The Weather
I look down at the water beading on my arm in my black rain jacket and think to myself, ”This isn’t what I had in mind”. Sometimes adventure doesn’t arrive in the way we intended... In those moments, can we stay open to receiving the gifts of “what is” rather than what “should be”?
ADVENTURE ART CLUB | DAY 4 | 9.4
SOUSA TRAIL TO BARMEYER OVERLOOK
MISSOULA, MT
It’s late afternoon by the time I set out on the Sousa Trail, heading toward the Barmeyer Overlook. I love this trail for its simplicity and its sweeping views of the city of Missoula, Montana. The Barmeyer Overlook is a flat spot at the top of an arid hillside accessible from two sides, the Sousa Trail which, oddly enough, takes off from the “mansion district” of Missoula and the Barmeyer Trail which takes off from Pattee Canyon. The feeling of traveling through a neighborhood of massive homes to park my car and set off on a trail hike in the mountains is a surreal one. This only adds to the novelty of how quickly you can find yourself in the woods in Montana.
This hike (from the other side) is the very first hike I took Scout on when we adopted him, and I will never forget the puppy look of wonder on his face at the tall trees reaching up above or how much he loved taking in all the scents from perched above the valley floor. He reminded me of my departed hound then, who loved to scent the air in places just like these.
Today, my boots hit the trail on a sunny day that includes, ominously, a bank of storm clouds on the horizon behind me. I checked the weather, but no rain was listed. Still, I am a bit worried at the sight of these dark clouds. My gut says to move somewhat quickly, so we don’t dawdle. I think I have enough time to get to the overlook and sketch the scene before the rain hits. I was wrong.
As we follow the trail through tall forests on private land, passing signs that admonish us to stay on the trail so as not to trespass, we rise in elevation quickly. The trail is only a mile and a half to the top, and a series of switchbacks through grassland and forest take us there.
Already, I can feel the hard edges melting off my shoulders at the sight of damp earth and green moss clinging to ancient fallen trees around us. The understory plants are starting to turn from green to red, but the colors of the fall have not yet painted themselves fully across the land. Breathing deep, I take in scents of pine and soil, and I settle.
Scout and I crest the final rise to a road that leads out to the last bit of trail, seemingly at the edge of the world. The Missoula valley was once home to a massive glacier lake that left its impressions in the presence of water lines on the hills around us. Rocks tell the tale of this land which used to be completely submerged. Sometimes I like to imagine water covering every inch of what I can see. We would be standing on an ocean floor, essentially, even as high as here.
On this spot at the top, there is a boulder with a message: Glacier Lake Missoula High Water Mark - 4200 Feet. Below us now, thousands of years later, my eyes take in a thriving community of green trees and scattered buildings stretching out to the horizon and nestled in a circle of blue receding mountains. We are embraced by the land, surrounded with calls to adventure.
I think about getting my sketchbook, but look out to the farthest point before I do. A drifting curtain of dark clouds is moving quickly from the far mountains to the valley. The sky is turning from blue to gray. The wind feels more insistent on my face. I know we don’t have time to draw here, and I don’t want to be caught, exposed, on the top of a mountain with no shelter in a rainstorm. So, we turn and head back from where we came.
I’m disappointed. I was counting on that moment of sketching to ground and to settle into a sense of calm after a rushing day. Trudging back, the first drops of rain fall, as I begrudgingly make my way back to the trailhead. The water beads up nicely at first on my freshly waterproofed rain layer, but soon enough, it is completely drenched. (So much for “waterproof”).
Scout doesn’t seem to mind though, and bounds gleefully through the forest plants picking up limbs and tossing his head side to side. His joy is utterly infectious. I think to myself “We don’t melt in the rain” and finally find my joy as well.
Sometimes witnessing another’s joy is all it takes to find your own, to become a child dancing through puddles of water again.
I pause at this moment to take in the sound of the rain on the leaves around me. I notice the sun filtering through the cloud bank in long rays of golden light. I observe the many colors of the gravel stones underfoot, only visible when wet. The water has transformed this trail into something entirely new and temporary. How lovely! Plus, forest moss loves the rain.
Finally, I get to my car, just as the sun is starting to cut through the clouds and a mild rainbow presents itself, hovering delicately above the ridge from where we came. I laugh wryly to myself and think…”perhaps we should have just waited”.
Settling into the driver’s seat, I curl my legs against the door frame next to me, and start to draw the view from the trailhead. This was not what I had in mind when I set out today. This scene is not as picturesque. It’s also missing the mystique and calm of drawing “en pleine air”. And yet….I love this little sketch. In this process, I did settle and rest. I also got to see the light gleam along the roadway and watch the clouds pass over.
This adventure’s unexpected turn was the lesson needed. Plans change quickly, and we can either adapt to the changes, or fight them all the way and lose the beauty of the moment. Just because something doesn’t look the way we wanted, doesn’t mean it's worthless. Adaptation is the only thing that’s needed…a tiny pivot lets us appreciate all of it. On this tempestuous day, I still went on an adventure. I still settled into “me”. I still sketched out the scene. What else was needed?
Love & Gratitude,
- Christina
