An alarm sounded. Four in the morning. Too tired for words, I got out of bed with half-closed eyes and struck my alarm clock. It quieted. As I shuffled around my room organizing my things for the day ahead, the anticipation of what lay before me helped to wake me up. Fanny pack, Gatorade, snack food, sunblock. I went through my list of what to bring, and made sure that I had everything. I did. I woke my dad, and with half-closed eyes he, too, got up and prepared. After a meager breakfast of Cheerios and Frosted Flakes, he drove me to the meeting place. One by one people showed up, all looking as tired as my dad and I. The sky was dark.

By the time the sun had tinged the eastern horizon with its golden glow, we had gathered everyone and everything, and left. Heading east, and toward adventure, I felt alive. I could hear everything, see everything. I just couldn't concentrate too well. It was only 5:30, after all. I watched as the sun's rays lowered on the landscape, from the peaks of the Cascade Mountains in the distant east to the shifting sheet of fog which swirled to accommodate the minivan as it rushed past. I looked again to the mountains. Then to the friends around me. And smiled.

After many twists and turns through forest-blanketed slopes and past precipitous drops, we arrived at our destination: the foot of Mount Washington. At the trailhead we gathered around and discussed what we were about to do. Then we started hiking.

Excitement slowly faded as I plodded along the trail, and I was left with the anticipation of reaching the summit. All around me was life - bugs and trees and plants and my hiking buddies. After a number of miles, many sips of Gatorade and a Snickers bar, we reached the base of the summit. From there, it was 150 feet roughly straight up. I couldn't help but grin as the resident rock climber among us set up the climbing gear. Some of the guys had found a seat, so I went over to them. Behind them, where the backs of their seats should have been, was a sheer cliff a thousand feet straight down. I stepped back. Then picked up the biggest rock I could lift and hurled it over the edge. Its fall seemed interminable, but it finally landed with a low thud. My fourteen year old eyes widened with a realization of the fragility of life. One trip, one slip… and no more. But the realization merely heightened my sense of adventure, for the time.

There were a couple of climbers before us, so we let them make their ascent. At one point, I was paying attention to something else when I heard someone shout, "ROCK!" I turned around in time to see the second of the two climbers jump off of a cliff and swing in mid air by his climbing rope as a small boulder narrowly missed his head. The boulder landed with a thud and the climber got back on the mountain. And that was that. One slip, one mistake… And then we made our own ascent.

It went well. I was tired by the time the summit was under my feet, but I felt as if I'd conquered an army. Insects swarmed around us. On the hike thus far, there had been only a few. But the summit, bleak and rocky as it was, was home to more insects than I was comfortable with. In between frustrated swatting at flies and such, I surveyed the land before me. Far to the west, I could see the round peaks of the Oregon Coast Range poking above the clouds. Over there, Mary's Peak. Twenty miles from my home. To the east, the landscape was dry lava flows and desolation, with one lone black butte which stood out in defiance. To the north and south, the Cascades. And far to the south, I could barely make out Mount Shasta. It was breathtaking.

The time came to descend and we did. The group more or less split into two. A friend and I found our way to the base of the mountain by essentially "skiing" down a massive pile of loose rock which covered half the mountain on one face. Each huge step would take us eight feet or so down the mountain, and after some scrapes and dirt, we reached the bottom. It took us a while, but we found the rest of the group. Had we gotten lost, we could have found the trail again eventually and hiked back to the road. My body was sore, and I was quick to point out the fact to my compatriots, but I felt good nonetheless. And as we piled into minivans and trucks to leave, I was filled with what could only be described as… life.