The Slumbering Homes of the Mountain Gods

On this cold, clear afternoon, I depart east-bound from the airstrip at Concrete, Washington. I am the pilot, am alone, and intend to photograph, as I have before, the great winter peaks of the North Cascades.

The light of late afternoon, when shadows are long and contrast deepens, is perfect. My opportunity is short, defined by weather and remaining daylight. Another Pacific storm will sweep in tonight, with perhaps weeks of unflyable and restless weather ahead. Already, thin cirrus sweeps the sky and a gray haze of thicker cloud rises to the west.

The sun is low above the Finney mountains to my right, and about two hours remain before dark. A light wind blows straight down the runway, hinting of stronger gusts higher up. The checklists are complete; the airplane is heavy with fuel and survival gear; the engine idles smoothly, the prop a blur. With a steady advance of the throttle, the familiar push begins. The runway rushes at me and the bump