There’s also a big parking lot where a visitor center sits along with two big flags, one of the U.S. and the other of Canada. Glacier National Park shares a boundary with Waterton National Park in Canada. Together they form what is called an “International Peace Park.”

A short distance from the parking lot at Logan Pass is the trailhead for the Highline Trail, often touted as the best hike in the park by many visitors. It begins at such an elevation that the mountain peaks around it are obviously bald, exposed to the wind and sun, reminding me of some of the rock formations of the Southwest in Arizona or Utah. The trail starts just off the Going-to-the-Sun road, and goes down a shallow decline with rich green grasses and a few pines. Then it snugs up close to a cliffside. The trail is just a couple feet wide, right up against a rock wall. The other side is a sheer cliff, plummeting hundreds, maybe thousands, of feet down. This did not bother me at all. The difference: I was in control of my body but wasn’t of the bus. This was an experience to marvel at. I loved it! The trail was already pretty busy this morning. There were other hikers right in front of me and others trailing up behind. “Be careful,” they told one another as they carefully maneuvered the small path.

This trail lives up to its hype. It was extravagant. At times it opened up to just enormous views atop these mountainous meadows spread with yellow blooming glacier lilies and patches of snow stretching before dramatic mountain peaks carved by glaciers. Each mountain valley was framing another stunning view in the distance. There was forest too, a grand immensity of it, but I was mostly above it. The descending display of each little triangular pine tree top spoke of the grandeur of the landscape before me. The sky was rich blue, the snow bright white, the mountains gray with skirts of dark green pines around their bases, and just before me was the vibrant green and yellow of the glacier lilies. I was right in calling this a next level National Park. These were the most immense, grandiose, dramatic, and beautiful views I had seen out of any National Park. This was the cream of the crop, or as they say, “”the crown of the continent.” Each dramatic mountain peak was like the palisades on a crown, the landscape adorned with the finest things of nature: glaciers, waterfalls, forested basins, the crown jewels of God’s creation.

This morning the sun was also very bright and positioned at just the right angle to illuminate these jewels, reaching into every little crevice and wrinkle on the mountainside, adding to the depth and detail of everything.

After about an hour in, I stopped at one majestic meadow to shed a few layers and eat some electrolyte gummies. I was getting quite warm in the morning sun. The trail was still busy, and hikers continually passed me. I found a rock to first set my backpack on and then to sit down on for a moment and behold the landscape. Although warm from the sun, the air was cool, and I took in a deep refreshing breath of rich snow-chilled mountain air. Then I carried on.

About seven miles in I came to the Grinnell Glacier Overlook spur trail. It was just a half mile and would lead up to the feature called the Garden Wall, which is a natural rock wall that is a definitive line of the east side of the park and the west side. It’s like a great narrow spine of the park. From here I could look down and see Grinnell Glacier. The spur trail was completely exposed above the treeline and very steep, gaining one thousand feet in a half mile distance. Sometimes when going uphill, I try to go fast and just get the exertion over with. I tried here, but the air was very thin on top of the world. My whole body felt so heavy and gravity felt extra strong. When I got there I was utterly amazed! I didn’t know what to expect. I hadn’t looked up any images prior. I was stunned. I hadn’t seen anything like this.

This may be a strange comparison, but it kind of was like when someone reveals a bloody wound, and you’re shocked by the look of it. You weren’t expecting to see something so abnormal on the skin’s surface which is usually smooth and predictable. It’s a grand abnormality on the skin and in the flesh. This glacier view was that grand abnormality on the earth’s surface and in the earth’s crust. But replace the disgust with awe, and replace the red of blood with rich turquoise blue and a white so bright and so angelic it burns.

Wow! I had never felt so high up. I was way on top of the world. I thought I was on top of the world at Logan Pass. I was wrong. This was even next level! I sat on a rock’s edge, below me rocks crumbled down, slanting into a blanket of snow which then spread over Grinnell Glacier. Then hundreds of feet below, I could see the ice rippling with white and turquoise blue. It was the glacier descending and melting into a bright opaque turquoise glacial lake. The lake fed into another lake and then into another lake in a chain of glacial lakes spread out immensely in the forest below. I was on top of everything and looked across at the other gray mountains tops up here above the treeline, rippled through the ages with rock layers. There were blankets of snow littered amidst these mountains, drooping in every which way. It was also clear here to see the carving power of a glacier. It’s where a whole mountainous valley began. This was. and stands to be, one of the greatest sights I have ever beheld.

I sat to snack on a Clif Bar and enjoy the view for a spell. A little chipmunk came very close. I’m sure he was hoping for a bite or two. That wasn’t going to happen, but I did take his photo, which he couldn’t have cared less about. Then shortly after, a group of Chinese tourists arrived all wearing the same off-white sun hat. They were all oohing and aahing and talking in their sharp-sounding language.

This place was unbelievable. I had really arrived somewhere! I couldn’t have conjured up such a view in my mind. Now it was resident in my mind. So satisfied, I began my descent to carry on back on the Highline Trail.

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “My First Day Ever In Montana and Wresting with God’s Promise”

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My First Day Ever in Montana and Wrestling with God’s Promise

October 29, 2024October 29, 2024Posted in national parksTagged faith, glacier, glacier-national-park, hiking, montana, national parks, travelLeave a comment

Something inside of me is dying, and I feel like death. These were the exact thoughts, exact words running through my mind. I was restless in my tent at night, rolling around on my sleeping bag. I had never felt quite like this before. I wasn’t in pain, for there wasn’t any sharpness of feeling. But there was this subtle aching, and even more so than a feeling, it was a knowledge that stirred within me. I was not well. I couldn’t get comfortable. My body was in utter forthright rebellion. Inflammation was raging on. The body was winning in this battle despite my will. I wanted to be well. I wanted to relax. The body wasn’t having it. Therefore my sleep was interrupted, shallow, brief, and before I knew it was morning.

The day before I had traveled from Lake Roosevelt National Recreation Area in Washington here to West Glacier, Montana. I had traveled nearly six hours, around Spokane, through the panhandle of Idaho, past St. Regis, Montana, and up the west side of Flathead Lake. In St. Regis I made one of my more notable stops of the day at the St. Regis Travel Center. Right off highway 90, just across the Idaho border in Montana. This gas station establishment boasts “restaurant, casino, Montana’s largest gift shop, expresso” and “free live trout aquarium.” I just pulled over to go to the bathroom. I didn’t need all this, but I’ll take it! (minus the casino). ! It was like the Montana version of Buccees. Here I was greeted by a bag of free popcorn and a near endless supply of Montana t-shirts, huckleberry everything; and every Montana, grizzly bear, and Western knick-knack and patty whack you could imagine. Many items were boasting common Montana mottos and phrases: “The Treasure State,” “Big-Sky Country,” “The Montana way,” “Grab life by the horns”… I browsed around and didn’t purchase anything but was impressed by the inventory. In later summers working in Montana, I’d be back here a couple of times.

Shortly I found myself traveling upside Flathead Lake. I didn’t know that was its name. All the places I’d see in the next few days I’d have much more experience, knowledge, and memories with in the future with my subsequent summers working in Montana, but now it was all new. When I write about my adventures I like to talk about my experiences and observations at that time. As difficult as it is, I make a conscious effort to restrict myself from injecting later knowledge and experiences of these places. So although now I know it was Flathead Lake, then it was just some big lake I was traveling by. I was impressed by such an immense lake. Why hadn’t I heard of this before? It is the largest lake in the U.S. outside of the Great Lakes. I stopped in the community of Lakeside. I was very hungry and found a little cafe right off the road. I went inside, but after seeing the prices, I decided to continue on. I wasn’t used to the tourist prices in the Flathead Valley.

Atop the lake lies the biggest city in the valley, Kalispell. My hunger was so ravenous. I stopped at a Kentucky Fried Chicken. It genuinely sounded so good to me. I know it was not the best choice for my gut, but I was in need of some comfort food. This solo traveler from Kentucky, a little bit weary and beaten down by health issues, needed a bit of comfort from back home. Now it is humorous, because I know of way better and nourishing choices in the valley for food.

Leaving Kalispell, more and more tall pines filled in the landscape, and the road just seemed to roll along these wooded hills, swooping up and down with the great Rocky Mountains of Glacier National Park standing in the distance. Although the woods were everywhere, I did not feel nestled in the woods because the road was wide and beside it was a path for bikers and snowmobiles. Everything around me just seemed so big with the land and forest just so immense. I passed by a few tourist traps: “The Huckleberry Patch” and “Huckleberry Haven” boasting their huckleberry pie, and a western ranch style building called “ The Montana Fur Company” with a tipi and Native American relics outfront. Most prominent was this place called the “Ten Commandments Park,” with a dozen or so billboards situated together in a half circle, each loudly displaying a religious or political message. This seemed like something I’d see in Texas. Is Montana the Texas of the North? This I certainly thought.

Some National Parks have no real build up, not much of a tourist economy around it. Others, such as the Great Smoky Mountains, have an extreme excess. Glacier seemed to have a moderate amount of tourist build-up. The place seemed touristy, but not in an obnoxious way. Its quantity and quality was of such a way that it served the park well in building up just the right level of excitement and anticipation without being obnoxious or tacky.

I wouldn’t make it into the park this evening but according to plan I would stay at the West Glacier KOA. I had read this was the flagship KOA. I’d stayed at many Kampgrounds Of America and had become a big fan, so to stay at the allegedly best of all KOAs was an exciting thing for me. I had noticed, while booking my stay online, that this KOA was also the one featured on the front cover of the KOA directory. This was big stuff! Rolling along wide wooded highway 2, suddenly to my right stood the big bold beautiful KOA sign made of rich dark wood with black letter insignia, and it didn’t say “Kampground” as most are identified, It read “KOA Resort.” Oooh, fancy!

I checked in at the office, where I also was given a free KOA koozie. I don’t drink, but I was still glad to have a KOA souvenir. The campground was enormous. I had a standard tent pad which backed up to some woods at the junction between where the cabin guests stayed and the RV area. I quickly set up my tent, because I was on a mission: I wanted to enjoy the hot tub, which I did. It was small and busy, but I enjoyed a nice warm soak. I then finished setting up my camp, blowing up my air mattress, and throwing my pillow and sleeping bags in the tent. I felt calm and relaxed walking around the campground and getting familiar with the place. There was a vibrant energy, a positive one of happy families on vacation and kids on their bicycles. I kept having to make frequent trips to the bathroom. Although I felt relaxed in many ways, my gut was not happy.

I noticed on the resort map there were some little hiking trails in the woods just behind my site. I went on a stroll through the woods and there I decided to call my parents and let them know of my sickness. I had procrastinated telling them. I guess I was hopeful it’d just go away as suddenly as it seemed to come upon me, and therefore be a non issue. But I felt like now I was in for a long haul. I should let them know. Just talking about it and my experience with it so far was draining. I didn’t want to really talk about it. I wanted to ignore it, but I couldn’t.

Soon, after I settled in my tent for the night, and this was the night things took a major turn for the worse: Something inside of me is dying, and I feel like death. These feelings. After tonight, the illness would not just bother me but rage on.

In the morning I ate at the KOA resort. It had a restaurant, with a nice outdoor patio. I ordered the Montana Breakfast of eggs, potatoes, and thick sausage patties. I was impressed by the quality here. In the subsequent days I’d learn this trio is the standard Montana breakfast almost everywhere. After breakfast, I was driving, for the first time ever, into Glacier National Park with great excitement. I was going to hike the famous Skyline Trail, which in my present state of health, would not be easy.

As I was driving I thought back to what I would consider my greatest thoughts and reflections on this trip so far. I thought about Nurse Logs and the life-enriching ability one leaves behind after they have died. I considered my previous thoughts on the colors of my sunset and the qualities of one’s life that can be evident and seen when a life comes to completion, or to put it more bluntly, one dies. There was so much thought about death, but not in any dark way, but in an inspiring way, thinking more about the quality of a life truly lived before time naturally runs out. I was only twenty-eight, not an age one normally contemplates what they leave behind upon their passing, but these were my thoughts. It was curious to me that shortly after these thoughts came to me unexpectedly my health had been taken from me to the point my mind spoke: “I feel like death.”

Were my deepest thoughts and personal revelations preparing me for this, preparing for the end? It sounds very dramatic in retrospect, but in the moment it was quite sincere. The only other time my body was under this attack with ulcerative colitis brutally flaring was when I was in college and it was severe. There were the restless nights of rolling around the floor in pain, the hospitalization, the intense pain, the blood loss, the anemia, my body not digesting food, the malabsorption, the withering away, the affected eyes, the suffering teeth, the weakness, the fatigue, the fainting, the crying. The option of surgically taking out my colon wasn’t on the table, because the doctor believed I was too weak to survive the surgery. I look back and marvel how despite everything I continued onward.

