The Most Peaceful Day

Day 333: On this date, you often hear the question, "Where were you on 9/11?" I was here, on the 7131-foot summit of Old Desolate in Mount Rainier National Park. I'd been camped down below in Elysian Fields for a week or so on my annual September pilgrimage, waked to a lightly frosted morning and decided it was time to visit Old D. I was on the move before the sun had crested the ridge dividing the Fields from Vernal Park, following the same songline I had trod dozens of times over the years. I said hi to the Anomalous Boulder as I passed, wound my way through a belt of trees to attain the Grasshopper Track which in turn took me to the Birdbath below the Black Thing. I poured a little water in the basin because it was empty (not surprisingly), passed through Marmot Skull Gap's barrier of heather, slipped and slid through the sandy slopes until I reached the Monitor (a prominent rock), and after hugging my old friend as was my custom, I began the plod up Old D's shoulder. A tiny patch of snow lingered in the shaded cirque on the north side. By the time I reached the summit, it was nearing elevenses, so I settled in with the ladybugs and little black wasps to take my lunch of crackers and cold coffee. Usually, I'd have stayed an hour, maybe an hour and a half, but on this occasion, there was something different which compelled me to stay until mid-afternoon. It was so quiet, so blissful, so serene that I could not bring myself to leave until I knew it would be dinnertime before I got back to camp. I don't think I said a word while I was there, not wanting to intrude upon the near-absolute silence.

Several days later, I hiked out from my camp. Once I'd reached trail, I passed a few scattered people, but the only one who acknowledged me remarked on the pine needles caught in my hair. "Yeah, I've been out for a while," I told him. My fishing buddy was waiting to pick me up when I got back to Ipsut. We had driven twenty miles or so before he said to me, "You don't know what happened, do you?" And then he told me about the 9/11 attack.

In hindsight, I realized that the silence on Old D's summit was because all planes had been grounded. The usual background noise of jets was absent from the deep backcountry, and indeed from everywhere else in the United States. But that one thing, that absence of intrusive noise, made for me the most peaceful and idyllic day of my life. I feel a little guilty admitting that it was September 11, 2001.