Welcome, to July, Friends.  I hope you are immersed in the warmth and light of summer.  I also hope you enjoy climbing to one of the most amazing summits I have had the honor to stand atop.  Join me now as we trek to the top of the Crystal Mountain Range; Pyramid Peak.

The alarm sounds at 5 AM.  I reach over and silence the digital droning with a swift flick of my left hand.  The cool breeze blows in through the window and I pull the covers up just a little further.  It’s chilly this morning and the forecast is calling for lower than average temperatures.  I keep thinking to myself that even though it’s cold outside, and likely even colder at altitude, it’s going to be a great day.

Today is a day I’ve been anticipating for some time now.  My friend, Jesse, and I are heading east on US Highway 50 to the Pyramid Peak trailhead.  Today is the day that we summit this mountain.  Each day I walk out of the front door to my home (barring wildfires, clouds or mist), I am greeted with the sweeping views of the Crystal Mountain Range to the east.  It is a stunning site and when there is snow on the mountains, it is even more grand.  Pyramid Peak stands taller than all of her sisters.  She is the largest of the Crystals and her summit rises 9,985 feet above sea level.  The crown jewel of this range, her pointed peak juts into the blue sky stretching as far as she can to the heavens.

I flip the covers from my body and place my feet on the floor.  My mind is awash in the climb already.  4,000 vertical feet of elevation gain (the equivalence of 14 football fields stacked end on end into the sky) in four miles of hiking.  A brutal 1,000 feet of vertical gain per mile.  Non-hiker’s and non-climbers are thinking, “Wait, that’s not that much” …  Friends, it is.  There are certain trails which inspire a degree of fear and reverence all at once.  Some are due to sheer drops and technical climbing skills which are necessary.  Others, are because of the length in miles.  And finally, the remainder is because of the vertical climb needed to reach the summit.  Pyramid Peak falls into that final classification.  It is for Mountain Goats and Iron Willed hearts.  It is a mountain in a class of mountains which I have dubbed, “Mountain Monsters”. 

I realize this isn’t one of the famed “Seven Summits”, but it is a very difficult hike.  When you consider the elevation gain over the length of the hike, it clocks in as “Extreme”.  I concur with the assessment.

Fully dressed, I make my way to the garage to stow the last of my gear into the back of my Subaru Forester.  Water, crampons, ice axe, snacks, down vest, base layer, boots…  The same gear list every time echoes between my ears.  I’m feeling good.  The self-doubt and second guessing of this trek hasn’t grabbed a hold of my being yet.  The clutches of depression have been unable to sink fangs of despair and dejection into my soul today.  I leave the tailgate hang open and run back up the seven steps into my home for one final inventory of potentially needed items.  I have it all.  Time to climb. 

Walking back into the garage, Jesse is walking around like a lost soul in the driveway.  “You ready for this?” I ask him with a slight degree of uncertainty.  “Yup.  Let’s do this” he says, with the quiet confidence I’ve come to expect from him after so many miles spent on the trail together.  We make our way to the freeway after a stop for some fuel; both for the car and for us as well.  Caffeinated cold coffee drinks for each of us and 87 octane for my thirsty car.  Fueled up and ready to go, we make the left turn onto the freeway, depress the accelerator and off we speed into the foothills.

The air is clear this morning.  The wind is calm and we don’t expect it to be a factor on our hike.  As we crest the ridgeline near Cameron Park, California a few miles from our neighborhood, the full view of the Crystal Range is in front of us.  That’s her.  I think to myself.  A spire into the morning sky.  The summit almost two vertical miles into the crisp, cold, California skyline.  I smile nervously and remind myself I’ve stood atop Mount Whitney just a few short months ago.  This is no Whitney, Mike.  This isn’t 22 miles and 6,200 feet of climbing.  This is way shorter and less gain.  You got this!  Don’t let your depression and self-doubt ruin today.  I have to pep talk myself on just about every hike since my Dad was diagnosed with CNS Lymphoma.  Depression.  It’s the subject of my novel/memoir I am writing.  It is the disease which began in my teenage years and grew and grew.  It is the reason I hike.  It is the medication I crave, because without it, the black spiral which would engulf my life would be too much to bear. 

We chit chat about anything and everything, and sometimes, nothing at all.  Jesse is like me in that silence in conversation is not something to dread, rather it is welcomed.  We are fine with long lulls in our conversations.  As we near the CalTrans electronic sign which warns travelers of road hazards and chain controls over the Echo Summit, we scan for a parking space.  Pulling in next to the sign, there is only one other car there.  Perfect.  We are going to have the mountain to ourselves for a while.  Opening the driver’s side door, I am greeted with 45 degrees and a gentle kiss of a breeze.  Perfect hiking weather.