At that time of the first onset I was a student in education, and I was due for student teaching the next semester. With my current state of health I felt I just couldn’t do it. I informed my parents I was coming home. I notified the education department at my school, telling them I had to postpone my student teaching because of my health. Then, this decision sat horribly with me. I didn’t feel at peace about it at all. Although now officially unenrolled, I called a meeting with the dean of education. I knew how rigid and firm to policies and procedures the whole institution was. I felt embarrassed, but I was going to plead and beg them to let me back in the program. I wanted to proceed with student teaching despite my health and weakness. I told the dean “I am very sick, but I may not get better. I may be like this for the rest of my life, so I don’t want to let this sickness stop me. I must learn to live with it.”

I’ll never forget what the dean told me. Somewhat surprised looking at me square in the eyes, she said “Well, that says an awful lot about your character.” I was back in! God gave me an inner strength and fierce resistance to face my illness while moving forward in life. .

In the struggle I clung on with a tight grip to a harmony of Bible verses I felt God spoke directly to me, 1 Peter 5:10 and Phillipians 4:7 together: “After you have suffered a while, the God of grace Himself, whose knowledge surpasses all understanding, will restore you and make you strong in Christ Jesus.”

It’s just for, “a while,” I thought. That helped me persevere. God will “restore” me and make me “strong.” That gave me hope. However, I was struggling with this. I wanted to believe it. I held the word of God to be true. It had proved itself over and over again to be so, but this night was exceptionally long, and there was no improvement in my health whatsoever. I felt myself slowly dying. What does this promise and these verses really mean?

One evening in my quiet time, alone in a little study nook in my university, in my sickly state with increasing complexity of illness, I was journaling and thinking over this promise of God. Then it dawned on me: I think I know what it means. The first part about “suffering a while,” well I was there, no doubt. I knew that to be true. The second part, “I will restore you and make you strong.” I struggled with that because I was not seeing it as I expected it to be, in this life. Maybe, that is the part God will accomplish when he calls me home. When I die. In his eternal presence I will be restored and he will make me strong. So maybe God is telling me, “After you have suffered a while, I will bring you home to restore you and make you strong.”

It was profound to me and haunting in some ways. I didn’t want to die so young, but at the same time the notion was comforting in knowing that whether it be in life or be in death God restores me and makes me strong. I am victorious through Him, either way! I took a deep breath as though accepting my fate, not sure I felt ready for the responsibility set before me, to proceed into death with faith, resting on His promise. I zipped up my backpack, tucked away my journal and Bible, and carried on with life’s demand. Live strong and fiercely to the end. But oh what an ache it was still to my soul! This was a silent disease. Few would know. I’d be here and then I wouldn’t.

God’s promise did hold entirely true, as it always does, and to my own heart’s desire, for God is good! I was restored and made strong in this life shortly after.

When I look back at this period of sickness in my life, it doesn’t seem so dark, and actually never felt dark in the moment either, though it may seem so from the casual observer. Actually, I am extremely grateful for that time of sickness and for the wrestles with faith. These were times of some of the greatest spiritual intimacy and dependency on God in my life. His promise held so much more, too, than what I even thought at the time. When God promised to restore me and make me strong, I considered that just in the physical sense. God did mean that, but He also meant it in a spiritual sense. God would strengthen me spiritually beyond what I could see in the moment. To go through such an experience of facing a prospect of death so young and doing so walking hand in hand with God, I think produces a level of wisdom and maturity that I am eternally grateful for and has become an integral part of my character and outlook on life and death. I would never want to go back and relive those days, but I’d also never wish they didn’t happen. Dolly Parton captures the sentiment in her song The Good Olde Days When Times Were Bad: “No amount of money could buy from me, the memories that I have of then, No amount of money could pay me, To go back and live through it again.”

But now, what was happening to my body here on this journey out West, here at Glacier, with the return of this great grave sickness? My thoughts went back to this previous era of life, to the promises, to the pain, to the prospects. I didn’t want to have to face and reconsider everything, but here it was again, in my face (or in my gut rather). There was a bit of initial panic and I felt overwhelmed. What do I believe again? I saw how God’s promises applied back then, but how do they apply now? I thought I had closed that chapter and had moved on, but it was back. Was it the same chapter of life? No. This was chapter 2. I was more prepared in the spiritual sense. Something was about to go down (or come down rather). That would soon become evident.

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “Lake Roosevelt and the Conservationist vs. the Preservationist”

Visit www.joshhodge.com

Lake Roosevelt and the Conservationist vs. the Preservationist

September 22, 2024Posted in national parksTagged conservation, conservationists, hiking, kettle falls, lake roosevelt, national parks, nature, preservationists, travel, washingtonLeave a comment

The Photo of Reassurance

“Okay, I look alright.” I said to myself while looking at my picture by the sign to Lake Roosevelt National Recreation Area. It was a relief. I was not feeling well at all. I thought my relaxing time in Stehekin would be good for the body. It was certainly good for the soul, those two nights up in the forest in the most remote community in Washington surrounded by nature. Yet inside my intestines and my immune system were still angry. I felt as if I was entering that stage where my body was starting to reject food altogether. Anything I would eat would make me feel unwell, and I felt weak and withering. This was devastating to me at the time for a number of reasons, but especially because in recent years I had really focused on my health and building my body up. I was so disciplined and persistent with my daily workouts. I was very strict on my diet. My body was my most valuable thing in life. We should all treat our bodies as the valuable things they are, but I believe I had become over preoccupied with it.

I could see the natural process that played its course for me to arrive at such a place. I had spent much of my teens and young twenties very ill. Then my body healed. I regained strength and began to feel healthy after a long period of sickness. As my body began to once again absorb nutrients from food, it was exciting, and I held such an appreciation and gratefulness for my health. Slowly that evolved into being over-concerned and over-consumed with it. It was more about health too. It was also about building muscle and maintaining a certain physique. It was building an image and maintaining it. That doesn’t have to be a bad thing, but did I let that consume me, so as to lose my health now was unnecessarily devastating? This is what I was thinking.

Now I felt like everything I had built was crumbling down. I was living to build my body. I had put so much value in that and now I did not have it. My muscle was withering away and I was feeling weak and ill. It was a punch to the gut that was already wounded…. But in the photo I just took I thought I looked good. I still looked healthy. I still looked strong. I certainly was feeling worse on the inside than I looked on the outside. Sometimes with ulcerative colitis, it is apparent when someone is ill, but it is also a silent illness, in that one can be very sick and feel utterly miserable but on the outside everything may look fine.

The photo I took gave me a little pick-me-up, for I was low in spirit. After the welcomed distractions of Stehekin and the excitement of exploring that little pocket in the woods the past few days, I had a three hour drive in which I felt miserable. My gut was restless and my body was fighting itself. I was pestered with the thoughts Why is this happening to me? And then No, this can’t be happening, but then I repeatedly was confronted with the reality that, Yes, this is happening. My thoughts would at times be distracted, especially by sights along the way- but then I’d feel the abnormal churning of the gut, an urgency to pull over, and I‘d have to repeatedly confront reality: I’m ill.

Eventually I arrived at Lake Roosevelt National Recreation Area. I had pulled over at one of the entrances to take my picture by the sign, something I try to do at every National Park Until. Feeling slightly better about my current state after seeing my photo, I pulled into Kettle Falls Campground. It was a very open arid campground. There were a few pine trees here and there, but mostly dry grass and dusty ground. I was atop a bluff beside the lake and on a rounded island very close to the mainland. As much as I love the deep forest, there is always something very comforting to me about wide open spaces. I think it’s the midwestern Illinois blood flowing through me. It’s calming for me to see the big sky and gaze over long distances, and there I could see that sky, and could look across the land over the lake.

Conservationists vs. Preservationists

Lake Roosevelt really is a part of the Columbia River formed by the Grand Coulee Dam created by president Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1941. I love natural places, and there is something extra remarkable about a beautiful lake naturally occurring in the wild, but there is something mildly disappointing about a dammed lake. I am not against dams. I think dams are fascinating in how much renewable energy they can provide and all the outdoor recreation they can afford. However I am well aware that there are people who are completely against dams altogether and any human influence upon the land. When I consider these people, I know I differ with them in the type of naturalist I am. I believe I am a conservationist, which I would define as one who calls for responsible use of the land to maintain its benefit for further generations. This is certainly different from exploiting the land, for I have great reverence for the land. If we were to exploit it, we would rid it of all its benefits, rendering it useless and defacing its natural beauty. Rather I believe we conserve it, so we can have it for its benefits for generations.

In some instances the best step we should take as conservationists is leave some things alone, preserve them. However my worldview is that the earth is designed for man’s benefit, and therefore we should use the earth for its intended purposes, and sometimes that benefit is simply in its beauty. An example is the Yosemite Valley. Don’t touch it. Let it be. It holds remarkable beauty. Other times the best purpose is for recreation or energy, perhaps that the assessment here for Lake Roosevelt. Sometimes the best purpose is agriculture, mining, cattle raising, farming, housing. Historically, the National Forest service has been a conservationist department, their motto: “land off many uses.” The National Park service is different in that its “to preserve and protect,” a largely preservationist mentality.

The preservationist as an individual doesn’t believe in any human involvement with the land. They believe in leaving it completely untouched. They want preservation as is. A conservationist believes in preservation as well, but the preservationists doesn’t share the same view of land use as the conservationist. Historically speaking, I have great respect for both types of people. Theodore Roosevelt was a great conservationist and John Muir was a great preservationist. Together they accomplished a lot. I think the input of both, the challenging view of one upon the other is good to find a balance and approach situations reasonably. The conservationist unchecked could be corrupted into an exploiter of land, but the preservationist helps bring the conservationist back to his roots of mighty respect for the land. Also the preservationist unchecked can become an extremist, viewing the human as merely a hindrance to the planet, restricting his due duty to the earth. As a consequence the planet actually suffers. Unfortunately I think many have arrived at this harmful viewpoint today, or at least those with loud voices and showy influence have.

Let’s take the example of forestry. It was once common practice for those working in forestry to attend to the forest. Fallen trees would be cleared from the forest and used for timber. This would benefit the man, but also benefit the forest as a whole. When lightning would strike and forest fires began, there would not be all the dry dead wood on the forest floor as ripe kindling, and therefore forest fires wouldn’t be as large and destructive. I know forest fires are natural and can be good things too, for the aftermath of a forest fire regenerates new growth and provides nutrients to the soil, but forest fires have grown bigger and more deadly, causing much damage, killing habitats, and disrupting air quality. People today want to blame out-of-control forest fires on “climate change,” but really the main factor is that in many parts, because of preservationists’ no intervention policies, forest floors are not cleared out of fallen timber. I see this as man not attending to his duty. Man in my view was created to attend to and take care of the land. He benefits from it, but he also takes care of it.

Many preservationists of today are treating humans like an invasive species. Not only do we have man not attending to his duty to care for the land, but we also prohibit and restrict him in so many instances, which may not be necessary or good. I am so glad the infrastructure of our National Park system and the creation of all our beautiful National and State Park lodges and roads occurred at a time of the healthy pull of both sound thinking conservationists and preservationists. Today the preservationist would prohibit humans from all of what we have and enjoy in terms of parks. We wouldn’t have the richness of our access to these beautiful places. We have to be responsible but we cannot throw out reason. After all, this is ours too!

Each Animal Has a Job

Take a look around the animal kingdom. All animals manipulate the earth. I think the strongest example is the beaver. They gnaw down trees, create dams as well, creating whole ponds and waterways that otherwise may not exist. They use their creations for their homes, their habitats, and cultivating their food sources. We don’t see huge movements and people taking to the streets to protest beaver dams now, do we?

What about bees? They build these hives, enormous in comparison to their size, then they go around stealing pollen from all these flowers. Should they just let these flowers be? Should we regulate bees and restrict them from tampering with all these flowers? Should we place zoning restrictions on their hives? What would happen then? Well, there would be no pollination of our flowers. They would cease to reproduce. We’d have no flowers and would lose many vegetables and fruits to extinction. Also, bears feed off of beehives.

Let’s talk bears. They have a responsibility to the forest too. They clean up dead carcasses and their waste spreads as fertilizer and spreads seeds to propagate growth of many plant species. Should we regulate bears and not let them roam free and confine them, for they are tampering with the forest by moving all those carcasses and spreading all their waste?

Man’s Role in Nature

Just like the bear and the bee God has given every creature its role. Birds build nests, bees build hives, beavers build dams, prairie dogs build entire underground towns, can’t the human build for himself a home or build his own dam? Every animal has a role with the environment. The human has a role too. The discussion should not be, how do we remove humanity from nature, but rather what is man’s responsible role in nature? Ignoring his role, the earth suffers. As written in the book of Genesis, God put man in the “Garden” to attend to it, and not to ignore it. We should especially not ignore our forest and water ways in this great garden. We need to attend to them.

This is not to say I am careless, but man is not an invasive species. I believe the earth is created for man. The bigger issue is that man doesn’t know who he is. The further we get away from God as a society, the less we know who we are; and the less we know about who we are, the less we know about our role and responsibility to the earth.

