In late-May 1999 my father and I traveled to Seattle to meet up with Ty Spauling, whom I had met in the Himalayas 1990 on a trek to Lantang Glacier. I had told him on our return to Kathmandu that should be ever be passing through Bangkok to stop by the Malaysia Hotel on Soi Duplei and asked for me. Room 203 overlooking the musty green swimming pool. Two years later sure enough the Hawaiian walked through the lobby and the rest was history; Paris, New York, Hawaii, Ireland, now Whitby Island on Puget Sound.
A road trip down the coast to Astoria and then Moutn St. Helens and finally Mount Rainer. My father loved every mile, happy diverted from his wish to join my mother in heaven. On Mount Ranier Ty adn I planned a hike up the mountain. NOthing strenuous. It was mid-afternoon. Both of us were in good shape and the trail was unforgiving, and the sky clear. Not for long. A mist oiled though the pines and the temperature dropped from the 70s to the 40s. I felt snow on the air and suggest turning around. Ty wanted to hike gurther up the slope.
"If it starts snowing, turn around." We shook hands and I began an hour-long descent.
At the sunlit lodge my father asked, "Where's Ty?"
"It looked like snow."
And he didn't turn around?"
"No."
He ordered two glasses of wine and I kept my eye on the trailhead. Twenty minutes later Ty appeared unscathed by his adventure. He ordered a bottle of wine. A good one as wouldan epicurean.
"How was it?" aske my father, a Maine native. New Englanders knew snow.
"Blizzardy for about ten minutes, then it stopped."
"The waiter poured him a glass. We clinked glasses. Enough said about that hike. Ty and I haven't spoken about it since. Maybe I'll call him today to find out. In Hawaii and me in Brooklyn. Faraway but distance can't keep us apart.
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