Mountains sublime

I never was a mountain climber.

Kinda’ hoped I would be, I suppose.

Thought I was a mountain man, to be most accurate.

Bought real gear from EMS and REI.

First pair of boots were Vasques with Vibram lug soles.

Even sewed a couple Crestline kit down vests.

Grew out of both of ‘em long ago.

One was for my first wife.

But I am a mountain walker. I don’t expect to rappel

off any peaks in the years I have left, or dangle ice axes

off my day bag. Might need some crampons, though.

I expect I’ll take on a few more mountain trails in my

senior years, hopefully with a grandkid or two.

Not this time, though. Focus on writing this time around.

Just being here, down below, in the presence of such

geological greatness as Challenger, Kit Carson, and

Crestone peaks, feels like I am in the presence of power.

I am reminded of my Grand Canyon experience.

First time I came forward to the South Rim I stood,

as one of their teachers, with a vanful of high schoolers seeking science credit and maybe even a little adventure.

Whatever the distractions, I was duly impressed.

Too much haze between us and the North that day --

this is a national park, after all --

but overall a meaningful first experience with one of

the seven Great Natural Wonders of the World.

But that next visit, following a school year’s absence and an awaited reunion, the tears flowed within the first minute back on the South Rim at mid-day.

It’s a powerful and affective kind of thing.

One feels it. Size and scope take on an awesomeness that leaves one, literally, a little breathless. Yes, altitude, but more than that, it’s just grand.

Big. Stupendous. Gargantuan. Deep.

Like a whole mile deep. And about three miles across.

All done by wind and water and a little shifting and lifting of the plateau the Canyon still wants to sink back into. Then the wind in the pines while you stand on the rim. Hopefully you’ve found a quiet space. It’s not too hard to do, but if you stick with the main tourist stops, you’ll hear enough German and Japanese and Where’s the pop machine? to detract from the experience.

It’s much quieter here at the base of the Sangre de Cristos,

but the natural power and majesty are likewise tangible.

I read last week in the Crestone Eagle that an experienced hiker lost his life up on Kit Carson last month.

A guy in his 60s, not unlike me. He had climbed over

four dozen 14ers in his time and had just added Kit Carson to his list. Nobody really knows what happened, but he was supposed to retrace his ascent back over Challenger to get back down. His two hiking buddies did what they were supposed to. This guy got separated and apparently tried a shortcut that cost him his life. Made the local emergency squad risk theirs just to pull his body off the mountain. I heard a couple helicopters going into the mountain again last night after dark.

Maybe another rescue. Hope not.

This is my second visit to Crestone and Nada.

I have been stopped in my tracks, again, any number of times by an amazingly beautiful sunset or a picture of a mountain bluebird or mule deer or clouds over a mountain that just calls out to be taken.

This is big sky and big mountain and big, flat valley country.

It’s a desert with occasional snowmelt streams. One zen holy man has offered that Crestone is one of the two or three best places in the world for a spiritual retreat. I’ve not seen near enough of the world to make that conclusion, but living here, for a time, in a scrub desert landscape at the base of powerful 14,000+ feet peaks, is the stuff of inspiration and reassessment of humanity and our place in the Natural world.

Pretty good place to write, too.

Today’s elder idea: The 63 year-old male was an experienced hiker going for his 52nd Fourteener.... The victim’s wife, daughter, and niece drove down from their home in Parker, Colorado and were counseled by victim’s advocates from the Sheriff’s Department.

from The Crestone Eagle

October 2010

One can never be too sure of things.

Jack London

a thought by the man in ‘To Build a Fire’

image: Challenger Peak, a real 14er, whose trail starts just up the road from Nada.

You could come to Nada. See: http://www.spirituallifeinstitute.org/Nada.html