Beyond Cuckoo

 I silently giggled at the trailhead’s warning sign. “Do not expect to be rescued. Rather, prevent rescues from happening in the first place, and be prepared to handle rescues within your own climbing party should something happen. Nature sets its own terms and YOU must judge how much risk you are willing to accept.” Yeah,” I say aloud. “I guess I’ve learned that lesson.”

“Are you thinking about climbing?”

I turn towards the female voice at my elbow, identified by the uniform as a ranger.

“Oh God, no,” I laugh. “I’m afraid my mountaineering days are ancient history. These days I’m a glamper in that RV over there.”

“Well it’s only a couple of miles to Horse Camp, if you want to rough it a few days.”

“Thanks for the suggestion, but I think the KOA is more my speed,” I say, as I step aside making way for the couple behind me to read the sign.

I’m not sure what I expect to find at Mount Shasta, but its draw has been bugging me for some time. A half day’s drive from the San Francisco Bay Area, it might as well be on another planet. In fact, the word on the street is that it’s a vortex where ancient and modern-day worlds collide. I’m not sure I believe in the legend of the mountain which includes stories about angels, spirit-guides, UFOs, extraterrestrials, and great masters. Lemurians allegedly live in the underground city of Telos—a city that serves as an inter-planetary and inter-dimensional portal. Earlier, in town, a crystal shop retailer told me that Telos is also called “The Crystal City of Light of the Seven Rays.” He said that in the future Telos will manifest on the planet’s surface and there will be a merging of Telos and Mount Shasta City. Bemused, I joked a response. “Well I’m always on the lookout for a good real estate deal. I wonder what this would do to escalate housing prices? Look what Apple’s spaceship campus did for Silicon Valley.”

Setting my get-rich-quick thoughts aside, I climb into the RV and pet my dog Gena’s wet nose. “What do you think girl? Should we come back later and do an alien search?” A wide yawn is the response and I put us in gear for a descent back to town.

Downtown, Gena and I find a dog friendly café where we can watch the local action from curbside. As I set my sandwich and beer on an open table, a middle-aged woman waves us over to her spot. “Come sit with me and have a conversation.” I don’t question the command.

“Hi, my name is Elaine,” I say, “and this is Gena.”

“Yes, I recognize her from before.”

“Before?” I ask, knowing and not knowing what she means. Déjà vu, I guess you’d call it.

“Yes, she lived with my tribe when she was a pup.”

I adopted Gena as a senior dog with no known history, so I guess anything is possible, but I doubt that she came from here. “Well, she may look like your dog, but there are so many Collie/Shepherd mixes around.”

“My name is Glenda, I sit on the Shasta Indian Council, and I know that dog, but no matter—what brings you to the mountain?”

“I don’t know exactly—just seems like a place to be.”

“Well the mountain attracts all sorts of folks—hunters, fishermen, mountain-climbers, spirit seeks, you name it—we’ve got it.”

I take a bite from my sandwich and break off a piece for Gena, who has wrapped herself around Glenda’s feet. Neither of us say anything until I’m done eating. Glenda is the first to speak. “You’ve been victimized?”

“Huh?”, I respond. “What kind of question is that?”

“You’ve got to let go—you’ve paid your dues—let it go.”

“I feel uncomfortable with this conversation. I’ve got to go.”

“Yes, you’ve got to go.”

I get up, grab my purse and take a hold of Gena’s leash. Must go, must go, must go, bounces around in my head and I can’t get us out of there fast enough. I flip the RV’s door locks, as I drive away—afraid to look behind until I pull into the KOA campground at the base of the mountain.

“Welcome,” the office desk clerk chirps as I open the door. “Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes, a pull-through spot with hookups.”

“Your name?”

As I sign in and pay, the words, must go, continue to play in my head. The clerk speaks slowly and deliberately as if she knows I’m confused. She hands me a map of Mount Shasta with a large circle around ‘John Everitt Vista Point’. “This is where you’ll stop.”

“Oh, yeah, I passed that on the way up the mountain this morning,” I say, not knowing why I want to go there.

The clerk reads my thoughts, looks at my camera slung over my shoulder, and says, “To take pictures, of course. This time of day has the perfect light—you must go now, to see it.”

***

Gena and I pull off the highway near the lookout’s sign. I feel tired, vacant. I leave Gena in the camper and lock the doors. There’s a narrow-paved road to my left and I walk to its start. I don’t want to go down that path. I sit on a nearby boulder and gaze out towards the Trinity Alps. I can feel it. I can feel what to do and I must go now.

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