Baker and his Goliaths

BELLINGHAM, Wash. – We were driving north, then east, out of Bellingham. The path is the Mount Baker Highway.  At 57 miles long, it’s the only direct highway to the broad-shouldered mountain that reigns over Bellingham’s eastern views – a stern, white-clad companion of all who live below.

It’s not unusual to hear locals remark on any given day, “There’s Baker … looks pretty good today!”  Or, “Yeah, there he is … just above the clouds.”

Like he might go missing if they aren’t careful.

We were on the highway – Route 542, actually – in search of a wedding location.  And it’s the might of Mount Baker that seemed to pull us along.  I’m reminded of that scene in “Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” when Richard Dreyfuss and others are pulled toward Devils Tower in Wyoming, only to find revelation on its other side.

Mount Baker has that power. 

I’ve noted in previous blogs that Meghan and Eric have been hunting for a wedding site for a while now.  They’ve ruled out a ceremony on Deception Island south of Bellingham, as well as an out-of-the-way place near the island but along Washington’s rocky coast. 

The logistics of providing maritime travel to either location – to make sure everyone arrived on time, and in dry clothes – proved daunting.  Plus there was the risk of seals barking and slapping their flippers during the wedding vows.

“I, Meg… (SLAP!) take you Er… (ARRCK-ARRCK! SLAP!) to be my wedded hus…(SLAP!) ….”

But Mount Baker is different.  For one, the footing is solid from start to finish.  Second, as the drive east along 542 attests, it provides travelers a gradual review of all that is beautiful here. It begins in the flat lands of farms and small towns, then quickly climbs into steep hills of ferns and towering trees … a winding, elevated path of deepest green.

Nooksack Falls

The highway follows along the swift-running Nooksack River.  Not to belabor film trivia, but some of the hunting scenes for “The Deer Hunter” were filmed at Nooksack Falls, a rocky outcropping on the Nooksack’s North Fork, where the water is split sharply into two roaring, silver-white channels that tumble 88 feet into foam below.

Many years ago, engineers turned that elevation difference into a powerful source of electricity.  Remnants of that generating station, plus the huge pipes that conveyed the water, remain.

The Nooksack moves fast, of course, because it is funneling the vast snowmelt from Baker along its narrow chute.

What’s compelling, though, is the contrast of the Nooksack’s throaty roar and the forest’s quiet. As we soon learn on this trip.

I won’t try to explain what is driving Meghan and Eric to find a unique wedding site.  That’s for them to share, assuming they even want to.  But I know it is heartfelt … a reflection of the deep love and respect they have as geologists for the marvelous, rich terrain that is Washington.

So I wasn’t surprised when we headed to the mountain to find the sacred site, or that we eventually pulled off Route 542 at around Mile 40, to a small clearing alongside the road.  These clearings pop up on occasion along the highway.  I learned quickly that they are clues to nearby paths into the woods.

Finding these paths is not necessarily easy.  The plant growth along the road’s edge is so thick that you have to lift a branch, or divide a hedge of ferns, before you see a discernible trail.  And even then, the path looks like it might go nowhere.

We eventually followed one into an old-growth forest, though.  And just yards from the road, all sounds turned to whispers.  Even the soft calls of birds seemed swallowed by the thick floor of ferns and the moss drapery hanging from nearby trees.

Ahead, like 100-foot Goliaths, stood muscular firs and cedars, each with a girth of three elephants. And further ahead, we saw why this path was here.  For there was a Goliath now fallen … a tree whose root expanse, exposed and in gnarly disarray, was at least 40 feet wide.

It lay flat.  Though that’s hardly true.  Even on its back, this tree was more than 10 feet tall.

We approached it like anyone would approach an elder, toppled giant … respectful, in awe, imagining the earthquake it caused, the massive groans and cracks and thunderous, final THUD! it let out as it died.  It must have deafened the birds, if only for a bit.   

Hikers see fallen trees all of the time. But now we felt like bit players in Nature’s own “Honey, I Shrunk the Kids.”   And so we climbed the beast … grabbed at its roots, pulled ourselves up, then walked along its incredible length. 

