Lookout Below

Feb 9

I've almost never felt happier than I did on that first night spent rolled up inside a sleeping bag on a tiny bed in a fire lookout atop a towering mountain down south past Bend. This is because I was incredibly warm and comfortable, I was tired from wallowing 4 miles straight up in the deep snow with a heavy pack (an act that I would call mountaineering, but I know if I did real mountaineers would pat my head and say, "Hush"), I was among several people that I liked very much, and I was there in the cozy dark surrounded by 360 degrees of windows that held nothing but stars.

This fire lookout: it's a toy-sized hut built at the very top of the world. The idea is that from there, you can see everything around you, and when a wildfire starts—you can spy the column of smoke, sleuth it out on a topo map, and then quickly report it to the smoke jumpers. This is in the summer, mind you. Isn't it quaint that they still spot fires that way? Very antique.

Aaanyway, my bed was pushed up right against the window. Laying there staring out, I didn't see any mountains or rivers or majestic fields—or any land at all. We were up in the sky! I just saw stars, a senseless pile of them. And after drifting off, I awoke again hours later with the Big Dipper right in front of my face. A cosmic surprise and whatnot. In the interest of finding a "happy place" where one can seek shelter and zen-like peace, I think that this moment shall be mine and I'll close my eyes to return there again and again, then, now, forever.