Lenticulars and Snow

Day 79: The Mountain is once again clad in white, the rugged, stony spines of ridges and outcrops now hidden from view. For the last several years, each summer has exposed more of the bare bones as glaciers not only recede but become thinner. It does my heart good to see snow covering naked rock now, although I know that even a record snowfall would not build the glaciers back to their former status. Glacier-building is a long process, not something which can occur to any great extent in a single season. Lenticular clouds such as these approaching the Mountain from the south often presage a change in the weather, although in this case, it was not immediately to come. The photo was taken yesterday. This morning, the sky is clear, save for a few barely discernible wisps of high-altitude cloud.

It Never Gets Old

Day 351: Thirty-five years I've lived here. This never gets old. We're in for a much-needed change in the weather, and the Mountain has dressed for the occasion by donning the lenticular cloud formation I like to call a "stack of pancakes." These are the thin, almost flat layered type of lenticular, as opposed to the "hat" which mounds on the summit on a flat base. Then there are the "flying saucers," the line of small lenticulars which usually move up from the southeast, one following another, like sheep going through a narrow gate. In a day or two, the Mountain will go into hiding, and when it does re-emerge, I expect those bare rocky ribs will be clad in a dusting of fresh snow. Autumn is here, and like the Mountain, I celebrate its coming.

Cloud Layers

Day 7: You have to understand that although I live on the hem of Mount Rainier's skirts, these views are not a daily occurrence. In fact, we sometimes go weeks without getting the barest glimpse of the Mountain because it attracts weather systems. Lenticulars are usually a pretty good sign that there's some active weather on the way. They can exhibit a wide variety of forms: stacks of pancakes, chains of "flying saucers" lined up off to one side, tidy cap clouds or, as today, a fancy "hat" complete with feathers to complement the lacy gown of snow newly dressing the upper slopes. If you look just above the horizon of dark hills, you'll see a ruff of cumulus and, checking the webcam as I write, if you were at Paradise, it occludes the Mountain completely. The "meat" in the cloud sandwich shown above is only the thousand feet or so between Camp Muir and Gibraltar Rock. Elsewhere, you'd be in white-out, wondering why you thought today would be a good day for a hike/climb.

Stack O' Pancakes

Day 365: Following on the heels of the aurora borealis, another phenomenon put on a spectacular display yesterday morning: lenticular clouds over the summit of Mount Rainier. While this is much more common than aurorae, it never fails to awe. Sometimes, the Mountain just puts on a hat, a single lenticular worn like a sombrero. Other times, it presents...well, when I threw back the curtains at dawn, I said, "Wow! A whole stack o' pancakes!" I've lived here almost 35 years. I still went running out to capture the scene with the camera from a position where I could avoid telephone lines, poles and a butt-ugly political sign. Visitors to the area often pull over here to take pictures of the Mountain whenever it's visible, even when there is no alpenglow or cloud formation to photograph. It's the only spot along the road where the Mountain can be seen. That said, the Mountain looms large over much of the Pacific Northwest landscape, and friends in Eatonville also had "pancakes" for breakfast on this fine, crisp morning.

Mountain Pancakes

Day 113: When the Mountain makes pancakes, it's a sure sign the weather is about to change (and it did, so there's no hope of seeing that elusive comet any time this week). Mount Rainier is famous for its lenticular cloud formations. In fact, at least once, they've been reported as UFOs, although I can't quite imagine why. Admittedly, they're dramatic. One time when I was backpacking on the north side, I saw one incoming which looked exactly like Capt. Kirk's Enterprise complete with warp nacelles, at least to my imaginative mind. Sometimes, they pile up on one side or another of the peak; others will accumulate on or over the summit, often lowering as a developing weather system gains strength. They occur when moist, stable air flows over the summit to create a series of waves and troughs. Unequal dew point and ambient temperature in the bottoms of the troughs causes evaporation. At the peaks of the waves where dew point and temperature are equal, condensation occurs. When this recipe is exactly right, the Mountain makes pancakes. Or maybe, like the Lemurians who were reported to live in Mount Shasta, there really is a race of aliens occupying the ice caves on the summit, flying in and out in their saucer-shaped spaceships disguised as clouds.

Mountain Drama

Day 90: There is more drama than that of politics associated with Mount Rainier today, beautiful in nature, if perhaps somewhat foreboding. Clouds mount a nebulous assault from the north, lifting over the summit in ragged lenticular formation, fighting vainly against an unseasonably warm upslope wind. The Mountain makes its own weather, according to its mood; dangerous at times, kindly at others, but never without an undercurrent which warns that changes may come on a whim, with little to announce their imminent arrival. Experienced climbers know this; the foolish ones trust to luck. Most of us, regardless of our camp, survive more or less intact, living out our days in the foothills when our bodies cannot meet the demands of the sport. That said, our hearts are on the Mountain, even in bad weather. Don't let the allegory bite you on the bum.

Morning, Noon And Night

Day 70: Morning, noon and night, the Mountain anchors me. Hidden or seen, there is not a moment that the Presence is not felt. I moved away once, foolish and young as I was, and did not comprehend what had gone missing in my life until I returned to the state some few years later. There, dominating the horizon as always, was the Being whose legends and lore were central to my upbringing, welcoming me home.

These three photos (all shot today) show the Mountain in one of its more consistent moods, something of a rarity especially in light of the lenticular cloud formations over the summit. The first, taken from the pasture opposite my home, was shot at dawn. The second image presents the view from the Community Building in Longmire (Mount Rainier National Park). The third capture is from the bridge over Kautz Creek (also in Mount Rainier National Park) and was taken on my way home from work.