Cold Mountain.

Squak Mountain is a rather steep, if diminutive, foothill that is part of a chain called the Issaquah Alps. Reaching an elevation of 2,024 feet, it is niether the smallest, nor the most lofty peak in the chain. In fact, some housing developments snake their way up it's slopes as far as 740 feet.

This latter fact is what possessed me to consider climbing to the summit, as I had a delivery in one of those neigborhoods last wednesday. As I approached the house, I was immediately struck by the mountain's towering, snow-capped presence. It simply dominated the immediate vicinity, and I was filled with wanderlust. That night, I looked it up on Google Earth, and there was a small cluster of buildings at the very summit. I absolutley had to get to those buildings.

Thursday morning I rose early, made a solid breakfast for myself, and was out the door. I went straight to REI and bought a topographical map, which also showed Cougar Mountain. I drove all the way out there and found this tiny, unobtrusive trail head, practically in the middle of a neigborhood. This, coupled with the fact that Squak Mountain is ensconced between Cougar and Tiger Mountains, elated me. I would probably have this entire hike to myself.

I parked at the obscure trailhead, and shouldered my pack. Matilda slept in the van. This was cougar country. As I meandered up the slope, I noticed that the Snow-dusted summit was completely covered in a solid, grey cloud. No vistas today, I guess. The first mile or so was a soggy affair, though it wasn't raining. I gradually passed the snow level, which was mostly slushy. I shuffled along at a rhythmic pace, the sound of my boots crunching in the snow keeping me company. Eventually, the snow became much less slushy, and more the way snow ought to be. It was also deeper.

My ascent was becoming taxing, and my breathing heavy. After a while, my heart felt like a hammer, and I was about to turn back, satisfied with a good walk in the snow, when I approached a marked split in the trail. To the left, a trail shot upwards and wound around a bend, out of sight. The sign read "Center Peak: 0.8 Mi.". I was nearly done for, and I still had a goodly trip back to the van, but I wanted to see those buildings! Oh well. I caught my breath and drank some water. Planning to return another day, I started to make my way back to the car.

It immediately began to snow.

I turned right back around and decided to climb to the summit. Fatigue and weather be damned. The trek became arduous at this point, as the snow was deeper, the trail was steeper and it was snowing fairly hard. I trudged up the slope with a strange sense of mission that had never really been present in me up until now. Maybe it was my complete love for snow, but I was absolutely giddy. At points I became so tired that I could barely put one foot in front of the other. I was covered in snow, my legs hurt and I couldn't see anything for being covered by a cloud. Finally I saw a strange metal fence-type structure and I tried my best to jog up to it. On the other side was the final bend. There was a thicket of small trees that lined the trail and were bowed inward from the weight of the snow, creating a sort of tree tunnel that I had to practically crawl through. Awesome.

I emerged from the tree line to a serenely quiet scene. A small cluster of fenced in buildings and five or so antenna towers jutting up from their midst. They were presently unmanned and I was the only person there. It was snowing steadily and the flakes were monstrous. I was utterly immersed in grey. I couldn't hear a thing. I stayed up there for about twenty minutes and listened to the sound of complete silence. I was so rejuvinated, that I hiked back down to the van without even stopping to catch my breath.

Although, it could have been the Clif Bar.