Here I stood at Lake Roosevelt. What do I make of this dammed lake? When it was constructed at the time of the U.S. coming out of the Great Depression and into World War II it provided much needed energy for the economy and today it provides great recreation. I acknowledge and have an appreciation for these things, but I also was a bit saddened learning more about it. Kettle Falls, the water falls which were a great and prominent gathering place for many Native American tribes of the Pacific Northwest to trade and fish along the Columbia River, was now flooded because of the dam. I was saddened that such beautiful things as waterfalls were eliminated by man, and I was sad considering tribes lost such an important location for them. When the dam was built and the falls were being flooded over, a number of tribes got together for a “ceremony of tears.”

This site was also so important to their salmon economy. At one time the Columbia River was home to the world’s largest salmon runs with over thirty million salmon taking the route. The dam changed that. Oh, what should I make of Roosevelt Dam? Some things we just have to accept. There’s no changing. Things won’t go back. Kettle Falls are gone. The salmon run is not what it once was. Lake Roosevelt is here to stay, and so I have to approach it, not by the past, but in the present. Lake Roosevelt is unarguably beautiful. I chose to appreciate it and enjoy it.

Mission Point

I drove just a few miles up the road to Mission Point, a little peninsula on the lake where the Jesuits had formed a mission, beginning with the visit of two Canadian-French Catholic missionaries, Francois Norbert Blanchet and Modeste Demer in 1838. They witnessed to the Colville Indians and the fur trappers and traders of the Hudson Bay Company visiting the nearby Fort Colville. The following year they held the first recorded mass between the Rockies and the Cascades and baptized nineteen Native Americans. This was my first time learning of Catholic missions in the U.S.. I would go on to learn of many more on my travels through Montana. There at Mission Point was the old mission meeting hall. It looked like nothing more than a cabin. I walked around and read the interpretive signs. There was a small path that led out to the tip of the peninsula. I walked out there and sat down for a moment. Everything was still, calm, and quiet. The sun was setting behind the hills in the distance on the other side of the lake.

On my walk back down the path to my car I spotted a deer. It was watching me through a window of pine trees in the forest. I paused and locked eyes with it, then I moved slowly and quietly towards it before it trampled off.

Back in my tent I looked through the pictures I had taken on my phone and reviewed my itinerary. Tomorrow I’d arrive at perhaps the climax of the summer adventure, at what I was considering the National Park of all National Parks, Glacier National Park!

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “Stehekin Day 2: Pastries, Grouse, and Greatness”

Visit www.joshhodge.com

Stehekin Day 2: Pastries, Grouse, and Greatness

September 15, 2024Posted in national parks, nature, UncategorizedTagged bakery, grouse, national parks, pastry company, stehekin, washingtonLeave a comment

I woke up to the strangest, most intrusive sound in my campsite just aside my tent. I could not place this sound. I was so perplexed. It sounded like a drumming, but too soft and coming from too low-down to the ground to be that of a human. A gnome? An alien? That’s ridiculous! It was so close, approaching my tent. This is bizarre. I rolled over and pushed myself up quickly to unzip my tent. There stood the funniest looking bird. I would describe it as looking like some sort of wild chicken, but it was strutting with its feathers on full display and its chest puffed out, like a miniature turkey. It looked so proud and pompous, yet it was so small and ridiculous, especially with its little feather tufts sticking up on the top of its head like some punk-rock motorcyclist. It was trying to be tough, but had big curious infant-like eyes. My initial thought: What the heck is that? Upon locking eyes, his feathers shrank close to his body, in what I perceived as a reaction of embarrassment, and then he scurried off into the forest in fright.

I had never seen this type of bird before, and I don’t know how I knew, but somehow it’s name was on the tip of my tongue. As I excited my tent and slipped on my boots, I kept trying to fish this word out of my memory. I was so close. I gathered my water bottle and my new book on Stehekin and threw them into my backpack. I began walking down the hill and it hit me: It’s a Grouse!…then, Is the plural form of grouse, grease?

This was day two of camping in Stehekin, the most remote community in Washington. My encounter with the grouse was midday. When I woke up and unzipped my tent for the first time of the day, I was greeted by the tall pines, the serene lake below, and the mountains standing mightily on the other side of the lake. My camping neighbor Luna Luu was already up as well, fixing things about her camp.

“Good morning,” I greeted. “Did you get some pictures of the Milky Way?” I asked.

“No. I didn’t end up going. It was cloudy last night,” she explained.

It’s what I had suspected.

This morning my first order of business was to go to the bakery for some breakfast. I invited her to come along, but she had her own hiking plans. After quickly throwing myself together, I hopped on my bike and took off down the road toward the bakery: Stehekin Pastry Company. The mountain morning air was brisk and refreshing, and there was no morning bustle about this place, as is common in so many places. Here the few people that were around eased into their morning. It was relaxing, moving at the gradual pace of the rising sun, slowly, growing with every passing moment gradually more alive.

Opening the bakery door, I was bombarded with the enticing smells of cinnamon and coffee blended with all the other aromas of the fine craftsmanship of the Pastry Company. After camping outside in the cold northern night, biking through the brisk mountain air, I knew it was going to be so relaxing and perfect to sit down with a cup of something hot to drink and a great big fresh cinnamon roll dripping with house-made icing, while sitting by a window, glancing outside to watch the forest slowly wake up and be illuminated by the morning light. I sat there in peaceful bliss doing just so.

After a while I got up to browse the nearby shelf of merchandise. There were hats, stickers, and books. A particular book caught my attention Stehekin: A Valley in Time, the true story of the valley through the eyes of Grant McConnel, a man who lived here from the 1940s until the 1990s. I bought it, along with a sticker. I wanted to learn more about this place, and this book seemed perfect. I also noticed a number of other books, all by local authors. I realized this was somewhat of an author community. I understood why. The place was ripe for inspiration with its natural beauty, and its remoteness and solitude eliminates all the distractions for the writer. I would love to live in such a place and dedicate my time to writing. So far I’d imagined myself living here as a baker, then a teacher, and now an author. I had no idea that in less than a year I’d find myself spending my whole summer on the edge of Glacier National Park, in the remote community of Polebridge, sandwiched in between parkland and national forest in the wildest river valley in the lower forty-eight states. There I’d live and work amidst the beautiful Rocky Mountains, off the grid, in the beloved Polebridge Mercantile and Bakery. I guess we could say it was a dream come true, looking at the dreams occupying my mind during my time in Stehekin. When I was interviewing for the job in Polebridge over the phone in the winter- the owner told me how he wanted to place me at the front of the store as a closing cashier. In that moment, and in fact all-through the interview, in my mind I kept seeing the Stehekin Pastry Company. It was my only point of reference to such a job. I recalled seeing the bakers back in the kitchen with their mounds of dough, working so diligently but seeming to have fun. “What about putting me in the role of a baker?” I asked. The owner, Will, explained how he believed that with my skill set as a teacher I’d be best suited for the front of the house. He was right. He told me that if things work out he’d like for me to keep a relationship with the business and return for more than just a summer. I worked there for many summers and continue to do so. My time working at the Polebridge Mercantile and Bakery are some of the richest of my life. Although oftentimes rustic and primitive, it’s my summer paradise. I love it!

After my morning cinnamon bun I got back on my bike and traveled non-stop to the other end of the road, past all the sites I had stopped at the day before: the one-room schoolhouse, the two-room schoolhouse, Rainbow Falls, Stehekin Ranch, and then bearing off the main road I rolled down a path to the Stehekin Airstrip, a field amidst the pines. Is this really an airstrip?…I guess it would do. I could imagine a little private plane landing and rattling atop this field. I supposed boat access wasn’t the only way to arrive at Stehekin but plane access had to be private. There were no commercial or charter flights. Biking past the “airstrip” I sought out “The River Trail,” from my map. When I parked my bike against a tree and started on the trail I realized it was not a very frequently trafficked area, for it was mostly overgrown and had just a narrow space barely big enough for my feet. My ankles were brushing up against the growth of the forest floor. This was a rich lush forest, more characteristic of those back East. At one point the path came close enough to the river I could see the water. At this location I’d call it more of a creek than a river. I veered off the path and stepped down onto the river bed. It was so shallow the water didn’t even reach as tall as the top of my boots. The water was also not high enough to cover all of the riverbed. The middle of the river was dry, so it was there I sat down. With my eyes closed and listening to the trickling water around me, I prayed a prayer of thankfulness for being here. I also prayed about my health. I had enough distractions from all I was seeing and experiencing in Stehekin that I hadn’t been focusing on it, but it was still, in its own aching way, always present on my mind and felt in my weakening body.

This is good for me, I thought, to relax by the river, to take in the soothing sounds of the water and the lights beaming through between the tree branches. This was a gift from God. I had been feeling that my body was caught in this state of high tension and if I could get it to calm down, escape this state of being, I’d be okay, but it felt like a lot to do. I was up against my very self. I concluded every moment should be used to help bring my body out of this state of tension. This was one such moment. Relaxing was now a priority of mine. In my relaxed state I broke open my journal and began to write.

When I got back on my bike, calmed, settled, grounded into this time and space, I leisurely began biking back to the other end of the road. Of course I had to pass by the bakery again, and it was time for lunch. I was hungry and there were many great things on the menu for lunch. I couldn’t make up my mind of what to order so I just decided to buy two lunches, a salad with salmon and a roast beef sandwich. They were delectable- especially the salmon. I thought it was fitting to eat salmon in the Pacific Northwest. Once back in “town” I realized it had been about twenty four hours since I had rented my bike, so it was time to turn it in. Then feeling mildly handicapped without my wheels, I walked back up to my campsite. It was time for a nap. It was only afternoon, yet I had already covered great ground this morning and felt it was fine to give up some of my day to sleep. After all, relaxing was now a priority. I fell into a deep sleep in my tent, wrapped in this fold of nature, and then I woke up to the drumming grouse just outside my tent.

I ended up spending a large portion of the evening sitting on a rock up on the mountainside behind the campground, looking down at the lake. There I read the book I had bought about Stehekin. It was a very entertaining read. Between this evening and the following morning I read the whole book. That’s very fast for me. It was that good. I especially enjoyed learning about the community back in earlier times. I read how delivering mail along the stretch of road was a shared responsibility. People took turns. In the winter, the author delivered the mail on skis. It was customary for him to stop by and visit with everyone along route. It sounded kind of nice, skiing out in the cold of winter, stopping occasionally every few miles, stepping into a warm house with a warm fire in the hearth, greeted with a cup of coffee or tea, and engaging in conversation about the latest news of the valley. It also stuck out to me the part discussing how there was only one phone in Stehekin in the post office brought in by the National Forest Service. That was the only immediate communication to the outside world, and it wasn’t very reliable. It also struck me as comical, the part about the aftermath of a plane crash up in the woods, and how the locals, given they had very limited resources, stripped that plane and used it for building materials in their homes, and even parts of it was used for dinnerware. Remnants of the plain could be seen popping up all over the community in people’s houses.

The author talked about how for so long Stehekin was frozen in time, and a unique and very personal community. Whenever someone had to take the boat down the valley into Chelan, people were often repulsed by the chaos and lifestyle of those “down lake.” Reading this book, everything seemed like such a far-off, foreign, yet intriguing concept. However, later in my own time working at the Polebridge Mercantile and Bakery in Montana, I would live through similar experiences. It too is, at this time, a one phone community. The contrast between our life up the North Fork River valley couldn’t be more stark against the developing society down stream.

The following morning, day three in Stehekin, it was time for me to go “down lake” back into the real world, but I wouldn’t be spending much time in society. It was time for the next leg of my adventure and off to other wild places, soon approaching the behemoth of National Parks: Glacier National Park. Before I boarded the boat I walked to “The Garden.” This morning the gardener was there. From my understanding this was all his. I bought from him some sugar snap peas and cherries. I stood there in the garden and spoke with him for a few minutes. He told me some of his story and how he ended up here. To me, at the time, it struck me as sort of weak, running away from society and life’s problems to live up here in remoteness. I had perceived it as a negative thing, but with the evolution of society “down lake” and after my own experience living in a similar remote community, I have grown in perspective thinking back on his story. There is a healthier way of living that is lost in the bustle of growing society. I get it.

Back on the boat, I was munching on my delicious sugar snap peas, so sweet and crisp, mixing things up every-so-often with a nice tart juicy cherry. This is going to be good for me, I was thinking, for my body and fighting the inflammation I was feeling. Some nice fresh produce, a few days in Stehekin with moments of great relaxation, and now sitting in the sunlight on the open water is going to make me just fine, I thought. My ulcerative colitis was just some strange nightmare. I’m going to put this illness behind me. It’s over. I’m okay now.

I was wrong, very wrong. This was only the beginning. Things were going to get much worse… and much more beautiful.

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “Stehekin: The Most Remote Community in Washington”

Visit www.joshhodge.com

Stehekin: The Most Remote Community in Washington

August 31, 2024Posted in UncategorizedLeave a comment

I was very much looking forward to this next leg of my adventure. Never before had I done something quite like this. I was going to board a boat on Lake Chelan, take it for forty miles to the other end of the lake, and get dropped off in the isolated community of Stehekin on the fringe edges of North Cascades National Park in northern Washington. The plan was to camp there for two nights, explore the area, and enjoy the remoteness. Let’s go!

