Daylight Comes

**Daylight on Whiteside**
By Kurt Z


Ninety minutes to sunrise, and the coffee’s creeping into the crevasses of the Love Shack. Carol and I (mostly me) agreed my wonky sleep schedule, nightly pee strolls, and early-morning energy are best exiled to the barn. 


Yesterday was pure recovery mode from our chaotic travel. Harvey was up at 8, then crashed from 10 to 2 like a pro. We boys chilled on the porch, soaking in the calm. Ran down to Highlands to snag some fishing flies, only to hear the outfitters’ thick Southern drawl declare the water’s too warm for bites—give it a month. Never heard a twang so rich it could season grits! Quick grocery store raid, then back up the hill.


Post-lunch, my emotional and physical detox shifted into overdrive with an unplanned colonoscopy prep—rivaling my worst from seven years ago! Waddling from the big house, I dropped my phone and got marooned on the Shack’s throne for 90 entertainment-free minutes. Poor porcelain. My sinuses are also throwing a fit over the elevation, moisture, and pollen explosion. As I scribble this, a half-box of soggy tissues lies crumpled at my feet on the porch, waiting for daylight on The Old Man. Gotta say, Whiteside Mountain’s ever-changing colors and moods keep me hooked. Through the spotting scope, we spied hikers cresting the peak and a climber working an upper wall—thrilling stuff! I’ll save my rant about the eerie lack of birds, wildlife, or sound at 3,576 feet for another day.


**Hiking Whiteside:** After 3 p.m., fresh diaper in tow, the fam hit Highlands proper. You know the vibe—stumble, mumble, gawk, and hunt for the best margarita. Dave’s dead-set on a fancy dinner this week, but our recon mission yielded no consensus. My only stop? Bardo. Pure bliss. Highlight of the day: watching yuppie outdoorsy types scatter to their $200k rigs when a thick cloud bank rolled through town like a Stephen King flick. Harvey and I stood there, tongues out, tasting the mist. “Grampa, I can taste the clouds!” he says. We turned around to find ourselves alone in a mountainside ghost town.


Perfect hiking weather all week! Whether my creaky knee’s up for the big climb is TBD. Either way, my sunrise chore of collecting a suspicious number of beer cans from last night’s fire pit ritual is training enough.


Onward and upward, sir!

---