Bracing against freezing winds,
I slipped ice-encrusted goggles to
my forehead and peered, thunderstruck,
at thousands of blindingly-white
sharply-angled feet stretching out
below ours, down to the valley floor.
After minutes - was it an hour? - watery
eyes glanced sideways at my friend Don,
both of us grinning like six year olds
blowing out candles on a birthday cake.
Our fourth attempt. Our first conquest.
Shivering, my steamy breath formulated
a question I could answer, “Just how high
is Mt. Hood, Don?” Without hesitation,
Don rolled a cloud of steam back, “Eleven
thousand, two hundred thirty-seven feet,
eight and three-quarter inches.”
We laughed and laughed, me wondering all
the while if the extra inches were true.
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