I woke up at the KOA campground in Winthrop, Washington and left by 6:30 am, giving myself plenty of time to drive an hour south to the town of Chelan to board the boat at 8 am. I drove through the arid grassy hills of the region speckled with pine trees. Passing through the outskirts of the town of Chelan, I reached the harbor. There sat the vessel, “The Lady Express” alongside a single small dock. She was a moderate vessel, with a holding capacity of one hundred people. The entrance to the dock was sandwiched between two small harbor buildings. Behind it sky-blue waters lay and great mountainous peaks stood in the distance. I rounded a bend to reach the fenced-in parking lot across the street from the boat dock. It was free to park but looked like, because of the fence and gate, that it was locked up at night. How should I take this? I thought. Does this mean it’s a safe area to leave my car, because it’ll be fenced up, or is this a crime-ridden area, because it has to be locked up at night? It just seemed like a small town to me, nothing that should rear much in crime, but having witnessed Seattle area a few days prior and being a rather skeptical and untrusting person to begin with, the thought of safety did cross my mind, but I concluded I liked the fact the car would be left fenced in.

Now, it was time to pack! I had made a list of what to bring with the night prior, and I had begun packing but hadn’t quite put everything together. First I needed to get dressed for the day. I just rolled out of bed and left the campground. I figured I’d put myself together once I had the security of being where I knew I needed to be in time. After changing clothes in the car, I fetched my overnight backpack from the depths of the trunk and finished gearing up. I needed quite a bit, not only layers for the drastically changing temperatures of the mountainous far North but also all my camping gear for two nights. My final step was changing out from my flip-flips into my hiking boots. Putting on those boots and tying those laces really puts me in the spirit for adventure. I was ready!

I checked in at the little building beside the dock where they issued my boarding pass, and soon I was on the boat and on my way! The boat was very simple, nothing to write home about. It maybe was at only a fourth of its capacity. It wasn’t a big passenger hall. I sat toward the front end. Most of the passenger access was enclosed, but I opened the window I sat next to to look outside. I noticed the hills immediately surrounding the lake here by the town of Chelan were brown from dry grasses, and buildings congregated down at the water’s edge, but the further we floated from town and out in the lake, the less and less building there were, just a few lavish luxury homes every once in a while dotted the surrounding hills. Then the hills grew larger and greener, becoming increasingly mountainous. The boat rounded a few curves in the lake, and civilization was all left behind. Now on either side of the lake stood the mountains of the North Cascades with its craggy peaks and protrusions. With each passing minute, I realized we were becoming more and more remote, and curiosity grew of what this place, Stehekin, would actually be like. What sort of place can exist so far away from any other civilization?

The boat ride in total was two and a half hours. I knew it was coming to an end when the lake narrowed and became darker as the sun was hidden behind the mountain peaks. Then the boat couldn’t go much further because up ahead was just a large mountain and the great wilderness. The boat pulled up to a dock. I spotted a few structures, including the prominent North Cascades Lodge at Stehekin, a modest timber constructed building laying beneath the trees. There were a few vehicles too, and I knew the vehicles were resident vehicles. They didn’t go elsewhere, because they couldn’t. Stehekin only has one road. It stretches for 13 miles but does not connect to any other road. It starts here by the lodge and ends at wilderness access. Just the sight of the lodge and the vehicles assured me that perhaps this was a bit more civilized than I had imagined. I won’t be roughing it by any challenging means. I see infrastructure, if primitive, and there will be running water since there’s a lodge.

Once I got off the boat I made a beeline for the National Park’s Golden West Visitor Center, to get a camping permit. I had no experience or insight to know if it would be hard to find an open campsite here. Would this be a popular place or is this off the beaten path? I would find it to be the latter. With ease I got a camping permit and was directed to the Lakeview campground, just steps away. It was a rather developed campground with picnic tables and fire rings of little sites nestled into the mountainside overlooking the lake through the pine trees. It was not busy, just a few other tents were set up. I found a site that backed up to some trees climbing up the mountain. I pitched my tent and unpacked. I realized I could not lock anything up. I would have to be trusting. I did take my day pack with me and walked just steps away to “downtown” which consisted solely of the visitor center, lodge, post office, and bike rental shop. There I rented a bike for two days. With this I could see it all, and I wasted no time in beginning to do so. I was ready to bike the full expanse of the road and see all the things. I had received a map from the bike concessioners that had all the points of interest along the road, and so I took off.

How cool! Just the thought of being in this isolated community that connects to nowhere but tucked away in the North Cascades was so novel and exciting. I was also relieved everything worked out to be here. I made it! The place was quiet, serene, and beautiful. The freedom to explore on bike, propelled by my own effort, zooming through the pine filled mountain air, was invigorating. To my left was largely the mountainside and forest, to my right is where a few private cabins were dispersed alongside the lake. They were picturesque, small, simple, with immaculate little landscaped green grass yards decorated with flowers that backed right up to the lake with their little docks. The glassy reflective lake waters spread behind, and mountains stood beyond. A few were of a rustic pioneer cabin style with their little stone chimney’s standing aside their wooden frames. One looked like a miniature Swiss chalet.

Just about a mile from where I started my bike ride the lake comes to an end and is replaced by the Stehekin River. There at the convergence lies the river delta. The road curves just enough to position the traveler right at the head of the lake by the wispy marshy grasses of the deltalands. The view was gorgeous, looking out into the valley with layers of mountains spilling into the lake. I paused to take in the beauty and serenity.

On the other side of the road was “The Garden.” It was on the map. I stopped to find the large garden surrounded by forest and in it rows and rows of produce and flowers precisely organized and sectioned. It was bountiful and flourishing. I wasn’t sure if I was welcome to explore the grounds or not. Anyhow, I’d be back later. There were other things to see.

About a half-mile up the road was the Stehekin Pastry Co.. I knew nothing about this place. I hadn’t come across it in my research, or at least I hadn’t taken particular note of it. Its name was painted on a wood sine propped up against a stone fence, just behind that was a lush shady decorative garden. Most of the building, which looked like a home, was overshadowed by large trees with limbs sprawling above it. I walked the little path amidst the stone fence and garden into the most delightful bakery. Cinnamon rolls, pies, and cookies stood in the display case proudly. Behind the counter, visible to all patrons, was the kitchen. I saw enormous mounds of dough on the tables, and people crafting delicious things to eat. The customer side of the establishment was rather dim, but in a cozy cabin-like feel, with wooden walls and fixtures everywhere. The bakery’s kitchen was bright and sleek. I bought myself a nice big piece of peach pie and enjoyed it. As I was waiting to check out, I was observing the bakers busy at work. They seemed to really know what they were doing and enjoyed their work. How cool it would be to work and live in such a remote place and have the National Park and wilderness a stone’s throw away! I Imagined going to work in a bakery, making the dough for the pastries and for my pocket, and then leaving work to be immersed in the natural beauty of the wild. I was a bit envious. I wanted to be making pastries, sharpening a new skill and living within a community in the remote stretches of the wild. It seemed just fanciful, just a fun thought to entertain, trying to envision myself in such a setting. I had no idea that this moment, these thoughts, were all foreshadowing of what the future had in store for me. Something like this was not unreachable for me.

I got back on my bike, and just about a mile up the road I stopped at the Stehekin School, a rustic, one-room log cabin schoolhouse in the National Register of Historic Places. Two wooden beams served as steps up to the front porch shaded with the long roof overhang. The door was open. I entered. Inside I saw an old chalkboard in the front and a little podium for the teacher. There were old fashioned wooden and steel student desks, where behind the seat of one was attached the desk of another. I saw the little wood burning stove, the oil lanterns, maps and faded student drawings hung up on the walls, and stacks of textbooks on a table against the window. At first I was confused. Is this still in operation? It sort of looks like it’s still lived in. Then I figured it was probably frozen in time as a historical site.

The map of the sites along the road also had descriptions of each. I learned that the school was built in 1921 and was used until 1988 when the new school was built. The population had outgrown their one-room schoolhouse and thus they built a new two-room schoolhouse. Just up the road I checked out the newer schoolt. It had a sign next to the road, and a mound of freshly chopped firewood. It looked like it had just been delivered. The new school was still a log structure but didn’t have the rustic look of the original. It looked more like a large hut in that it had a long drooping roof, but it was very nice-, aesthetically constructed, beautiful in its own 1980s design. Around it was a small school yard of well cut green grass, and beside it the woods of pine tanding pall. In that moment my heart yearned to be able to be a teacher in such a place. I had been entertaining the thought of me being in a bakery in the wild, but I had no such experience in a bakery. However, the schoolhouse was just up my alley. I am a teacher. I wonder if they are hiring? I bet it’s hard to get a position in such a place. The reality also hit me that I’m a Spanish teacher, not certified as a general education teacher. The teacher here probably had to teach all subjects to all grades. I wouldn’t be cut out for it, but I longed to live in a place like Stehekin already. Even though I was still making acquaintance, it was all love at first sight.

Next point of interest was Rainbow Falls. A short path off the road led to it. It was very impressive. Water dropped straight down in a picturesque 312 foot tall fall. I was surprised I hadn’t heard anything about this waterfall before. It was so beautiful, and definitely a site worth seeking out. It certainly wasn’t as tall as Yosemite Falls, but it dropped in the same horsetail elegance of those falls. It gave me major Sierra Nevada vibes.

After the falls, the road eventually turned to complete gravel and stretched on for about five miles without any other point of interest, just forest, and dispersed cabins. Then I came to Stehekin Valley Ranch. I knew it was a ranch, but wasn’t sure what that meant in this context. There was one main structure, a few other outposts, a garden, and a field tucked between the forest. There were some horses grazing, including a large Clydesdale of which I snapped a photo.

I was nearing the end of the road when I had completed eleven miles, but it didn’t seem so long. It was so enjoyable to stop and see all the things along the way. I liked how in Stehekin everything was on the same road. Everything was in a linear progression. It was so simple, so not overwhelming. Near the end of the road I crossed a short steel and wooden framed bridge over the river and came upon the trailhead for Agnes Gorge. I parked my bike, not worrying about it not being locked up and disappearing. I hadn’t seen anybody in forever. I so enjoyed the freedom of not having to worry about my things like I often have to in the more overdeveloped and sophisticated world. As I began the trail I saw a sign nailed to a tree. Along with the official emblem were the words “The Pacific Crest Trail.” I was surprised that the national trail came through this area. I ended up hiking five miles in the Agnes Gorge. The trail led through the forest to cliff edges up high looking down at the river gorge. The forest here was very lush with greenery of all kinds, and the forest floor was hidden by growth.

At one point it did hit me that this was probably the most remote I had ever been, if not to include my adventures in the middle of Nevada. Not only was I in Stehekin and its own remoteness to begin with, but I was way down the road at the far end, removed from everyone, now out on a trail miles in. I also hadn’t seen anyone since maybe eight miles ago at the bakery. I actually reveled in the solitude. In the physical sense, there was me and the forest. That was it. This world was mine. For some this notion might bring about a bit of anxiety, but for me it brought incredible peace. I never feel completely alone or vulnerable, for I know I’m always in God’s presence even when no other human is present. I also am the type of person who can have fun in a group of people or amidst the crowds, but I so cherish, and value moreso, one-on-one time with a friend or individual. It gives me the ability to really get to know a person and connect on a deeper level, to know that person and to be known and heard by that person. So here at the end of the road, in the Agnes Gorge, removed from everyone else, it was one-on-one time with just me and God. That brought me incredible peace. Let me wander and saunter in that.

After I biked the eleven miles back to the other end of the road to my campsite, evening was setting in, and I noticed I had a neighbor. I don’t recall how, but she struck up a conversation with me. Her name was Luna Lu. She was a young asian lady with bleached blonde hair. As we got to talking she explained how she was from Las Angeles and was a photographer. She invited me to come sit over at her picnic table. We talked about National Parks, Los Angeles, and my day’s journey through Stehekin. Of course as the conversation progressed I was trying to figure out just why she was taking interest in me. She explained how she loved traveling and taking photos of nature. She had just come from Yosemite and was going to be here for two days just like myself. She was hoping to capture some good night-sky photos, especially of the Milky Way tonight with virtually zero light pollution. She explained how she was going to go about walking at around midnight to see what kind of night sky views she could behold. She invited me to go explore with her at night. The thought did seem intriguing and she was proving herself to be good company, but clouds were rolling in and I knew I’d be asleep by then. I could always wake up. I wasn’t convinced it was a good idea. I bid her goodnight, crawled into my tent, and quickly drifted to sleep. What a good day. I loved this place and had a whole additional day in Stehekin to look forward to.

Back at my little cabin, at great peace for a quite a productive evening, and after having a day full of great vistas and travel, I slept soundly, anticipating the adventure that lay ahead: backpacking into Steheiken.

