If you ask me to climb a mountain the day before your birthday so we can camp on the summit to watch the sunrise on your birthday, as has been your tradition for a number of decades, I’m inclined to say, “Yes”.  If you’re cute and female, I’m legally barred from saying, “No”.

And that is how I found myself on top of South Sister in the Cascade Mountains of Oregon.  I’m not one to camp on the summit of many mountains; I did it once when I turned 21 on a solo trip with a bottle of champagne and a hammock.  Other than that, summits aren’t my thing.  They’re usually cold and the wind is howling half the night.  Sunrise can be just as pretty from 1000′ down from the summit, I have found.

But my friend Jodi wanted to see the sunrise from the summit.  And our choices were; 1) get up God-awful early and sprint to the summit or 2) pack all our belongings with us the night before and camp.  The biggest problem wasn’t the weight or the fact that Jodi wasn’t able to pack a lot of camping provisions on this trip to the West Coast.  It was that no where on the internet or even at the ranger station could we find out if camping on the summit was actually legal.  No one would tell us.

So we did what any freedom loving camping duo would do; we concocted a plausible lie.  Before you call my Mom, I’m not one to lie, much.  I value honesty in any transaction in my life and feel it’s the right thing to do in life.  Life is simpler that way and I adore the Mark Twain’s quote, “If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything,” for its simple truth.  But we needed a story to explain why we were shlepping full backpacks up the mountain and leaving the trailhead around noon.

“Ok, here’s the plan,” I told Jodi as she glanced at me unaware of what I had been scheming.  “If anyone asks, we tell them we’re training and planning on heading down before dark. OK?”

Just like that, I had a partner in crime.  A slow partner in crime, but a partner all the same.  Neither Jodi nor I were particularly fast on this climb.  At the parking lot we started by promptly making a wrong turn and heading up a horse trail.

“I don’t think there are supposed to be any horses on our trail,” Jodi commented about 20 minutes into the uphill hike.  She was already started to favor her right ankle, known to give her pain on long hikes after tearing two tendons on a hike in Africa.  She had brought a brace for just such an occasion.

“No, no there aren’t,” I replied as we turned around, passed horses heading the other way, and found the proper trailhead at the parking lot. Note: South Sister trail will have no horse poop on it. Turn around if you find any.

Staring up at the 10,358′ summit from 4,900′ below on a hot, August afternoon, after already hiking two miles in the wrong direction, we plunge through fir forest as our normal banter fades with exertion.  I was already sweating at the trailhead and now dust is coating the back of my throat.  It’s possible I am the only person in the woods these days without a hydration pack.  I stop to take a drink of water from my Klean Kanteen and place some moleskin on my heel as Jodi trucks ahead.

After the forest, the trail crosses a broad, open tundra-like section, dropping off to a moraine lake to the  East.  Across the lake is Broken Top Mountain, a peak so jagged it appears to be ripping at the fabric of the sky itself.  North of us South Sister, the third highest peak in Oregon, sits dominant in its red and black flaked glory, with a hundred or more little dots slowly moving up the faintest of trails.

A few sweat filled hours later, after scrambling over rock and snow and ice, those dots are us.  I wait for Jodi to catch up from time to time and we work well together in that regard. She has stopped apologizing for being slow a long, long time ago and I’ve stopped telling her it really doesn’t matter to me and that she can stop apologizing. We’ll make it, no worries.  Until bounding down the trail comes a ranger.

Ok, it’s go time.  What’s the story?  Can I deliver it smoothly and convincingly?  I am simply not good at forced lying (coy lying?  Oh yeah, I have that down pat).  But this is telling a white lie to an authority figure.  He’s a spry ranger, maybe 60 years old with graying hair and legs built for a life on the trail.  And a smile.  Please no, not a nice ranger!

“That’s quite a pack you have there!” he starts in all nice and happy, like shoving toothpicks under my nails.

“Yeah. Getting some training in.  Thinking of hitting Rainier this year.”  And my lie just doubled.

“Ah, yeah.  Are you thinking of camping up there tonight?” My worst nightmare has come true.  Direct confrontation.  Point blank in that Dennis Hopper from Speed, “What are you going to do?” kind of way.

“Probably not.” White Lie!  White Lie!  I know he’s going to call in the choppers any minute.  “Planning on coming back down but we have gear for over night,” I huff, trying to maintain my last semblance of direct eye contact.

“Ah, well. There’s already at least two groups up there and maybe one other guy spending the night.  Might not be many spots left.” Off he bounds down the trail.

What?  Spots?  This ranger knew about camp sites on the summit rim but the ranger on the phone couldn’t tell us?  Annoyed, Jodi and I continue our plod.  Only partially annoyed, because now we don’t have to tell a lie any more.  There is not greater feeling that the ability to tell the truth and be honest.  And it lightens my load all the way to the top.

Truth be known, we never reach the true summit.  The top of South Sister is a small caldera approximately 100 yards across.  Maybe more.  By the time we reach the rim, the sun is getting low and wind is picking up off the snow in the caldera, enough to start a chill once our packs are shucked.

We find an unlikely spot to camp right on the last bit of trail before the summit.  All the regular wind breaks are occupied.  Wind breaks?  Yeah, remember what I said?  Summits are windy!  Oh well, there’s some shelter where we set the tent even though we can not set two of the guy wires because their anticipated anchor point to the East is actually out over a 150′ cliff.  It is a dramatic campsite for sure!

As the sun is setting and snow is melting in the pot on the stove to hydrate our descent the next morning, I surprise Jodi with two partially smushed bags of marshmallows.  “Happy Early Birthday”  She tears into the bags to gleefully pop a couple of mallows in her mouth, the snow in the caldera turning orange with the sun directly across from us.

For now the winds are calm.  The sky puts on an amazing show, grading from pink to orange to violet to blue as the sun dips beyond the coastal range of Oregon.  The dark of night advances from the East and with it a parade of stars.  As the blackness deepens and we watch for shooting stars, a flash to the South catches our eyes.  Tricked time and again to look away, only to catch another glimpse, we finally set our gaze firmly on the horizon, over the basalt covered hills, waiting.  Our reward is a lighting storm, below us and 20 miles away, clouds lit up as if Zeus himself were protecting his seat in the sky from those who would overthrown him.

We will catch the sunrise the next morning from the comfort of the perfectly positioned tent before heading down the dusty, hot flanks of South Sister.  But before that time, and before sleep took over, I loved the chance to return to a summit and spend the night under the stars with a wonderful, new friend.  And I’m thankful Jodi has such a crazy tradition, one I might indeed take up again some day.

–Peter West Carey is a renown photographer and travel writer. He can be found sharing his passion for writing, travel, and photography on Twitter, His Blog, and through his photo workshops.