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fiction by Trevor Carolan I t was summer, early July. We dawdled the morning away watching gTey. overcast skies for any sign of a break in the weather. The beach looked an unlikely option. Noriko was stir-crazy with inactivity. At one o'clock we were packed and headed for the mountains. By half past two we'd skirted the winding road to Cypress Bowl and were off up ragged Black Mountain trail. With every quarter-hour the afternoon grew more mawkish; enormous pillowheads threatened rain or thunder. Here and there though, the muggy haze made way for piercing shafts of sunlight, and the sight of the snow-capped Garibaldi Range far ahead drew us onward. a, ^ < 14 Rounding a switchback outcropping, we broke for a moment to gaze out from the mountain upon Vancouver spread vastly before us. clear to the shores of Semiahmoo and the American border. Deep in the west, the peaks of the big island range hovered midway between sky and ocean mist like a mirage. Carrying on up the rocky trail, the guttural booms of male grouse thumped lonely on the somber, cooling air. At 3,000 feet, a Red-Tailed Hawk careened superbly through the open sky above a broad alpine bowl. We watched, amazed, as.the creature swooped and cruised the thermals, working the ridge for prey. An hour later we hit snowline. A meltwater brook surged through dense brush and we tramped after its sound to drink at its frigid, crystal source. Kneeling to drink. Noriko said it was a perfect opportunity for a bear or tiger to jump us by surprise. "No need worrying about either of them," I smiled. "Nothing but mountain lions up here this time of season..." "Same as tiger." she shrugged. We marched higher into the territory of a second booming grouse. Pausing at a trekker's hut perched on a log foundation nearby, I traced the calls of the grouse. He was perched in the crick of a jack pine. We Where Three Dreams Cross Stellar Jay on Black Mountain. (987. Sketch by North Vancouver artist, Arnold Shives. listened to his dark, proud trumpet until he flew off to deeper cover. From here on, the way was sodden and we walked cautiously through a dark, woody bog still covered with snow. A shifty patch of trail had been shored with rough cedar boards and shallow meltwater rivulets channeled beneath thin ice on either side. Proceeding farther in darkening light, the wilderness path grew narrow and difficult to follow, with only the odd coloured trail tag making it passable. We hiked onward patiently, then, threading a cover of pines, arrived at the summit without fanfare. No warning, no dramatic crest: we were simply there. Beyond lay huge horizons. We stood above everything. Occasionally small aircraft flew by. well below us. Overhead, great sphincters of turbulent vapour clouded the late sun. We sat together on a bare granite knoll. Pines and scrub circled the summit and about the southern edges lay a carpet of moss and lichens. With packs aside, we stretched on our backs, gazing upward in wonderment at the play of clouds. Biting blackflies gathered in. I bundled up twigs and scraps of paper and moss. The fire took upon a bare spot of rock and I added damp leaves for smoke. Noriko opened a flask of hot tea. then we munched on boiled eggs and nectarines. The stillness of the heights was profound; the only sounds about the slopes were the echoes of far-off birdsong. With eyes half-closed, we laid back again, so much nearer heaven. We must have dozed. Waking, it was time to make tracks and we began our descent following a hitch route that would clear us of the gloomy boardwalk. Cheerily, we hacked down to the west as golden prongs of low sunlight began reflecting off the rocks. We saw it then while stumbling onto an unkempt clearing flanking a sharp ridge. We were struck speechless. Then, catching our breath we moved nearer the apocryphal vision. Before us lay a wide, natural bowl--the convergence of three glistening, snow-clad peaks. The course of the setting sun had trained upon this remote and silent canvas, as boiling upward through the open space surged an ocean of formless, opalescent vapours pulsing with life. Furling and unfurling, cloudhidden to the world, the immutable Void of a 100 parables hove before us, transfixing, merging and reemerging in ceaseless, fantastic whorls of transcendent energy becoming ether. Open-mouthed, we gaped at its power streaming upward from the mountainous depths below. There could be no greater purity, no higher paramita than this primal Chi expressing its own unfathomable nature here in the higher heights; sanctifying, elucidating mystically, silent, namelessly, its holy and perfect beyondness. O precious Earth Mother O jewel of the Lotus! Om Mane Padme Hum. 1 Author Trevor Corolan writes from Deep Cove.