We both begin our pre-hike routine of another round of gear checking and inventory, filling water reservoirs and lacing boots up, prepping trekking poles and ensuring we have the proper warm clothes on to begin.  I pull my beanie down over the tops of my ears and buckle the hip straps to my backpack around my waist.  Ready to go.  I look across the road and see the begin of our climb.  Holy shit.  It’s pretty damn close to being vertical.  Thoughts begin to race in my head.  I look at Jesse, and he nods.  It’s time to go.  We walk across the three vacant lanes and begin the scramble up the hill.  I check the altimeter on my watch.  5,900 feet.  4,000 feet to go. 

The trail winds its way up and up through Incense Cedar, Ponderosa Pine and Western White-bark.  Our breathing is already labored because of the elevation and the fact we came from just about sea level this morning.  Our poles dig into the soft and damp earth.  It’s been a great winter here full of snow and the mountains are just beginning to shed their winter coats (or so we thought).  The trail is a mix of soft earth with the occasional granite step.  Some steps are manageable, and others take a Herculean effort to climb or traverse.  We laugh at the gigantic steps and do our best to avoid falling face first into the trail as we scale the boulders. 

The trail continues to wind its way through dense, old growth forest, and we delight in the quiet forest bath we are enjoying.  The sounds of nature all around us envelope us in happiness, even though our lungs and legs burn as the elevation and incline of this ferocious slope take hold.  We determine we are passing the 1.5-mile mark as the trail begins to flatten out a bit.  The first evidence of winters grasp shows itself in the form of a snowfield blanketing the landscape of scattered trees and spring runoff down couloirs in the mountainside.  We press on, gaining altitude with, seemingly, every step.  An avalanche of elevation gain roars at us as our boots pound out step after step.  Snowfields become more frequent as our ascent continues.  Our conversations become infrequent as the air begins to thin and breathing becomes more like gasping.  Traversing, now solid, snow, we debate openly during our resting states about putting our crampons on in an effort to gain traction and allow for faster passage over the obscured trail. 

A little less than a mile remains in front of us.  Pyramid Peak is stretched out in full glory to the sky.  A magnanimous monument made of rock, standing for millennia, now calls us to climb.  Our eastern route takes us to the largest snowfield we have yet to traverse.  We look at our altimeters and realize we still have 1,000 feet to gain in less than a mile.  The snowfield makes up 500 meters of that distance and the steepness of it demands us strap our crampons on.  Ignoring that could lead to catastrophic consequences.  A fall on this steep slope would send us careening off the mountain into Desolation Wilderness where the only rescue would be done by helicopter.  We are full of vigor and zest.  This is what hiking, climbing and mountaineering is.  This is what we crave.  This is what makes our souls come alive. 

Crusty snow crunches under the steel crampons as we slowly traverse the side of the mountain.  An elevator, skyward, we lug our bodies and gear alike.  Burning lungs and smiling faces, we push toward the summit only 800 meters away.  The snow thins out and vanishes again, and so do the crampons which aided our climb to this point.  Now, the Class 2 climbing commences as the wind howls and screams all around us.  Gusts blow to 60 miles per hour and shake our bodies as we scramble up boulders, talus and scree.  Onward and upward we fight.  Every so often, stealing glances in all directions to admire what we are soon about to accomplish.  The darkness, which all too often grabs hold of me, is nowhere to be seen.  Cresting the final ridge, I see Jesse a few meters ahead of me beaming with happiness.  I take a moment to reflect.

Holy shit.  This is quite possibly the most magnificent summit I have stood atop.

My camera hangs idle from my right shoulder.  My cell phone is in the left breast pocket of my North Face vest.  My GoPro sits in my pocket, LCD screen dark and powered off.  I stand there in awe.  Nothing matters right now.  I fall to my knees and close my eyes.  I offer my thanks to the spirits of this mountain for allowing us to ascend.  I thank the universe for this moment, just as I have done on many other summits in the past.  The same thankfulness I expressed on Mount Whitney.  As the words in my head reach the end of my thanks-giving, I end with Om Mani Padme Hum.  I feel the wind whipping all around me as I bow in reverence to the beauty this universe holds.  This climb reverberates with magic and wonder.  A summit full of positive energy and repose. 

My camera urges me to grasp it and capture the beauty.  I happily, oblige.

Thank you for reading this far.  I hope you have enjoyed the climb up Pyramid Peak with me.  These moments are the moments I love so dearly.  The moments that banish the darkness in me and throw open the doors of my soul to light, altitude and positive energy.  May you all be enjoying your summer and it is my hope you find your way to whatever it is that fuels your soul.

Namaste, friends.

 "Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but pictures, kill nothing but time..."