Thirty-five years ago (and change), the most beautiful mountain in the Cascade range blew sky high, changing its shape forever.
Just a few years earlier, we went on a backpack trip to Indian Heaven with a good friend, and at the end of our vacation we spent a few days at the Spirit Lake campground. We gassed up the old 1955 Chevy at the Spirit Lake resort, from cool old gas pumps as old as the lodge. We set up camp, then walked down to the lake to rinse off. The water was so cold, and crystal clear. The lake bottom was made from pure white pumice sand that crunched between my toes. We cooked dinner, then talked for hours under the stars. I still have the photograph Dave took of star trails that night... he simply locked open the shutter of his Pentax 35mm camera, and left it there to watch the sky while we slept.
That Spirit Lake is gone now. The crystal clear water, the white pumice sand, Harry Truman and his Spirit Lake Lodge, gone forever. But they live on in photographs, and in memories.