Hike Mt. Shasta

A wing-like lenticular cloud clings to the summit of Mount Shasta.

I’ve had this in my docket for a week and haven’t been able to just sit down and get it out. As the saying goes, better late than never.

Easter is often a day when many are up at sunrise. I thought it a good day to be so as well and since the weather was cold but clear, I decided to head out myself. It was gratifying to see that a slight sliver of lenticular was forming on the top of Mount Shasta. I reckoned it a good opportunity to head over to the McCloud side of the mountain to catch the morning light. When I go there, it was frigid and clouds were moving in from the east. These had blocked the light as the sun should have been breaching the horizon. I was dismayed at the lack of timing but then, in a burst of radiance, Mount Shasta was lit up in orange once again. It was excellent.

Looking through the telephoto lens, I could see the snow swirling in the wind and the lenticular cloud sailing past the summit. The dark towers of Sargents Ridge loomed beautifully over the alpenglow drenched Mud Creek Basin. I love these conditions, when the towers have shed their freshest snow and the red and purple rock contrasts against the white expanse of the ridge. Through the lens, the wind-sculpted banks added a great deal of beauty to the long slope above Clear Creek (far right of this image, click to zoom in).

When the light finally evened out and the glow had washed away, I packed up my gear and headed home. Rounding the mountain, it was obvious that the sun had not yet reached any part of the west side of Mount Shasta. However, the lenticular seemed to be breaking apart and losing its cohesive shape. The wester edge was particularly dramatic, flinging what looked like tendrils of flame out into the sky. At times, it looked like a solar flare erupting out of the mountain.

By sunset, the lenticular was gone but Mount Shasta still had lots of clouds around it to catch the alpenglow. Shadows cast, colors bathed and snow banners caught the dying light of the setting sun in all of its Easter glory. It had been a good day and I was grateful to be able to begin and end it looking at the mountain awash in color. It’s a gift, one I find increasingly hard to claim the time for these days, but my gratitude is undiminished.