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “Traveling Across North Cascades National Park”

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Traveling Across North Cascades National Park

April 28, 2024Posted in adveture, national parks, natureTagged diablo lake, new haven, north cascades, north cascades national park, ross lake, washington, winthropLeave a comment

I got an early start because I had slept in the car. There was no deconstructing the tent and packing up. I was ready to go. I went from sleep to the turn of the car key and I was on the road. Now it was time to pay a visit to another National Park: North Cascades National Park, which was only about an hour away. When people refer to the North Cascades, it’s similar to when referring to the Redwoods. As the Redwoods constitute a collection of state parks, North Cascades too is a collection. There are three major entities: Ross Lake National Recreation Area, Lake Chelan National Recreation Area and North Cascades National Park proper, though the latter name is just used to refer to all in the trio collectively.

I had big plans for this visit: an overnight backpacking adventure the following day in the Lake Chelan area. Today I would just be traversing the heart of the parks on highway 20, stopping at the visitor center, all the overlooks, and seeing what I could see. I had noticed in my investigation that all the iconic views of North Cascades were roadside viewpoints, so I figured I wouldn’t be missing anything essential.When visiting parks I’ve got to make sure I don’t miss out on the essential views. What a shame it would be to go to Yosemite and never see Tunnel View, or go to Yellowstone and fail to see Old Faithful.

My first stop was at the visitor center by the west entrance of the park. There I watched the park film, and a series of other films on smaller screens throughout the visitor center. The three National Park units that make up this area were all created in 1968. This park has glacial mountains, consisting of over 300 glaciers. Although it’s famous for its sharp mountainous peaks, called the Cascades, it got its name North Cascades, and I suppose the mountains too, from all the water cascading from the peaks, forming many streams and rivers. The water sources of the area were used for hydroelectric power, but the development of the National Park stopped the further industrial development. The park’s two most famous lakes, Diablo Lake and Lake Ross, are the result of man-made dams. Both lakes are extravagant in their bright turquoise color, which is created from rock particles. The National Park Service describes it best: “the distinctive turquoise color of the lake is the result of suspended fine rock particles refracting sunlight. These rock particles, called glacial flour, enter the lake when rock from the surrounding mountains is eroded by ice and flows into the water through glacial streams.”

After learning about everything in the visitor center, it was time to experience it all first hand. About ten minutes up the road I made my first stop. Nestled closely by mountains on either side, within a gorge, and right along the Skagit River, was this little town with modest homes and a few small businesses. It was strange to see manicured lawns, and intentional landscaping around buildings in a National Park. The only other thing it reminded me of was the town of Mammoth Hot Springs in Yellowstone, where many park rangers and staff take residence. But this town looks rather industrial with lots of electrical wires and utility infrastructure. I know this had to do with the dams and hydroelectric power, but it didn’t even cross my mind that the waterways in this park were still being used to generate electricity. I had assumed this was all a relic of the past, that it was a company town of a hydroelectric power company but the homes left over from that bygone era were now ranger residences. I thought this was a little ranger and park employee village. I’d soon learn I was wrong. The town of New Haven is surrounded by federal National Park land, but this mile long community is owned by Seattle City Light, and all the residents of the town are exclusively employees of Seattle City Light, working on the Skagit River Hydroelectric Project, a series of dams and hydroelectric stations. Altogether this operation provides about 90% of Seattle’s electricity. I was surprised to find a currently operating utility company stationed within a National Park. Operations of the hydroelectric project began in 1924 with president Calvin Coolidge formally initiating it all. With The National Park designation coming more than forty years later. I suppose the value of the hydroelectric power was too valuable to eliminate. I’m sure there is quite an interesting and complex relationship between Seattle City Light and the National Park Service.

In town I wandered around a bit, reading a few historical placards. Prior to World War II this town was quite a tourist destination. The tourists would come in on a twenty-three mile train ride, stay in the Gorge Inn, and go on tours of the Hydroelectric Project on boats. It was quite a thing to see. But after the war it lost its status as a tourist destination.

There in town I saw an old steam engine on display, and crossed a suspension bridge, and I bought a brown sack lunch at Skagit General Store. This town wasn’t particularly charming or quaint. It wasn’t rustic, and it lacked any defining character. The proximity of the mountains and river were its most prominent features, but it wasn’t trying to be a tourist destination anymore, for it was only a functioning company town. The city dwellers need their electricity. I wasn’t expecting this but I learned that hydroelectricity is a part of the experience when visiting North Cascades National Park.

Just a little bit up the road I passed a dam, one of a series, but this one was the most visible and creatively named “The Gorge Dam”. It had to be old. Observing the architectural design of the powerhouse, you could say, “they just don’t make them like that anymore.” It was designed with attention to the image it would portray. It was a work of art. Not knowing much about architectural terminology, I would say it was a fusion of Roman and Art Deco design. It had long rectangular windows and boxy features with a regal boldness and pillars.

Suddenly everything changed past the dam. I was back in the National Park, and back in nature’s beauty. I was a little disappointed, at the time, to learn that the lakes of the National Park were not natural but were the result of dams. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good dam, and I admire human ingenuity to harness power through water, but to know the National Park was not all natural just kind of tainted it a bit in my mind. The only dam I wanted to see here was a beaver dam. Of course if a beaver dam is a part of nature, then isn’t a human dam a part of nature too? Is man himself not a part of nature?

As I continued my journey on the park road, climbing upward in the mountain reaches, I made my next stop at the overlook of Diablo Lake, and oh my! What a sight! Pristine! I was surprised to see that such a vibrant turquoise color could even exist in nature. It was such a bright and vibrant color. Although perplexing, in its surrealness, it yet looked so natural and believable. Mountains dramatically sloped down into the milky turquoise water, which curved around into many bays. To the right side of the lake, before the inlet of a bay, stood two small little islands. The middle of the lake spread up to the foot of Davis Peak, a jagged snow-capped mountain. From behind the mountainscape delicate clouds wisped forward, as if imitating beams of sunlight. The dark richness of the pine forests on the mountainsides, contrasted with the turquoise lake and the blue sky created a unique pacific northwest color scheme. There at the overlook I also noticed a pine tree whose needles were turning red. It was probably a sickly tree, but in my photos I was able to add a splash of red, creating such a colorful capture. From here the mountains were dramatic and tall, but there were only a few to behold. Mountains didn’t stretch on in layers in the distance. Only the immediate ones were seen, giving the accurate impression that I was up very high. All other peaks were below and hidden. Only here could I see the highest reaches and I did feel on top of the world.

Just a few miles up the road I also came to an overlook for Ross Lake. It too was stunning. It was similar in color and nature to Diablo Lake, but much longer, and the way the mountains were situated and the lesser number of immediate bays, made it just the slightest bit less picturesque, but still beautiful and magnificent nevertheless.

The rest of my drive provided great views of sharp craggy peaks, jutting up from the mountains, as if mountains were upon mountains. These weren’t rounded or flowing mountains but dramatic sudden reaches. And they were immediate reaches, right there, with snow caught in their veiny rivets. There was a definite character to these mountains, and if these mountains were music, they’d be crescendoing cymbals of a regal nature. It’s was if I could hear the mountains. I stopped at one overlook of the mountain valley and beheld the mountain peaks beside me, so tall. It was truly a moment of awe, and I thought, I’m back. I’m in my element. The awesome wonder that beset me my first great summer adventures is here to recapture my spirit. The sense of adventure was on fire again, a blazing campfire, with sparks igniting the night sky. I was coming back in my spirit to a place I so longed to be.

About twenty miles outside of the park I arrived into the town of Winthrop, Washington. None of the campsites in the National Park were reservable online, and planning my trip I wanted to have the security of a place to stay. I wasn’t sure how busy North Cascades would be. It didn’t prove to be very busy at all. Arriving in Winthrop, I was surprised. The land was very arid. There were hillsides surrounding that were very dry and barren. I could have been fooled that I was in a desert of the Southwest. I had never before associated the desert with Washington. On the way to the KOA I drove through the little downtown. It was a quintessential Wild West downtown of not just Western facades, but the real deal. Nothing was too bold or boisterous but rather small and charming. The businesses beheld names such as “General Merchandise,” “Emporium,” and “Saloon.” A vintage but functional gas station with two pumps sat next to the road where people walked on the sidewalks. I realized this place was a tourist draw, but not overly so. It wasn’t crowded. It wasn’t flashy. It was just right. After being in the remote, brisky north reaches of the Cascades, it was comforting to be in this warm little welcoming Western frontier town. I’d later learn that Owen Wister, the Harvard roommate of one of the original settlers in the area, Guy Winthrop, wrote his famous Western novel, “The Virginian”, after a visit to Wintrhop.

The KOA was only a mile from the downtown stretch. I drove across Chewach River, noticing a bike path parallel to the road and also crossing over the river which was shimmering in the evening sun. Everything around here looked well taken care of. Right next to the entrance to the KOA was a long wooden western style building named “Winthrop Dry-Goods.” Perfect! I went inside the small grocery store and bought some yogurt, Frosted Flakes, and milk.

I checked into the KOA, and it was so nice. It sat right at the Methow River at the foot of a desert hill. I had reserved a camping cabin, which had plenty of space around it, and I felt like I had so much space to breathe in this nice dry, warm, and welcoming place. I took off my boots and trod around barefoot. Relaxed, I organized the trunk of my car. Now that Zach was not here, I had full reign. I also did a load of laundry, and packed for my upcoming backpacking trip to Stehieken. While the clothes were spinning I took a warm shower in the nicest KOA bathroom I have ever experienced. When I checked in, the hosts even bragged about how new it was. It was a log cabin style building and inside there were about a half dozen little individual private bathrooms. Each had their own shower and little changing area separate from the sink, mirror, and the rest of the bathroom. They also each had their own skylight, letting in warm sunlight. They all had that nice new building smell, but not just any new building, but a fresh-wood log cabin smell about them.

When I gathered my laundry and went back to the cabin, I noticed a few items hadn’t dried completely, so I laid them out on the railing of the porch. I then poured myself a cup of Frosted Flakes into my KOA cup from the night before and reveled in the sweet crunch, as I sat on the porch swing, updated my journal, and read a little bit of John Muir. This was a simple yet blissful moment.

I then drove back into town, first stopping at the cable bridge alongside the bike path to cross over and look down into the river. In downtown I parked my car and walked down the mainstreet. There wasn’t as much to see as I expected from the initial perception driving in, but it was all pleasant. I ate dinner in an old turn of the century schoolhouse, rightly named “Old Schoolhouse Brewery.” I had a chicken sandwich on the back porch overlooking the river.

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “Strange Faces, Strange Places”

Visit www.joshhodge.com

Strange Faces, Strange Places

April 27, 2024Posted in adveture, national parks, travel, UncategorizedTagged adventure, camping, hiking, koa, mt rainier, national parks, north cascades, northwest, seattle tacoma, travelLeave a comment

It was the hour to get organized, for it was time to head toward the airport and return Zach to Kentucky where he came from. So we began first-thing this morning. The trunk of the car was just a grand mess of all our things sort of mixed together: the boots, the backpacks, the flannel, flashlights, the park maps, the souvenirs. We handed things back and forth as we got organized. “This is yours…..This is mine.” We also had to take down the tents and pack up the sleeping bags. It was quite an operation. I wasn’t sure how to feel about all this. Was I to be sad to send Zach off, continuing the adventure by myself? How would that feel after all this time together? Or should I feel happy and relieved to be able to have my solo freedom, to do everything as I wanted to and not have the stress of the complaining and the concern of trying to appease. I guess I sort of shrugged it off. I’ll find out when he’s gone, I concluded.

Leaving Mount Rainier National Park, we stopped just outside at a little “backpacker lodge.” That’s how I described it in my journal. I didn’t bother to write down its name or provide any details, except that I bought a cup of hot tea and a scone for breakfast. I described it as a “backpacker lodge,” by the part-grungy, part-artsy nature of the place and the few patrons around sporting large backpacks. In writing about this place I’ve examined maps and have tried to locate this place, to give it a name here, but I simply cannot find it. Perhaps it doesn’t exist anymore, or perhaps it is just well hidden on the maps.

In recalling my adventures in the National Parks and the beautiful wild, this is not the only place I visited I haven’t been able to relocate. The very day I picked Zach up from the airport, and we were traveling our way up California on highway 101 in the semi-arid lands, passing by many a vineyard, I came to a sign boasting some sort of self-sustaining community. It was advertised as an all-natural farm working on renewable energy. Its signage read “visitors welcome.” I knew this was the kind of place Zach would like to see. So, I pulled off the road. This was for him. He seemed excited to see it. We pulled onto a dusty driveway. The land was dry and the sun was harsh. A box stood at a post with a suggested donation listed. We threw in a few dollars. I should have known better…Well, honestly I had no idea what was in store.

