Mt Baker -day 50 (Storm Clouds Ahead-cont.)

So much has happened in the last two weeks that will impact upon the Mt Baker summit.I worry that I am not any better prepared than I was two months ago. It's getting hot outside and long aerobic runs are becoming increasingly difficult. Enough with that, however. Let's get back to other equally serious issues -specifically: 1) how does one accurately predict mountain weather while "on the job", half way up the mountain when the only protection is the cover of base camp five thousand feet below? This a critical skill that can save a life. Mountain weather is fickle. It can change from serene to catastrophic in a moment. Just pick up "Into Thin Air" by John Krakaur and you will know exactly what I mean. And most importantly 2) what was the hopefully relevant ethereal enlightenment being conveyed by the ever changing poster on the 6:50 AM Metro North train from Katonah to Grand Central? You would have to read my more recent blogs to know to what I am referring. The poster was more than an add for The Weather Channel. Its ever changing content was meant to prepare me not only for the unforgiving mountain with its unforseen forces but perhaps also a guiding light through the calm and storms of my own life as well.

I took my seat as usual on the 6:50 AM train. My foremost objective was to learn the deeper message of that 2'3"x 3'5" poster to the left in front of me as I sat in the first seat of the train's first car. The never-changing cast of silent commuters were there as well to witness the event. They were true "partners" I have come to know on a daily basis. People who were the one constancy in my life; partners in daily living with whom I have never once spoken a word. In fact, I know them only by the hats, caps, coats, and other substances they use to cover their faces as they rest silently with their shoulders against the window, arms folded tightly in front. Their monthly commuter cards always flash clearly on their chests so as to alert the conductor of their not to be disturbed meditations. Maybe, they have experienced the poster's message in the past. Maybe they have resultantly achieved the serene place for which I strive.

There were many on the train that day. I have come to know them by name. Among them was "Lou Gehrig", as I have come to call him. He sits on the right hand side of the first car, one row behind me; the Yankee clipper, the iron man (or welder as the case may be). He's surely never missed a day of work in the last 10 years. I know him by his faded blue blue baseball cap with the NY insignia pulled down over his face, covering all but the three day growth on his square chin. His thick calloused hands, heavily worn jeans, and thick-soled, skuffed, tan boots speak to his life in the nobler profession of steel and dust. Directly behind me was "Norma Desmond", looking as if she just came off the set of Sunset Boulevard. I have yet to see her face as well. I recognize her by her skin pulled very tight at the edges behind her ears. My surgical experience has led me to understand her recent submission to a 15 Bard Parker blade to mask her many years beneath the abusing sun. I recognize her also by her jet black hair serving as a stark contrast to the fading hues of her aging eyes. Her mask of heavy colors are always propitiously applied to the usual facial recesses to make for certain disguise. Is it possible, too, that she may have experienced the poster's call? There was the usual cast of others. "Darth Vader", "Cinderella" and "Wolfman". "Ralph Cramdon" and his buddy "Norton" were in their usual seats. Behind them were"Thelonius Monk", "Lolita" and "Andrew Carnegie".Finally, in the back row from left to right were "Rabbi Rabinowitz", "Che Guevara", and "Clarence Darrow" All there to receive the message. Their frozen constant positions reminded me more of characters from a back room at Madame Tussaud's than group of early morning commuters.

So there I sat patiently waiting. Then on the third day of the week, it happened again. The same brilliant sun streamed through the window directly upon the poster. The same change in color of the poster from green to pure white was coupled with the poster's metamorphosis into a cumulus cloud. The now clear blue lettering peeking through this fluffy white vision spelled, yet, another message I knew I needed to heed. The message was strong and unambiguous. It spelled out with clear force my next instructions. It almost bellowed to me in deep tones. It read "go now to the mountain". I instantly pulled out my trusty iphone and left a message to my secretary. "Important, something has come up, please cancel all appointments for the rest of the day. I'll explain later". I got off at the next stop. From the corner of my eye as I exited the train, I could see my "partners" turning in unison to face the poster with blank stares and gaping mouths. Did they see the same message or some other call to their own personal destiny? The doors closed behind me. I stood alone on the platform on the station and watched as the 6:50 AM train headed south. I knew then that a stage of my life had just ended. I would never sit in that train again. My "partners", those feckless frozen characters, were gone forever. My future now uncertain, the call to the mountain clearly enticing , I waited impatiently on the platform for the next train headed north to Katonah and the waiting seat of my Jag('01, XJ8, light green in color). I could be "on the mountain" by noon if I stayed focused on what exactly I needed to do. (to be continued tomorrow or the next day)