A Changing of Seasons

A Change of Seasons

Time has altered me. Once, ten pitches of backcountry climbing seemed par for the course, just the normal way to spend a weekend day. With the arrival of kids and a career (I was a bit aimless with that for a while) this gradually became once a month and my exercising turned more towards running, then jogging, then eventually wearily slogging along the paths after a long day of teaching.

Mont Royal -Spring (barely)

A joy having children is that they develop interests of their own. Over the years, I've taken them hiking and even scrambling but have somewhat intentionally not encouraged climbing. There are too many memories. Steep mountains can be harsh places and my children have always shown greater interest elsewhere.

As I've noted in another trip report, my daughter has a love for Irish Dance which has taken her now several times beyond the borders of Colorado. Last year, the World Championships for the sport were in Montreal and her school sent teams to compete. Although it was the closest big city to where I went to college, I'd never visited.

As a result, I skipped teaching for a couple of days to accompany her to this fabled city. Arriving early, we went to the Biodome to see giant sturgeons, lynx, and other creatures then took some lift thing up to get a view of the Olympic Park, the spot where Nadia Comaneci had long ago scored those perfect marks… a celebrity crush now long lost in distant fogs of childhood. We saw the surreal Habitat 67 and nearby Biosphere. On the day before her competition we took a walk up the snowy steps of Mont Royal to view the city, and then she went to hang out with some of her friends while I graded papers. There's not really much to say about the hike - it was nice. My daughter laughed as I slipped away on thin treaded sneakers as she walked easily without a hint of duress. The view was nice, but none of this was the reason that we'd come to the city.

Of course we'd come for the dancing. As it is, I can't tell the difference between a hornpipe and a reel. I didn't dance at my own wedding much less ever do anything so formal as Irish dancing, but we were here at the World Championships, and I a mere spectator. How do you describe the differences in emotions between this and climbing? Earlier, I'd had my own moments such as looking in wonder half a mile down the prow of the Nose or gazing out across the austere plains of Tibet from the summit of the world. Yet it was such a different emotion watching someone close, a daughter, competing on the World stage and winning a World metal with her team. There was joy, but it was so much different than those earlier times. It wasn't tinged with fear … If only I can get back through the icefall… Please make it down alive. This was different yet every bit as wonderful.

El Yunque - Late Spring

It had been a difficult year at school. Discord there and at the district as a whole had made the pages of the New York Times and Washington Post and we needed a moment to refresh ourselves. As a result, we took the first whole family vacation for some time to the sunny beaches of Puerto Rico. Of course there are mountains there and with jet lag still gnawing, we awoke early on the second day to wander the lush paths of El Yunque in the United States' only tropical National Forest land.

Tropical mountains… Among my favorite places and for the first time I was with my family. However, the moment could hardly be named a success. We were all tired, perhaps wishing to be asleep back at the hotel or on sunny beaches. Still, the forest was beautiful: giant snails clung to the tree trunks and the summit gave a view of the whole eastern side of the island. Besides, in time, fatigue and such unpleasantries diminish in severity and I'm left with pleasant thought of being with my family.  

Clark Peak - Summer

Once again, I was wandering alone among the peaks. For years, this had been my respite; where my nerves could calm from all stresses around me. Now, though, I felt mostly a sense of loneliness. I visited Sayres Benchmark first - a peak nestled against the side of La Plata Peak - most notable perhaps because the elevation provided on the USGS mark at the summit is a thousand feet too low. Human error: something that I soon realized that I'd done myself.

Arriving in the Elk Range, I learned that my tent poles were safe and sound in the closet at home and as evening slipped into night began to wonder - wrapped in my bag and thin tent fabric alone, would I be a target for some passing bear or lion? Luckily, my fears were unfounded and I awoke to another day and another summit and then it was time for Clark Peak, an obscure point cresting only slightly east of mighty Capitol Peak.

