Even if you only just started reading about my Sunday morning adventures you know about Mailbox Peak. It's a special place. It's close. It's hard. It's 3,500 feet of punishment and 600 feet of glory. I use it as penance for my sins of the week and to prepare me for my next real adventure.
Thistrip, the third of 2016, was cold and gray. Treen was the only spot of color on the upper mountain. Even the trees were gray, flocked in white and coated in ice.
The highlight of the day morning was the sparkling slopes of Mount Rainier to the south and the big grin on Treen's face. And I improved my time by five minutes.
It was a wee bit windy on the top and Treen's ears flapped while snow whipped around the Mailbox. It wasn't the type of day for lounging so we hastened in our descent and took the ridge trail down.
There were only a handful of others on the mountain, which wasn't a big surprise. Only those of us either serious or crazy are still still heading up. I'm unsure which category I fall into.