So this was this little commune of various buildings and paths between them we could walk around on. We weren’t quite sure where we could go, or what we were to see. There was some interesting makeshift infrastructure, networks of homemade irrigation systems, green houses, lots of plants hanging around, buildings that were constructed…um…what’s the word… creatively. It was kind of intriguing, but then we came across a local. He was a middle-aged man, leathery, wrinkly skin from too much sun exposure. His hair was dirty and matted; his shirt only buttoned up halfway to show off his collection of hippie necklaces. He was super friendly and talkative…because he was drunk. The first piece of evidence was the smell on his breath. He welcomed us, and gave a slurred introduction to the grounds. He wanted to show us his home that he built himself. It was a hut, made of dirt clay and glass bottles. I’ll admit it was impressive. It even had some nice windows built into it. It had to have been a lot of work, but after I briefly saw it. I was done. I was done listening to him curse like a sailor so casually and I was ready to go! But he kept talking and talking. When we did get away, I made a comment to Zach about how drunk he was, “…and high,” Zach added. I hadn’t picked up on that, but it’s because I hadn’t been exposed to enough high people to know what that sort of behavior looks like. Then a notion started to dawned on me: I think we are on a marijuana farm. Again, I was done. I wanted to get out of here. Before we left we did go into a gift shop, which was surprisingly nice and put together, not very reflective of the jury-rigged nature of the rest of the place. By observing the type of merchandise my suspicion grew stronger.

That was weird. We carried on.

As I’ve gone back to maps and the internet to try and find this place, learn more about it, to confirm what exactly it was, and to give it a name, I can’t find anything. Perhaps that’s intentional, and that’s fine, because I really don’t care to know more. What I do know is that it was in California, and they can have it, and they can keep it. I suppose all I’ll ever know about it is what I remember. Just like the backpacker lodge outside Mount Rainier National Park, that’s all I got.

After our brief stop for breakfast we only had a couple hour drive to the Seattle-Tacoma airport, so as we got close we made a few stops. Zach wanted to visit a Target to return a Nalgene bottle he had bought toward the beginning of our ttrip together. I have a tradition on my summer-long vacations to get a Nalgene bottle and sticker it up with stickers from each park I visit. I had a neon yellow bottle for stickers for my Southwest adventures I write about in my book Canyonlands: My adventures in the National Parks and beautiful wild. I have a dark green one with stickers from the Still, Calm, and Quiet: More adventures in the National Parks and beautiful wild summer, and I have two classic blue ones from parks I’ve visited on various smaller trips back in the Eastern United States. For this trip I had a dark turquoise bottle sporting my stickers. Zach had learned of my ways and wanted to do the same. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, as they say, so I liked that he wanted to copy me, but the Nalgene he had bought earlier on the trip had a plastic casing around it that must have, at some point, melted onto the bottle and now could not be fully separated. So he wanted to exchange it.

I also let Zach pick where to have lunch since it was his last day on the trip, and he was always the one with the large and urgent appetite. It’s definitely telling that we were no longer in the wild when he chose ihop. We were in the city of Tacoma next to Seattle. It was my first time eating at an ihop. I was surprised to learn there was more on the menu than just pancakes.

In the later afternoon it came time to take Zach to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. I parked and we went inside. He checked his bag, we said goodbye, and he quickly made it through the TSA security checkpoint. I did feel a poignant sadness. As much as he frustrated me, I felt this heavy aloness set in. It was the realization that I was so far away from home and now all alone. Why should this bother me? I’ve traveled so far away so alone so many times. But as I saw him move past security towards his gate, I knew deep within me, our friendship wouldn’t recover from this trip. Our friendship was built over a love for the outdoors and recreation. Those are great things, but they can also be superficial, especially when we view nature so differently. I view it as God’s design with purpose, intention, and messages which it beholds for mankind to draw closer to Him. Zach didn’t share that view. I also value human life so greatly much differently than Zach. We argued about this. He saw human life as too abundant and in need of being lessened. This sat so incredibly unwell with meI saw it all as sacred and designed by God with even greater purpose. Humanity is God’s most prized possession. Yes, possession. We are His. I felt I couldn’t bring up these deeply held views of mine. They would cause further arguments. Zach saw human life as too abundant and needed to be lessened.

There also was no peace in this friendship. There was complaining and conflict and never a sense of security. We were not kindred spirits. We didn’t share any weightier values. At this time in my life I was too young and immature to realize that perhaps I could be an influence upon Zach’s life, but when it comes to forming friendships it takes a great deal of effort for me to form them. I also don’t throw the word friend around casually. I take the term friendship quite seriously. In recent years I’ve been very conscious of my use of the term “friend” versus “acquaintance.” I will only use that term friend for a true kindred spirit, for someone I can rely on, whom I share great values with, whom I am willing to get behind and advocate for in life, and someone who is willing to do the same for me.

I also believe friendship is a design of God for us to build each other up spiritually. The Bible has a lot to say about friendship. Take into account Proverbs 18:24, “One who has unreliable friends soon comes to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother. Then Proverbs 17:17 reads, “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity.” Lastly, I’d like to mention Proverbs 27:17, which I also think has a lot to do with friendship. It reads, “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another”. What I thought was a friendship between Zach and I was not reflective of any of these verses.

We are all wired differently. It takes a deal of effort for me to create friendships. There’s this effort of really putting myself out there and sharing of myself that doesn’t always come naturally. I do it and delightfully so when I see the potential for a fruitful and lasting friendship. In such instances it encourages me. I get a great deal of energy from it, and my life is enriched, but to put forth the effort for a friendship based over a mere superficial hobby for nothing of substance, is exhausting. I am not saying that the way I maneuver friendship is the best and that my views are even the best for me. I find myself often to be solitary, lonely quite often. I suppose if I didn’t take friendship building so seriously, but more casually, and I put forth effort to connect even over the shallow and superficial things in life, I may have more people around me. Maybe I’d be less lonely, but also being surrounded by people on a shallow level of commonality I think is exhausting. I would probably feel even more lonely to be surrounded by people who do not share my values and outlook. I do say, that because I do take friendship so seriously, that the people I do invest in that I truly call friends mean a lot to me. I am very rich because of that, and maybe I feel a richness of friendship that some people do not, and for that I am very thankful.

As Zach was now gone on his way back to Kentucky, a whole different mindset had to set in. I had to shift from accommodating another traveler, to just looking out for myself. I was free! Not gonna lie, this is what I wanted.

Leaving the airport, I was able to quickly adopt the new mindset of being alone and free! The next leg of my journey would take me to North Cascades National Park, but tonight all I had to do was drive two and a half hours to a KOA northwest of Seattle, so I didn’t have to be in a rush. Therefore in Marysville, Washington, a suburb of Seattle, I stopped at a Planet Fitness. The original plan was to take a shower there, but then I realized I could just shower at the KOA tonight, and so I just enjoyed a workout. Normally I focus on one certain muscle group per day at the gym, but since I hadn’t been to a gym in a while, I decided to just do a little bit of everything.

At this point in my life, I still hadn’t made the switch from the flip phone to the smartphone. I had an iphone, a cheap one, just to take photos and connect to wifi when the opportunity allowed. I needed to take the iphone into Planet Fitness and connect to the wifi to make a payment through mobile banking. In between sets I was trying to remember a password, reset a password, select all the images of stop-lights, get a confirmation code through the flip phone, translate that over— all of those technicalities.

Next to the gym was a local thrift store. It was pretty large, and I was excited to check it out. Maybe I can find some fun camping gear. I’d really like to find a skateboard. That isn’t something I could have packed in my suitcase. Maybe I can find some good CDs for some different travel tunes. Since I hadn’t made the migration from flip-phone to smartphone, I also hadn’t made the switch over to digital media. I had no such luck with any of these hopes, but I did find an Under Armour base layer that would come in handy during the cold nights and mornings up in Glacier National Park. Leaving the thrift store, I did notice a couple homeless people loitering around the parking lot, one pushing a shopping cart as if it was a caravan. The way they acted, their demeanor, made it evident they were drug abusers. It was nice to get a workout in, and to wander around the thrift store, but the druggies were a stark reminder I was in the city and I wanted to be back in the wild.

I got in the car and made my few hour drive to the KOA campground. After zipping up interstate 5, I was on highway 20 heading east along the Skagit River. Urbanization waned, and gradually more forest set in. I knew the KOA wasn’t going to be anything fancy in terms of KOAs. It was just a basic one, but all my experience with KOAs thus far had been good. Making the turn into the KOA I was surprised to find that it was gated, and I had to press a button to open the gate. I went to the office to check in. The host seemed a bit frustrated. She went over the usual rules and explained how the gate will be located after 10pm. I wondered why this KOA needed such a security measure as a locked gate. We seemed to be in a pretty rural area, and back in nature, which is generally a safer place to be. It’s not like we were in a city. She pointed on the map where my campsite was. It was the furthest away at a dead-end road. “There was a picnic table at your campsite, but we’ve been having a problem. Some people entered in from the woods and stole the picnic table, dragging it off into the forest.” This explained her frustration, and now I knew why there was a locked gate. But who comes from out of the woods and steals a picnic table? It seemed so odd. I wasn’t bothered by the fact I wouldn’t have a picnic table, but it was unsettling that people come from out of the woods and steal things.

I drove down the gravel path where it dead-ended at my campsite. I was farthest away I could be from any other camper in this campground, isolated. I stood there at my site and looked into the forest imagining some strange forest people emerging and scoping out what they could glean. Where were they coming from? What’s in those forests? Not having made the smartphone migration, I wasn’t accustomed to using any digital maps to check out my surroundings, so I just looked at that forest with a mysterious wonder, imagining people dragging picnic tables into its depths. Those were unsettling thoughts.

I drove back to the “recreation center” as it was called. It was like a community center in the campground next to the pool. There was a water dispenser and plastic KOA cups. I was a KOA fan and had never seen a KOA cup before. They were obviously meant to be taken. Souvenir! There I sat at a folding table, cracked open my Chromebook, connected to the wifi, and began transferring some of the photos from my point-and-shoot camera’s SD card to the Chromebook for backup and also to share some photos online. What an adventure thus far, from the Mojave Desert to the North Cascades in the Pacific Northwest. It was very relaxing to sit there for a while, and I was at great peace while looking at all these beautiful photos I had taken on my journey. I also proceeded to take a shower and was all refreshed and reset. Then I hopped back in my car and drove back down the dead-end to my campsite.

It was dark now, so there was a certain mysterious ambiance in the air. I stood there on the tent pad in the silence, alone, looking at the forest again. The host’s words reverberated in my ears, “Some people came from out of the woods…and stole the picnic table, hauling it into the forest.” I imagined them now hauling a body into the forest. I did not saunter over a decision. There was an unsettling vibe here. It was not strange enough to cause me to leave, but I was going to sleep in my car, and so I did.

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “Really, What Kind of Mountain Are You?”

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Really, What Kind of Mountain Are You?

April 24, 2024Posted in UncategorizedLeave a comment

Mountains are some of those things in nature seen as universally beautiful. How many photographs capture mountain peaks? How many souvenirs depict their reaches? There’s a great wonderment surrounding them as well. How many stories are there about mountains? How many wondrous works of art magnify their glory, and why is there a desire in so many adventures to conquer such heights? Mountains are not just happenstance. They are designed with the richest of meanings. I’ve talked about them before, but it’s time to recap with new findings, bring it all together, and explore them further.

I believe mountains are reflections of mankind, reflecting different types of people. They serve as inspiration and something to reach for, but they also serve as warnings of what not to become. Because mountains have a powerful reflective property, they call for us to stop and check who we are, to see who we have become. Therefore, the question I raise for myself and all my readers is, what kind of mountain are you? Of course first we must examine the different types of mountains:

The Unwavering Mountain

My first relation of mountains to people was at Wheeler Peak in Great Basin National Park in Nevada. I beheld the mountain from below. I just looked up at it and thought, that is going nowhere, and then the word, “unwavering,” was sent my way. In a world where so much is constantly changing, dependable, consistent, reliable people are rare. I wish to be that constant reliable anchor of a person on the landscape of life. This is our first type of mountain.

The Glacial Mountain

It is great to strive to be an unwavering mountain, but an unwavering mountain can also be much more. Let’s take a look at the most recent mountain I observed: Mount Rainier. It is a glacial mountain. It’s been through many storms and trials of life, which as a result has left ice and glaciers at its peak. This mountain takes all it has experienced, the richness of life, those storms which in the moment might seem bad but in the end are used for good, for wisdom and opportunity, and creates glaciers. Then this mountain helps deliver the life-giving waters to the forest. It does so through self-sacrifice. The glaciers wear the mountain down and take a toll on it, yet it never forfeits its integrity. Through its eroding glaciers it creates rivers of life, providing so much enrichment, making things around it grow and prosper. The glacier lilies, the flopping marmots, the forest with all its trees and wildlife are a testament to the character of the mountain.

I believe we read about this mountain in Scripture as Jesus talks about it as the fruit-bearing Christian. He says, “Thus, by their fruit you will recognize them.” This mountain is very fruitful. This mountain is also one of the “priests.” When God tells Moses His people will be a “kingdom of priests,” I believe he is talking about this kind of mountain. No, this doesn’t mean this type of person or “mountain” has to be ordained, but it means this person is connected to the Father and intercedes on the behalf of others to draw them to the salvation of Christ. This mountain has responsibility and jurisdiction over the life around it. It is a leader, a giver modeled after the Creator Himself. This mountain develops with age and wisdom, thus it wears a “crown of splendor.” Like the hairs of a wise and righteous man, it’s capped in white. And beneath its snow cap, the mountain wears wrinkles and scars on its face, but it’s revered for such things. It’s dignified through age and experience.

