There it was again. Well, no denying it, that was definitely thunder. I had just parked at the trailhead, and now I had an unexpected choice: risk it and go now, or wait and see if it improves? I elected to wait. After a long while, the thunder seemed to be getting fainter, and I resumed gathering my gear for the evening hike. But I took my rain jacket and umbrella hat, just in case.
Some distance into the hike, it started dripping. Just a few drops, nothing to worry about. And then just a few more, and then more than just a few. I stopped, covered my camera backpack with its rain cover, and put on my rain jacket and umbrella hat.
The umbrella hat is just what it sounds like. It is an umbrella, but instead of a central stalk and handle, it has a thin fabric crown with metal spokes that support the umbrella. It has a chin strap to keep it from becoming airborne, but even light winds can wrench it off my head and turn it into a parachute straining against my neck.
The rain grew heavier as I trudged onwards and upwards into the hills. By the time I reached the Cathedral Spires rock formations, there was nothing I could do but try to find shelter between two tall rocks, that while still open above, provided some protection from rain from the sides. And I stood there, with my umbrella hat wedged between the rock faces, and I as unmoving as the rocks themselves, watching the rain run down the rock face in tiny rivulets, watching it run its muddy course across the sloping land. And then the hail started.
I could hear the little things bouncing off my umbrella hat. I could see the little things hitting the ground, bouncing a time or two in short little hops before they rolled to a stop in the accumulating whiteness on the landscape. Yes, it was definitely hail. And after a while the icy whiteness got so thick it even started to look like snow.
After about half an hour or so, the hail started to taper off. Gradually, but definitely, the weather was improving. And finally, with the dripping wetness around me, but no longer above me, I ventured from my chosen crevice and hiked further up into the hills for a better vantage point.
It was close to midnight by the time I started the hike out. I had missed the trail but guided my way down the forested hillside by the gap in the rocks I had been watching all evening which represented the way out. As I emerged among the rocks, I gazed up into the night sky and it was then that I saw the raw beauty of the rocky spires jutting skyward, silhouetted against the growing illumination from the rising moon. And it was then that I decided I could stay a little longer, to capture that raw beauty. After convincing myself that I had the camera settings right, I found a large, rounded and relatively flat rock a little distance back and laid on it for a half-hour rest while my camera clicked away in the darkness, capturing the stars as they trailed across the heavens.
It is that final scene that I remember. That, and the little things bouncing off my umbrella hat. And to this day, when I recall those moments, I sing with reverence an ode to my umbrella hat.