Tuesday, Sept. 18, 2001 | 8:34 a.m.
Susan Snyder's column appears Tuesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Reach her at [email protected] or 259-4082.
The day after it happened, I left.
I loaded a backpack and drove 10 hours to Cache Valley in Utah's northernmost reaches.
Just after dawn Thursday I drove to a spot outside Mendon where a dirt road ends and a hike of unparalleled beauty begins at the foot of the Wellsville Mountains.
I shouldered the pack and ascended the steep trail that seems to vanish in thick stands of aspen, cottonwood and maple trees that were turning gold, orange and red.
I reached the ridge two hours later and studied the checkerboard of human existence on either side of the mountain thousands of feet below. This was one spectacular view that hadn't been taken from us.
I scrambled along the rocky spine that is always without vegetation and never without wind and sagged with relief at the sight of a thermal shirt flapping from a huge pile of rocks at the tip of the ridgeline.
They were there.
With a tiny transistor radio tuned to National Public Radio two wildlife experts with HawkWatch International sat against the windbreak with their binoculars trained on the horizon.
Latest reports about the World Trade Center attack crackled weakly as Peter Cole and Lisa Sheffield waited for eagles, northern harriers, falcons, red-tail hawks and other birds of prey that would fly past this little-known ridge on their annual migration to Central and South America.
"That's our resident red-tail kiting over there," Sheffield said, pointing to a large bird that bobbed in place like a helicopter. "She's got a bald spot on her head and ratty-looking back. We call her 'Baldy Rat.' "
In minutes, my binoculars and attention focused on a cycle of life undeterred by the savagery of madmen.
Each year HawkWatch workers perch on mountaintops and count raptors during the fall and spring migrations. It helps wildlife officials track populations and learn about the still-mysterious annual trek.
Cole and Sheffield set up camp Aug. 27 and will stay until Halloween or the first major snowfall. They each leave the mountain one day a week to wash clothes, restock supplies and catch up on the news.
Sheffield still hadn't seen any pictures of the attack. It was hard to imagine that anyone hadn't seen at least one photograph.
But it was comforting to know that during all our shock, grief, anger and memorials, life in this spot had continued just as it was supposed to. It was strong, confident and something no one could hijack or blow away.
The importance of that struck a couple of days later during a ride with Charlie, Larry and Tim -- three old Utah bicycle cronies. Larry took bagels to his office the day after the attack because he had achieved his goal of riding to work 100 days in a row.
"One of my coworkers said it was sick and that there was nothing for us to celebrate now," Larry said.
If we believe that, the terrorists win. Life is full of huge tragedies and little victories. We can't let one of the former obliterate all of the latter.
Today Larry probably rode to work for the 104th day in a row. Our bald eagle is migrating southward, as planned. We all have little things to celebrate.
And we all must carry on for those who no longer can. Go to work. Go to school. Laugh. Be happy.
That is how we cope. That is how we survive.
That is how we win.
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