The Wooded Mountain

Another type of mountain is the wooded mountain. A glacial mountain can also be a wooden mountain, but not all wooded mountains are glacial. Take for example the Great Smoky Mountains or any of the mountains in the Appalachian chain. There are no glaciers, yet these mountains are extremely fruitful. The Smokies boast one of the most diverse and bountiful biospheres in the world. These mountains too are unwavering, but what truly sets them apart is the very thick and rich forest which stretches all over them. These deep woods are filled with many secrets and stories. It’s not to say this type of mountain or person is secretive, but it is to say this person is a confidant. It has the trust of others. Life comes to these mountains with all their stories and hurts and these mountains become a sanctuary for others. I look at how much life calls these types of mountains home. These mountains are safe people to confide in. They are nurturers. These people have a forest of knowledge of all who have trust in them. These mountains care and thus remember and retain all that comes their way. They may not be as wise and tall as the glacial mountains, but these mountains are true friends who value all you share with them. You can trust anything with them. They will fold you up in their branches.

The Desert Mountain

Opposite of the wooded mountain is the desert mountain. Much like the Panamint Mountains in the Mojave Desert bordering Death Valley, these mountains are not fruitful. They are bitter and barren. They do not like to feed life around them. It’s evident is the lack of life around them. They are not confidants nor sanctuaries for life, for they have no forest at all. They are harsh. Their existence in life produces little, and what it does produce is prickly. Yes, they are still unwavering, but in the sense that you can depend on the mountains not for anything other than to take up space and maybe create a spectacle. It’s sad, but look around. There are a lot of desert mountains. They have nothing to show for the life they’ve been given. They are also very thirsty for Truth whether they know it or not. All the signs are there.

The Explosive Volcanic Mountain

Another type of undesirable mountain is the explosive volcanic mountain. They are destructive and inclined to harmful anger. They spew lava. Unlike the glacial and wooden mountains which produce much fruit, these mountains take it away. They tear others down and scorch them with words and actions. They are harassers spewing bitter words and setting friendships up in flames. These explosive volcanic mountains can erupt because of many different things, but it’s almost always because of self-centeredness at the core and the inability to adapt to the forces around them. They easily disregard the life on their mountainsides. They are not unwavering, for their nature is changing. They have great influence but in a negative way, changing the landscape of life for the worse. They are not safe people, yet many people are prone to become volcanic mountains. Let’s beware.

The Inactive Volcanic Mountain

The world “Inactive” might come with a negative connotation, but this doesn’t have to do with laziness or obsoletism at all. This has to do with exhibiting a great deal of self-control, regulation, and discipline. This mountain has overcome its nature. Sometimes this mountain may become active but in doing so is not explosive, and it’s not defined by being active. This type of mountain can let off steam and fumaroles without destruction, without exploding with lava. This mountain knows of its destructive nature and potential, but overcomes it. It takes its bad nature, or bad habit, and renders it “inactive,” whenever it starts to boil beneath the surface. I think of Popocatepetl next to Mexico City. It is active, but it is not feared, for it’s not destructive. It lets off steam and returns to calm, allowing forests to thrive around it. From time to time it messes up. It does have minor explosions, but it’s not defined by a destructive nature. It yet is reliable and life-giving. It longs to be made new, and that is in a righteous pursuit.

The Crater Lake

I veer from mountains to a lake here, but Crater Lake was once a mountain, so it is to be considered among the mountains. Crater Lake has a history. It has been through a lot, but it is on the other side of explosion and now at peace. It is in a state of beauty. It’s a survivor. it’s redeemed. It has suffered to great extent and been through great pain, but now there is beauty from pain. It is born again and is a new creation, and therefore it is a testimony of redemption. Many can relate to Crater Lake for different aspects of their life that have been redeemed. For some it is their whole person who has been redeemed through forgiveness in the love of Christ. Crater Lake may be calm and not as commanding as the highest peaks, but its resolve and peace is a strong testimony. It does not go unnoticed. In a world of chaos, a countenance of peace is powerful.

The Rock-Slide Mountain

There’s a last type of mountain I can identify as of now. It’s the rock-slide mountain. It’s a weak mountain. When the earthquakes of life come, which are inevitable, it cowers and tumbles. It doesn’t mean to, but on account of its weakness, it becomes destructive to those around it. On my later travels in Canada I would come acquainted to Turtle Mountain where Canada’s most deadly rockslide occurred. The event has come to be called “Frank Slide.” This mountain essentially buried the whole town of Frank, taking many lives with it, rendering the landscape lifeless and fruitless. This type of mountain is pitiful, for it lacks fortitude and strength. Cowardice and weakness come natural to man, but courage and strength must be fought for and pursued. The rock-slide mountain, or person, is responsible for its sorry state. It has lacked to build itself up, to form a foundation. It must be known that the foundation to weather any storm and any earthquake in life is only that found in God’s Word and through Jesus Christ. This Word also can’t just reside on the mountainside, or surface, either. It must live at the very base and core of a person. It is foundational for fortitude in this life and to become unwavering.

So now that I’ve discussed the mountains in full, let me pose the question yet again: What kind of mountain are you? You may have attributes of a few different types of mountains. I believe many people do. Step back from yourself for a moment and observe. What do you see? What does your mountain look like? Take a photograph. Do you see affirmation? Do you see warning? Do you see conviction? May this help steer you to strive to be a better mountain and encourage you onward in the great adventure of life.

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “Skyline, Longmire, and My Walk of Shame”

Visit www.joshhodge.com

Skyline, Longmire, and My Walk of Shame

April 11, 2024Posted in national parks, natureTagged adventure, carter falls, cougar rock, longmire, mount Rainier, mount rainier national park, skyline, washingtonLeave a comment

More snow, more glacier lilies, more flopping marmots, more blue sky, more wandering mountain streams, more astounding views– they were all here. It was day two at Mount Rainier National Park in Washington state, and Zach and I were on our way to Panorama Point. This point was not on my itinerary for the day, but much had been shifted and changed. For the most part, my printed itinerary was ignored for this leg of the trip, and we were just feeling it out. I wasn’t going to stress about it either. I was learning to be more career free, trying to lessen my level of stress and go with the flow, as I was still concerned about my health. So once arriving at the park and observing the maps, a trail named the “Skyline” trail reaching a “Panorama Point,” stuck out to me. I figured places with such names would surely deliver satisfying views.

As we started off on the hike, we had to leave from the Paradise hub of the park and hike past Myrtle Falls again, which we had seen the evening before. The entirety of the hike was uphill, and “hill” is quite an appropriate term to describe the terrain although we were on a mountain side. For this mountside was composed of various hills and was a very wavy landscape. We’d round one hill, and the incline would lessen greatly for just a moment, and then we were traveling up another. The path we were on had been trodden enough that for the most part I could see the path clear from the snow with its natural gravel surface. Much of the trail was also outlined with rocks, but surrounding us, apart from the beginning meadows of glacier lilies, we were surrounded by snow. Slowly but surely we climbed higher, and Paradise was becoming smaller behind us. Reaching the higher snowy elevation of the hike, I noticed a giant gray rock canyon carved to our left by a glacier. The glacier was no longer there. It had melted down into Paradise, but its pathway was clearly visible.

The most astounding view of the trip was not the actual Panorama Point but when out in a fair distance beside us, on the snowy sloping landscape, with a giant rocks wall behind them, and glaciers looming over them, trekked a group of mountaineers. They were traveling all in a line, as in a train pointed upward diagonally. Each mountaineer was bundled up with winter gear: hoods, gloves, and large packs on their backs. They all had trekking poles, and it was obvious they were on their journey to summit Mount Rainier. The view of this train of mountaineers, so tiny and miniscule compared to the immensity of the mountain, added great perspective; and considering the notion they were on their way to the mountain peak on an impressive journey, sparked in me an exciting admiration for adventure. To be in their presence, if just for a moment, and yet at a distance, helped create this climate of sheer adventure! I wanted to summit Mt Rainier too!…but not this time.

When we reached Panorama Point after about three miles, there was a leveled area of gravel, outlined with rocks like the path was. It was also fenced in with a steel cable strung between some stakes. The Park Service didn’t want people on this trail going beyond this point obviously. From here there was a 360 degree view. Looking southward, the main attraction of the point were the sharp peaks of the Tatoosh Range. Although still quite grand in their rugged and sharp attire, they looked like miniature Tetons. From Paradise, the Tatoosh mountains stood tall, but from up here, we looked about level to them or down upon their peaks. Here we could also look down and see the Paradise Inn and the whole village far below. Here the marmors were trying to steal the show and grab everyone’s attention, posing majestically in the most dignified and stately ways, as if suddenly ignoring their rather goofy nature.

Turning to the east were many layers of mountains far in the distance, stretching on in immensity. They were of various dark blue shades. The closer ranges appeared darkest and the further ones lightened up just slight enough to create a contrast, and thus I could see there were four layers of mountain ranges on display, one in front of another. Behind us, to the north, was a mountain on display as well. First was a snowy stretch of mountainside, but behind it stood the mighty Mount Rainier ever so boldly with its crumbling glaciers. Completing the 360 panorama and turning to the west, two main features came into view: The entire glacier rock canyon I had seen climbing up was in prominent display, as a gouge or scar on the mountainside, and then next to it, down in the depths of a valley, was the Paradise River, snaking around the forest.

The views were nice, but I believe better views were seen elsewhere in the park. The greatest highlight of this hike was not in the views but was in the journey back down to Paradise. We decided not to complete the entire loop, as it would be a little bit longer and we wanted to preserve time to see some other places in the park, so we went back the same way we came… sort of. This time we did not stick to the path at all. Instead we slipped and slid down the mountainside, surfing all the wavy declining hills. We did so standing up on our feet. There was such a lack of friction between my boots and the snow, and such a perfect uniform slippery slushy icy consistency of the snow, that I was speeding down this mountainside. I’d launch myself forward and see how far I could keep the momentum. It was reminiscent of sliding across the newly polished wooden floor in socks as a kid, but here we were sliding down over great expanses, and it was exhilarating! I was surprised at the physics of this occurrence in that it was even possible. The fun icy descent had us back in Paradise in no time.

After a quick stop in the cafeteria for some burritos, we were back in the car. At eleven miles west on the park road, we stopped at Longmire, a historic section of the park with tales to be told. Here was a small flat prairie, surrounded by trees, and somewhere tucked away were mineral springs. This was the site where a man named John Longmire and his family had a homestead in the 1800s. It is also here where the Longmire’s opened a mineral springs resort. People with all sorts of illnesses came from all around the country to stay at the Longmire’s hotel and soak in the mineral springs. It was believed the waters had healing properties. Even doctors would prescribe patients to soak in these springs. Where are they? I questioned. I need to find them. Maybe the springs can heal my Ulcerative Colitis. It was unlikely but I was willing to try anything. If only I was here about two hundred years ago. The closest thing I found to a spring was some sort of water source pooling in bright orange. It very much resembled the leakage of abandoned coal mines I see in the forests of Kentucky, but it was likely the minerals of the spring oxidizing and changing color…It was not very appealing.

In this Longmire area was also a short path called the Trail of Shadows which traced a meadow, which next to stood a small collection of historic buildings from the Longmire’s resort days. They were all built in the rustic National Park Architecture style. The Longmire’s hotel today stands as the functional National Park Inn. Next to it was an old rustic gas station and “comfort station,” as they called it back in the day, with a tall stone foundation and an overhang with two old gas pumps that were probably once just more gas pumps in the wild. Another building that used to be the park headquarters is now a small museum on Longmire. It’s most fascinating feature to me were some antique taxidermied animals. Maybe it was their age or the way they were poorly put together, but to me they were funny, especially this taxidermied pine marten flaring its nostrils and showing its teeth, very territorial. As we meandered around the Trail of Shadows, at one point we veered off onto an unmarked path. We ended up crossing a suspension bridge and found a village of unmarked cabins. These weren’t on the map. There seemed to be one central building among them. We walked inside just for a moment, for I quickly realized we weren’t supposed to be here. There were couches, tables with board games, and a kitchenette. This was a part of a staff lodging complex. I concluded. It was like a community center. How cool it would be to work in a National Park for the summer, I thought. What a foreshadowing moment.

