For Claudia

Chapter One

The Chinooks started screaming down the mountain that night. We never thought that would happen so early in the year. We knew it was time to move out. It was the beginning of the winter season rolling in soon. The Chinook Indians called them the great south winds or the “snow eater.” I told Ilsa we would need to clear out in the morning but I knew I would be leaving for good. Somehow I think she knew it too and it would no longer be a crisis – it would be a relief for us both.

I knew I was leaving it all up there, back up on Hurricane Ridge. I thought it should stay there. After all, what good was all this baggage, this strain on my shoulders, this weight. It would never resolve itself or come to anything but a bitter memory. There was no going back.

The unspeakable horrors of love gone bad, left behind. The magazine company would not want this story; they were paying for a travel piece, an article on the wonders of fierce cascades among the Olympic Range in Washington state, just off the Boise Cascades. I would have to give them something like this:

Up on Hurricane Ridge, the elk roam up and down the mountain in the winter snows seeking out the shoots and bark and branches of fir to nourish them as their winter coats grow thick to protect them from the sub-zero winds.

I packed up quickly, carefully remembering to take the essentials and let go of the old things.  There was no going back here once we left, no going back to each other. She too was strong and independent and we both knew it had come to this. We did not acknowledge the pain, the separation that would follow. We were too strong and proud for that. We wanted space and could not abide being so strongly bound together anymore.

We started skiing down the mountain and I pulled a sled. It was still the best part of the year before it was about to become the worst part of the year. The air was still raw, the land was still new, undiscovered and the Chinooks were not yet dangerous, just a growing forecast of the bitterness that was about to come. I traversed the mountain in the snow and mud. It wasn’t yet deep so I knew we had made the right decision. She too was smart to stay any longer. It was steep going but we’d been used to it. Now the Chinooks were warning us it was time to go.

Soon we reached our base camp and I started up the Jeep. I looked over toward the East and something out of place caught my eye. It was a pile on the ground, lying in the snow. I trekked over and saw it was a dead body, a male, probably late 20s or so. No sign of injury. Just frozen in place. What could have felled him, I wondered? Perhaps a broken leg, couldn’t move anymore. But why wouldn’t he use his cell phone to call for help? Probably a daredevil who shunned the idea and crawled miserably for the final hours of his life until he succumbed to the cold, the lingering starvation and dehydration. I made a note of the coordinates and called the Sheriff to let him know the location of the body. There was nothing else to do except leave him for the coroner to conduct whatever investigation was going to be necessary to make the death official.

Then we drove off. The snowflakes began falling again now, small ones at first then getting larger as we left the mountain. I knew I wouldn’t be seeing Hurricane Ridge for a long time and I was okay with that. It was another lifetime. I needed a break.

After we got back to the house, I packed up my things and drove to Spokane to meet with Jill, my editor, about the article I had begun to write. I told her about the beauty of the Olympic Mountains – Mount Olympus, Mount Washington, Mount Deception and the nine other peaks – and the 35 feet of snow Hurricane Ridge typically receives each year. The gales blow off the Pacific Coast and slam into the winds blowing south down Puget Sound from Canada. They swirl and hit the various ridges among the Olympic Mountains but because of the topography, when they hit Hurricane Ridge, all hell breaks loose. I did not tell her about Ilsa and me or the dead body since I was not writing about that. Better to leave that back there up on Hurricane Ridge.

But I was done with that, done with all of it. I wanted to go east again back to the beginnings where it all began for me. I knew I would come back this way some day. So I told Jill that after I finished the piece I owed her, I would be going back and she agreed. She let me know she would remain open to publishing future articles or stories and I thanked her for her generosity and her support of me. But I knew I didn’t owe her, I was free to write what I wanted to write. After a few more details, we said goodbye and shook hands.

Walking out of her office building, I entered the harsh sunlight of a cool day. Although Hurricane Ridge was shrouded now in its onslaught of winds and snow, here, just 370 miles east, the air was crisp and cool but forgiving. I found my car and aimed east.

Chapter Two

The eastern seaboard loomed ahead of me, not with the steep craggy mountains of the Cascades or the Rockies but with its large rolling Adirondacks and Catskills. Not as threatening and as challenging but still a broad green sight to behold. I knew New York beckoned me. After all, that is where it all began for me. Sure there was everything else, but New York? C’mon man. It never leaves you no matter how long you leave it. If you are born there, you’re a New Yorker forever. Sure you can live in the South for a while, cross the Midwest, go West Coast or do the whole expat thing. But your lens is always through New York eyes and mind. That is not a bad thing but it colors you. You cannot shake it and deep down you don’t want to. It’s too primal, it’s in your DNA – and deep down, you love it.

But it wasn’t the steep canyons of Manhattan I was interested in. I zoomed past those while crossing the various bridges and headed out to the island – Long Island. Somehow it had become even more crowded, more overbuilt than it had been when I had last been here. The traffic was widespread, inescapable. But I knew that it would be crowded. I still had to find what I came there for. This was not going to be a quick visit. I had a lot of time now and I would make a number of stops along the way. This was going to have to be done right.

Chapter Three

As a little girl, Julie had always hated make-believe. She had always preferred watching the adults in the room, noticing when their rosy prognostications were soon confronted by cool realities. She wasn’t a sad girl, she came from a well-balanced family. Not rich, but doing okay. But pretend was not her style. She loved a good cartoon on TV but it only entertained her, they did not provide any signposts for her. No, all she needed was to continue watching her world and the realities were far more mesmerizing to her. She didn’t want or need a Barbie doll but that did not stop her from dressing up her own self at times if she wanted to look or play a special part. Life was about assuming other guises but not escaping your own life. Enhancement, not disguise, was her way and her play world was trying on different personas or roles just to see how they fit. She was practicing for her future. She just needed to figure out how and when that would begin to take shape.

Monogamy’s a funny thing to a child. They are guided by the notion of perfection that marriage is to be attained for happiness and the family – but the same child is encouraged to become anyone who they want to become when they grow up, if they work hard enough.

To Julie, this was perplexing. She loved her parents, loved her family. But she saw even then that to become successful and build that persona or character – for it is a process of becoming, she believed – would require total immersion of her soul and identity to mature into the leader she knew she would become. Whether it was as an artist or musician or business owner, she always saw herself as a leader. Never being bossed over by others. If she had to fish to survive, she would always have her own boat, never fish for another captain.

She wasn’t so keen on being a doctor or lawyer since in her mind, people in these professions  tended to work in groups. She wanted to shine on her own. Yes, many children feel they too are special and one day they will be the hero of the movie. But Julie was grounded and smart and was willing to work hard for her goals. She just didn’t have them all lined up in her head yet. After all, she was only seven years old.

Chris Ebel
10/27/22, 10/31/22, 11/1/22

Photo credit: @vivekchugh