We plunge down steep slopes of Mt. Ellinor
through paintbrush and fields
of late larkspur in fog.
The weather is unexpected—
wind and drizzle chill, weaken us.
Muffled voices of Labor Day hikers swirl in mists.
A girl cries to her mother
I can’t climb any more!
Below the next ridge, a panicked woman
with infant child stumbles,
sobs to her husband.
It grows darker,
rain almost snow.
The mountain itself—
unchanging.
(No. 82 in a series of responses to Han-shan’s Songs of Cold Mountain)
Mt. Ellinor is in the southeastern Olympic Mountains, another favorite of us locals. It’s a steep climb, but there’s an improved trail to the top which makes it accessible. On this holiday a dramatic shift in weather occurred, catching many visitors ill-prepared.
Cold Mountain No. 82 (Burton Watson translation) is one of the most familiar of Han-shan’s poems:
People ask the way to Cold Mountain.
Cold Mountain? There is no road that goes through.
Even in summer the ice doesn’t melt;
Though the sun comes out, the fog is blinding.
How can you hope to get there by aping me?
Your heart and mine are not alike.
If your heart were the same as mine,
Then you could journey to the very center!
More than almost any of Han-shan’s poems, this one should probably be approached as a koan, a sort of Zen teaching story that typically puts you between a rock and a hard spot, a box canyon with no way out. So a Zen teacher might demand, “Show me Cold Mountain!” As ever, it is right beneath your feet–even as you get the hell off Mt. Ellinor while the getting is good!
(Numeric reference to Han-shan’s poem reflects the order of presentation in Burton Watson’s translation, presented as Cold Mountain, Columbia University Press, 1970.)
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