Just a couple miles up the road in the park was our campground at Cougar Rock where we had spent the night the night before. I thought of taking a break, hanging out at camp, maybe relaxing in the tent, perhaps doing some reading, regrouping and planning the rest of the evening. Our campsite was number 20, so there was a bit of slow driving through the campground to get to our site. When we arrived I was stunned to see our tents were not there. Someone else’s bright orange-colored dome tent was there instead. All our stuff was gone! I was completely taken off guard. Did someone steal our stuff? Did someone rob our campsite? How dare they! What a nightmare! I got out of the car for I was going to confront these imposters, but no one was there. The feeling of offense grew stronger. Then I looked to my right. Our tents and all our camping gear had been throw alongside the campground road. The audacity! Then I vaguely remembered something. I think at one park we are to switch sites in the midst of our stay… It wasn’t this one, already, was it? I pulled out my itinerary. I wanted to prove my suspicion wrong and reclaim my site with my reservation documentation. I unfolded my itinerary, and embarrassment immediately set in. I was the one at fault. We were the trespassers. We were the squatters. We were the offenders. We were at site 20, but we were supposed to have moved to site 2. I was embarrassed in front of Zach, to myself, and to whoever else might be in the campground watching us. We got back in the car and I drove to site 2. It wasn’t that far, only 18 sites away. I didn’t want to deflate my air mattress and deconstruct my tent, pack it in the car, only having to reassemble everything. Instead I decided to take a walk of shame, picking up my tent with the air mattress and all inside it. The tent floor was sagging greatly as I was walking it down the road to our new site. I succeeded at trying not to notice anyone else around me, for my head hung low in shame. Back at the tent I situated everything in its place, and carried on, hoping to blend back in among the other campers in the campground.

I don’t recall what Zach was up to at this moment. I was probably too inner focused on my own embarrassment, but when camp was reassembled, I proceeded to seek out some firewood to purchase for a fire we’d have at night to cook our soup, and I rested my head in my tent and read some more of my book on wolves. After a brief rest, we took the short trail from our campground to Carter Falls. The trail was a 1.3 mile segment of the Wonderland Trail, which in its entirety is over ninety miles. We rushed along the path beside Paradise River to the falls, which spilled down from about fifty feet in height. It’s described as a “horse-tail” falls, but the falls splits in two over a protruding rocks, near its top, to create almost two side by side falls. So I guess its a “horse-tail” falls if the horse has two tails. It was a pleasant fall for such a short hike from camp, but nothing to really write home about. It reminded me much of a fall I’d seen in the Great Smoky Mountains.

After our quick visit to the falls, we drove back to Paradise. I wanted to hang out in the Paradise Inn again like we did the evening before. There was a balcony up by the rafters in the eves of the roof with wooden desk and warm lamps. I bought some hot tea from the inn’s cafe and a few more postcards. I’d fill them out as well as update our happenings in my journal. When I went to purchase my postcards I also bought a green bandana that itself was an artistic map of the National Parks of the Pacific Northwest, of Olympic, Mount Rainier, and the North Cascades. It was a perfect souvenir covering all those parks.

When night set in, we headed back to the campsite, and this time our tents were still there. Phew! I started a fire. I peeled the label off my can of soup and opened its lid. I set it just aside the fire. It was time for supper. This would be the concluding night of our stay in Mount Rainier National Park. This was also the last full day of Zach on this summer’s adventure. The next day, as planned, I’d take him to the airport in Seattle to travel back to Kentucky. Though this leg of the adventure was over, I had much still before me as a solo traveler. I would go on a backpacking adventure in North Cascades National Park, venture on to Lake Roosevelt, and would make my acquaintance with the national park of all National Parks: Glacier. My health was also about to take a turn for the worse. I’d struggle physically, have to come to terms with reality, learn how to accept it, and find the resolve to carry on amidst hardship.

If you enjoyed reading this, check out my book “Still, Calm, and Quiet“

Check out my previous entry here: “Mount Rainier: the noblest of peaks”

Visit www.joshhodge.com

Mount Rainier: the noblest of peaks

April 3, 2024Posted in adveture, national parks, UncategorizedTagged hiking, mount Rainier, mt rainier, myrtle falls, national park, nisqually glacier, travel, washingtonLeave a comment

“Of all the fine mountains which like beacons, once blazed along the Pacific Coast, Mount Rainier is the noblest.” – John Muir

Cars were backed up to get into this park. I could see just a little bit up the forested road to the entrance gate. There a large wooden sign hung down from a rustic pine log which laying there, propped up by other pines on either side, had constructed an archway- a portal into the park. Its letters were all upper-case, bold, and carved simply into the sign. The grooves painted white displayed “MT. RAINIER NATIONAL PARK.”

This was a top tier national park, our nation’s third behind Yellowstone and Yosemite, created in 1899 by President William McKinley signing a bill passed by Congress. This park is named and centered around one mountain peak, but deservingly so. MountRainier is a giant at 14,411 ft. It is visible throughout most of the state of Washington and has the most glaciers than any other peak in the contiguous United States with a whopping total of 26 glaciers. We had seen this mountain much earlier in the day, traveling from the Olympic peninsula around Tacoma. It was a magnificent bold giant standing in the distance. Over the course of hours we noticed it growing bigger as we drew closer to it. Now we were at the mountain’s base about to enter the National Park!

Once officially inside, passing beneath the enormous sign and log beams, flashing my park pass and getting my park map, the road immediately began to gradually ascend. We were on our way to the Paradise village area of the park on the side of the mountain. There in Paradise was a visitor center, a lodge, and a network of trails. On our ascent through the thick rich forest, I stopped at one point to hop out onto a short path to a platform overlook nestled between the dark pines. There at the platform’s edge I beheld the amazing wonder of Nisqually Glacier tearing down the mountainside. Up until this point this was one, if perhaps not the most, impressive view in nature. It was my first time observing a glacier- the breaking ripples of ice, deep grooves, sharp edges rolling over and tearing down the mountainside, but all seemingly still. It was action frozen in time to my eyes. I observed a depth of snow and ice I had never witnessed before, and as the glacier spread down the mountains I saw the enormous gorge it had created over many years, carving away at the mountainside. Although there was a plaque labeling Nisqually Glacier, I believe, after considering the park map, I was also looking at two other glaciers in the same view: Wilson Glacier and Von Trump Glacier. It’s hard to differentiate between all the glaciers as they run so close to each other and at times converge.

Van Trump Glacier was named after Philemon Beacher Van Trump, an American pioneering mountaineer who made the first recorded summit of Mount Rainier. He wrote: “That first true vision of the mountain, revealing so much of its glorious beauty and grandeur, its mighty and sublime form filling up nearly all of the field of direct vision, swelling up from the plain and out of the green forest till its lofty triple summit towered immeasurably above the picturesque foothills, the westering sun flooding with golden light and softening tints its lofty summit, rugged sides and far-sweeping flanks – all this impressed me so indescribably, enthused me so thoroughly, that I then and there vowed, almost with fervency, that I would some day stand upon its glorious summit, if that feat were possible to human effort and endurance.”

Unlike P.B. Van Trump, I would not be summiting Mount Rainier, but I shared in his admonishment of the mountain, and around its base and on its mountainside I would experience many of its rich wonders. With just one up-close and unobstructed view, it was love at first sight!

“Let’s go!”

We got back in the car and continued on our way to Paradise. It was about twenty miles of meandering parkway that climbed and switch-backed up to 5,400 feet. At Paradise the mountain peak was on full display. The terrain had leveled to an extent to allow the construction of the large visitor center, lodge, and ample parking. I was anxious to get outside. Breaking my usual protocol, I took to a trail before even watching the park film. We’d do that later.

Zach and I started on Nisqually Vista Loop. It’s supposed to be a casual paved loop, but pavement was only visible for a few yards, the rest was buried under multiple feet of snow. We slid, ran, trudged, fell, and laughed our way around the loop. The mountain peak with its great and scarring glaciers came into view every once in a while through the lodge-pole pine trees, and at the trail’s furthest reach we had an unobstructed view of the mountain while on enormous continuous icescape that stretched up the mountainside connecting to the glacier’s ripples. Although it was summer, and I was wearing gym shorts, this place had so much ice and so much snow, that I felt so far in the North, in an extreme arctic landscape. The one thing I had to overlook, however, was the air temperature, as it wasn’t very cold out at all.

At one point on our hike we heard water rushing. We paused and tried to figure out where it was coming from, just to come to the realization that it was beneath us. A mountain stream was flowing beneath the snow. We then encountered a few cavities in the snow just wide enough to fit a body. So taking turns we both hopped down, our boots landing in the shallow stream, and we raised our hands up out of the hole, taking each other’s photo trying for the illusion that we had been buried in snow.

When we completed the loop, we went into the visitor center. It was quite large, with lots of ample space for sitting in its spacious lobby beneath a combination of timber and iron framework that supported a pointed ceiling. Its walls were almost entirely glass, giving way to much light, especially with all the sun reflecting off the snowy landscape outside. The visitor center had museum exhibits on the park on its second floor which was a combination of loft and balcony. We went into the theater to see the park film, of which I remember nothing, probably because this mountain did not need a film to speak for it. It was so grandiose and commanding of attention, that any measly park film was greatly overshadowed. After the park film, we had a quick bite to eat in the cafeteria there in the visitor center, and then we were back on the trails to visit Myrtle Falls.

Our short hike to Myrtle Falls was lovely. I think typically it’s only about a half mile walk one way on pavement, but it was a bit more of hike for use trudging over snow banks, perhaps wandering off the official route at times, observing the many marmots lounging and flopping around, and admiring the alpine meadows full of blooming glacier lilies. We concluded our hike at around two miles. Here we weren’t exactly above the tree line, for small groupings of pines could be seen at the fringe edges of the meadows, but largely we were above the trees in rolling meadows of the mountainside. Despite it being a sunny day with a nice rich blue sky, we were cast in the shadow of a foothill, a ridge on the mountainside. As we approached the falls, we saw it sprawling down into a Edith Creek Gorge, chillingly cold in the shadows, water falling and tumbling over water, streams cascading upon protruding rocks behind the many paths of the water falling. It was a rather simple, but beautiful water fall, as from the creek it sort of bloomed as it fell, branching out in many streams down into the gorge. Just above the falls was where the trail led to a pedestrian polebridge perhaps about thirty feet long, made of timber from the forest. Behind the view of the falls, the bridge, the creek, the snow banks, and the flower laden meadows, was the towering Mount Rainier. Its highest reaches were adorned with the silver lining from the sun peeking out from behind some adjoining ridge with a cast stretching just far enough to barely reach the top of the mountain.

With all the movement of water sprawling in every which way, falling, and cascading; and glacier lilies feeding off the melting snow, the marmots flopping around, the tourists delighting on meandering paths and trudging through snow, I thought about how rich of a place this was. I also considered how we were up high on the mountainside, and below was a rich forest, full of more waterfalls and streams, thick pines, and forest growth; with bears, mountain lions, bobcats, foxes, minks, and all the other wild animals and tweeting birds of the forest. This mountain provided so much life! It was truly rich. I’ve written about how we can liken mountains to people. There are so many different types of mountains which exhibit the different kinds of influence and character of which a person can behold.

I started this summer’s journey in the Mojave desert where the mountains surrounding are largely dry, harsh, and bare. They lack the richness of a place like this. They do not support an abundance of life. There is no richness of the forest like on this mountainside.

Mount Rainier with its glaciers melting feeds the forest around it. Not only can I liken this mountain to Wheeler Peak, being bold and unwavering, but this mountain is also very life-giving. Like a nurse log, it provides rich nutrients, giving life to the forest around it through its supply of melting ice, and its delicate balance of sunlight and shade. However, unlike a nurse log, this mountain is not dead. It’s alive. I say it’s alive on the basis that it is an active volcano. Thus here lies the message: though nurse logs provide great insight showing us how even when we are dead, we can provide life to future generations, we provide life to others while still alive as well, just like Mount Rainier. I know this may seem maybe even more obvious than the nurse log analogy, but I think we ought to be aware that we should not over focus on our efforts of what we can leave behind while ignoring who we are and what we can do in the present. We have the immeasurable benefit and advantage of our present life. We can use it to take hold of the life books of others and write into them powerful influence, whether it be in the form of encouragement, instruction, giving… Whatever it is we do, we do not do it alone, as to do so would be in vain. We do everything through the power of Christ in our lives. We may be the mountains that provide for the richness of life around us, but who provides the weather to bring snow upon our mountains? Who causes the sun to shine on our side? Who causes the water to melt and fall? Who brings the flowers to bloom? This makes me think of Scripture, of all the mentions of bearing fruit spiritually. To bear fruit spiritually is to be like Mount Rainier. Look at the life flourishing around it. There is evidence of God at work here, and there would be much more to consider and write about here in regards to the powerful symbolism of Mount Rainier.

When we were done with our hike we went back to Paradise Inn next to the visitor center. It was an inn of beautiful rustic National Park architecture style, cozy and woodsy, with wood logs beams stretching in every direction, an “A frame” roof, dangling native american style lanterns, a blazing fireplace, and inviting little nooks to relax in. It was a great sanctuary from he snow and he evening cold outside. There I bought some tea and wrote some postcards.

Leaving the lodge, getting ready to head down the mountainside to our site at Cougar Rock Campground, a beautiful sunset was on display with deep rich pinks and purples. The sunset reflected off the snow on the mountain peaks, providing colorful stretches of snow. Wow! It was a sunset so perfectly reflective of a mountain so rich in life. Its colors were so vibrant and deep. Most of the tourists were gone. The area was silent and serene. I had to pause a moment to take it in. John Muir knew what he was saying when he said Mount Rainier was the noblest of peaks.

What Kind of Mountain are you?

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