He seems to deliberate, then finally answers: “I can remember seeing a picture of this in my school book. I never thought I would live to see it. Never thought I would ever sit here like this and see it genuine.” I don’t know what to say. One does not make idle conversation with a man who has made a pilgrimage. We watch a pair of rock doves, outlined against the white brilliance of the boiling cloud, ride an updraft near the summit. Wings set and almost touching, they dip and recover, their resonant calls clear despite the distance. Nothing more to be said, I set out toward the trail. Not once did the man take his eyes off the Tower. With the first dull report of thunder, I hear the chiding call of the falcon again. Its sharp voice momentarily silences the mellow cooings of rock doves that filter down from the high crannies and ledges. The trail steeply ascends a slope of broken, fallen columns, weaving among the immense rock slabs like a mouse-run in a boulder field. I am surprised to see a grove of aspens. Their crooked trunks bend in the freshening wind, their leaves dancing and blinking on and off the dusty silver of their undersides. What a contrast to the rigid stature of the surrounding pines that barely acknowledge the approaching storm. The presence of aspen probably means that a fire once swept across this dry western shoulder. Quick to invade new territory after a fire, aspens play an important role as a pioneer species of the western and northern American coniferous forests. Like the ponderosa, they can grow on dry, rocky sites. Since they often reproduce vegetatively—a grove of aspens is often produced by sprouting from the roots of a single tree—aspens are well suited to unstable or fire-swept sites. Although readily consumed by fire, aspen groves regenerate quickly from their undamaged root systems. Without periodic fire, in fact, aspens are eventually excluded from the forest composition, shaded out by the taller growing conifers. The growing turbulence spurs me onward. Hugging the steep upper slopes of the Tower’s circular base, the trail allows a speedy orbit. The falcon continues to scream. Now along the southeastern face, I can hear the climbers shout to one another. The belly of the cloud is overhead and angry-black. Lightning flashes are now immediately followed by loud reports, sharp as splitting wood. I should turn back and drop to the nearby trail that returns to the campground, but the swell of wind in the pines and the occasional crash of falling snags is invigorating. A sudden invasion of cold air means the rain will come heavy and soon. I wonder if the climbers are as unprepared for this as I am.