The description of its climb includes exposed ridges, huge crystalline blocks of granite - certainly no place to be in a storm. Alone, I wandered the six mile approach to the base of Capitol Peak, pausing briefly where someone had lost their food to a mischievous bear. Then it was another night wrapped in the pole-less tent hoping that any predators had more urgent business elsewhere. I awoke an hour or so before dawn as a passing shower glazed the tent with droplets of water and it was time to ascend towards the early morning cumulus. It was clear to the west, though, out beyond Mt. Sopris so I continued upward towards a high pass where my route would diverge from that leading to Capitol Peak. When I arrived, the clouds had expanded. Heavy rain obscured the Maroon Bells and those over me were far taller than wide. This whole thing, climbing, hiking, rain, lightening wasn't fun anymore. I wanted to be at home, nestled pleasantly with my wife and kids or at least stretched out somewhere in the sunshine instead of bracing for fourth class scrambling on exposed ridges in a storm. Clearly, it was folly to continue, so I turned and took a few tentative steps back towards my tent below. Still, the next part of the route dropped down into a valley and I really wouldn't need to commit until after I reached the ridge beyond, so I turned and pressed on once more. There was a steep descent, crossing a few snowfields, and then a slow slog up rock and snow. A storm blew past spattering rain, maybe a little ice even, upon me. Suddenly it was clear and I was left alone with a delightful ridge all the way to the summit.

Of course, the clouds returned on the descent. Another climber called out for advice regarding the way to Capitol Peak. I wanted to talk of storms and that there'd be lightening soon, but that was his call, so I said what I could and moved on. My emotions were mixed though. The ridge had been wonderful: clean firm rock beneath a sunny sky. Who could ask for anything more? Still, there was the loneliness. Am I still cut out for this or is it time to move on to other challenges?

With the earthquake in Nepal last spring, there'd been so much talk of selfish climbers on Everest, trashing the wilds for their own vanity, so passing the debris from the bear, tinged maybe with a bit of guilt for that far away litter, I stopped and loaded a stuff sack full of decaying food and trash into my pack as thunder rumbled through the heights above. It wasn't Everest but at least this place looked slightly better…

Colorado - Fall

My 50th birthday. The years keep drifting past. A week later, the school board is replaced by the voters.

Salt Lake City - Fall

Another dance competition… Before we returned home, while my wife and daughter watched some of her friends compete, I slipped out alone for a few hours to wondrous lands beyond. For so many years, I'd read of the salt flats close to the edge of Nevada and had always wanted to experience them for myself. Arriving there in the early morning calm, I wandered out across the spotless surface. In places, white crystals extended out as far as could be seen. In others, a thin veneer of water created a sublime mirror extending nearly to the horizon. Soon, a girl from my daughter's competition arrived with her family and started dancing her routine out on the limitless expanse in what seemed both surreal and slightly haunting all the same.

There was something else that drew me here, though. A favorite movie of mine is "The Fastest Indian," a story of a retired man from New Zealand who traveled to the Bonneville Raceway to race his Indian brand motorcycle. It was a true story, and when he finally arrived, he paused, muttering how this was hallowed ground before proceeding. Climbing has these places too: Mount Everest, K2, and the Waterfall Pitch on the Eiger to name a few. Somehow, though this scene resonated with me and I wanted to experience the spot for myself, so drove out to the raceway to find a man staring out wistfully over the flooded salts beside his Corvette and gorgeous wife. "What does it get to… 180 or so?" I asked him when he passed near. "The manual says 184, but it's always been flooded when I've been here." He gazed out sadly before leaving and I was alone with only miles of salt for company.

For me, though, my obsession has always been the mountains and so near was the dramatic spire of "Volcano Mountain". It wouldn't take long to climb. I could do it in an hour or two, probably, unless I took longer, or I hurt myself and missed the plane, stranding my wife and daughter in uncertainty. Older, less carefree, I passed on the attempt but the spark was back. Someday, perhaps, I'll return to visit its heights. Besides, near the city, I paused briefly at a spot called "Black Rock" and gazed out across the waters of Salt Lake. Then I wandered down to its edge to taste its (salty) waters and noticed stromatolites. I'm sure others know they are there, but I'd never expected to see these ancient forms of life without travelling half a world away to Australia and suddenly I was standing in their midst.  Stromatolites. Perhaps something like that only appeals to a stodgy science teacher, but I left the place aglow with joy and optimism to rejoin my family. Perhaps I hadn't climbed much that year, but still, times were good. Listening to my son playing clarinet in a concert, quiet evenings with my wife, hiking, teaching, writing… as most know, life is best in balance, not solely chasing an endless progression of mountains and faraway climbs.

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