My daughter tried to kill me yesterday; she will deny this, of course, but I know the truth. I think she’s after an early inheritance. I guess I should have told her my assets consist of $47.55, a Wahoo board, and several first edition Chick Tracts.
Now, her plan was more subtle than poisoning my clam chowder or pushing me off a cliff. No, she wanted to make it look like an accident. And what could be more “accidental” than a 64 year old man having a heart attack on a mountain trail?
Amy and I, you see, are visiting Sarah in Tacoma, a 90 minute drive from Mount Rainier. I mentioned that a hike would be nice; and that is when she hatched her nefarious plan. My idea of “hike” consisted of a pleasant stroll along the meadows, admiring the wildflowers and tall trees. And that is what I thought we would do. She had other ideas in mind.
After a mile my lovely wife decided to head back to the lodge. She may be in on this plot; I’m not sure. In any case, as soon as she left Sarah urged me to join her on what she described as a “two-hour hike” up the meadow. It turned out to be anything but that.
“Up the meadow” sounds nice until you realize, as I shortly did, that “up” when you are on the slopes of Mount Rainier means something entirely different than “up” means in Indiana. The highest point in my county is the top row of bleachers at the high school football field. But this hike started at 5,000 feet and we would soon gain another 2,000.
None of this was apparent at the beginning, of course. It looked like a simple hike up a very pretty meadow to a ridge. But the trail led behind the ridge and kept climbing. And climbing. And climbing.
She kept asking if I felt ok, which I now assume was her way of checking on whether her plan was working and she would soon get her grubby little hands on my precious Wahoo board. To her dismay, I soldiered on.
We soon came to another trail that we were supposed to veer off on, a trail that would take us back down. But…the trail was closed, and we would have to take another trail. A higher and longer trail.
She acted surprised, of course, as if she did not know this beforehand. By now my suspicions were aroused, but it was too late to turn back, so I put on my big boy pants and headed up the trail. The map called it the “High Skyline Trail”; I started referring to it as the “Death to Dad Trail.”
My legs felt like jello by the time we reached the top; my lungs were burning, and my smart watch was issuing dire warnings about my heart rate, reminding me of my age and weight, and offering to dial 911. But, we finally made it to the top of the ridge. I was alive. I had won.
After stumbling down 2,000 feet of elevation we ended up back at the trail head. Our “two hour hike” had turned into a five hour torment.
Now, of course my daughter will deny her evil intentions, and tell you that she had no idea the trail was that high or long. She will likely claim I am exaggerating and being overly dramatic (as if I EVER did that). She might even say that she was kind and solicitous and encouraged me to slow down and rest. But who are you going to believe: a victim and survivor, or a woman who tried to kill her own father? I think the answer is obvious.
I will close with some photos that may end up serving as evidence in any future legal situations. If you hear that I died a natural death while eating clam chowder at my daughter’s house, don’t believe it.
The horrific things that have been done in the attempt to acquire a Wahoo board , are the stuff of nightmares. You are a fortunate man to have averted the schemes to procure yours. Congratulations on your robust Midwestern constitution that undergirded your endurance of this trail & trial. Good luck and sleep with one eye open.