By now, the wind chill has reached the low 20s. A crisp, fall breeze pierces my cheeks and sinks deeply into my exposed fingertips. It is finally time to put on the winter gloves.
Only the 3rd of October, it is the earliest of the fall season I have felt the fleece lining I so often associate with the dead of winter. Those familiar with the climate and topography of the North Cascades would say that, on a north-facing slope at nearly 6,000 feet in the fall season, these conditions are to be expected. Expected or not, the stark contrast in temperature change never fails to shock me.
The trail has all but disappeared as we near the summit of Sourdough Mountain. Camouflaged, in part, by a fresh coat of snow, as well as by the grayish-white color of its outer paint layer, Sourdough Lookout – today’s destination – appears like that of any animal in survival mode, evolved to change its colors to match that of its wintry surroundings. We, on the other hand, are a mixture of bright orange and black, Adidas tennis shoes and mountaineering boots, baseball caps and old, woolen hats from the early ‘80s climbing era. With a jar of peanut butter, a few whole grain tortillas, and some apples and cheese, we were evolved to seek adventure, by any means possible, in any way possible.
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