And we saw that this tree did what nothing else could – parted a clean, straight path of considerable length through the heaviest of Washington’s woods.

We were doubly captivated when we reached its top, saw where the path ended. Because there was this fellow’s last branch – how, for countless years, he had touched the sky.

Would that we could do the same.

Humbled, we carefully climbed back down and made our way to the road.

I won’t offer much else about our day. It’s a bit of a secret. Just know that a wedding spot was eventually picked. The necessary authorities have approved. And no, it’s not at or near the fallen tree. It would have been a dubious symbol anyway. 

The site, though, is blessed with the quietness of a church, the grandeur of a cathedral, and legions of deeply rooted ancients who, like the angels themselves, will witness the beauty of this brief moment in history.

As it should be.

When hope falls short

It’s interesting how one writes … sometimes to chronicle what is true, other times to project what you hope to be true.

She wasn’t so lucky after all.

Michka, our pup of only a few weeks, is gone.  We had to put her down.  It was a cruel déjà vu.  Just weeks before, we’d taken Riley, our Golden Retriever of 10 years, to the emergency vet to do the same deed.  In her case, a tumor had ruptured – a consequence of her older age and breed.

This time, though, we led a bright-eyed youngster in to the clinic knowing we needed to hurry - to put her “to sleep” before another round of spasms gripped her body, making her shake and salivate ... suffer.

That’s the hard part.  She was so sweet, so very sweet.  And to have that young disposition rendered almost meaningless by a deadly disease … well, that’s tough.

Again, the tears came.  But this time they were different. This pup had seriously touched our hearts but hadn’t yet reached in, wrapped her paws around them and owned them.  Time would have changed that, of course.   She had so little time.

And so we cried as the doctor administered the drugs, less for our pain and more for the injustice of her fate. Curious Michka had just begun exploring her world.  And then her world slammed shut. 

If all dogs go to Heaven, then distemper is the devil’s tool for getting them there.  It is pure evil,  usually fatal, always debilitating, it starts with a cough and some sneezes and ends with violent seizures and worse.

Michka got hers from the street, it appears.  She’d received her vaccine, but apparently the virus had lodged in her body before then, after she and her sister were abandoned and before the twins were picked up by the shelter.

After the coughing and sneezing began, we took tests. They were positive.  The vet was optimistic. Clinically she was in good shape.  She ate enough for two dogs, she played, she loved her walks.  Her odds?  “I’d say 50-50,” he said.  “Watch for any neurological changes.  That’ll tell us more.”

The seizures started on a Saturday … small, infrequent.  Then they progressed on Sunday.  And by dinnertime Sunday night, the final one was so severe it racked her body for at least five minutes. We feared she’d not surface.

When she did, finally, we knew our course.  We climbed in the car. This time we left Linus home.

After arriving, Michka and I sat in the car outside the vet; Cindy had gone in to explain the situation and to make sure they were fine with bringing Michka through the lobby, since she was contagious.

Michka had fallen asleep, exhausted from her last seizure. And I thought about my previous blog … how I had aspirations for Michka to grow big and strong, a righteous beast.

I think I knew in my heart then that it wouldn’t come true.  The odds were against her from the start, of course.  And when she joined us, she was still thin, bony, not quite the bundle of energy usually found in a new pup.

But I wished it to be different.  So when I heard a “woof,” I predicted it would become a mighty “WOOF!”  This featherweight, I vowed, would grow to 100 pounds.

It wasn’t to be.  I was in Houston at a trade show when Cindy called, after the test results were in.  “She’s got distemper,” Cindy said. 

I was sad; I wasn’t surprised.

So now Michka and I sat in the car, waiting. 

I stared across the street, tired, defeated.  Then a wedding party pulled up in a van and spilled out to the sidewalk. A reception was to begin in the nearby hall. There were smiles, laughter, pictures taken.  New beginnings.

I smiled just a bit … thought of next year.  Knew I’d need to write of this day but knew there would be joys ahead to chronicle.

Cindy returned, opened the car door. My distraction, like a bubble, popped.

We woke Michka.

“Come on girl,” I said softly, again. “Let’s go inside.”