Mount Whitney at sunset, Lone Pine, CA

Spring greetings and good vibrations to all who have tuned in here.  It is my hope that you all are doing the best you can as we all continue to be faced with isolation and social distancing.  Our ordinary routines have been morphed into something out of a science fiction novel.  Our daily lives no longer resemble what our "normal" was just a few short weeks ago.  Gone are the nights out with friends, concerts, sporting events and graduations.  Gone, but hopefully, only temporarily.  Holed up in our homes, away from work and family, we dream about what we will do when a new "normalcy" arrives.  

Dreams.

Some may call them goals, wishes, hopes and objectives.  I love the sound of just "dreams".  Romantic and thoughtful, wistful and contemplative.  So much more than a goal.  Vision boards epitomize dreams (and I realize they can be about goals as well).  They capture that moment in time of the soul and what it longs for.  What will drive happiness for it.  Far too often, we wear the blinders of career and adulthood to simply sit back and dream about things that we wish for ourselves.  Things that go beyond accomplishments in the office, Boardroom or portfolio value.  These are the ideas and hopes that we think about during the wee hours of the morning when sleep evades our bodies.  The thoughts we have as we stare out the window on a sunny day but remain cooped up in our office unable to enjoy the feel of gentle breezes and sun on our skin.  The things which appeal to us and where our thoughts go when we have a fleeting second to indulge in a daydream.  

Dreams are the thing which buoyed so many of us during our childhood.  We played "MASH" on pieces of paper and laid out our dreams for where we wanted to live and what car we wanted to drive.  We doodled on scrap paper after tests were complete with drawings that we unique to each of us.  We allowed our creativity to come out and laid our dreams onto anything our Dixon Ticonderoga #2 pencil would allow.  Why then, have so many of us ceased in these dreams and daydreams as age progressed?  

I tell my daughters all the time about dreams, being creative and what we did as kids.  I tell them that I, a 41 year old man, am still a kid at heart.  A consummate daydreamer, a grown man who can spend all day playing Lego's with the two of them.  A dad who loves to write stories with them and challenge them to imagine things that push the boundaries of their creativity and make them engage in the beauty that is the inside of their brain.  To question things always, but to allow a good daydream to intercede.  My oldest is so much like me in her "head in the clouds" mindset.  Always thinking up new and creative realms in which to explore, draw and write about.  My youngest?  Well, the budding scientist in her loves the empirical part of her brain.  A daydream for her looks far different, but still, she tries.  During this time of "shelter-in-place" I've tasked them both with creating their vision boards akin to what all of us Generation X kids did as we navigated youth and adolescence.  Their minds were captivated as pages of magazines were torn to shreds.  My smile has been radiant as I watch them and engage with them, cutting out words, phrases and captions that I believe epitomizes each of their personalities.

Somewhere along the shreds of glossy paper, laughter and snipping scissors, they posed the question to me about my dreams. 

My dreams have evolved so much since I was their age.  Dreams of being a Division I swimmer and going to the Olympics, to becoming a paleontologist or an archeologist exploring ancient ruins in far away lands.  The pragmatic side of me in my twenties saw dreams of being a Partner at a CPA firm or a forensic accountant looking to solve crime with my background and training.  I had lost a little of my creative nature and was slipping into becoming your "standard issue, boring adult".  I picked up photography, immersed myself into writing again (poetry, prose and other), allowed myself to dream about my beloved Sierra Nevada more and gradually, found the wonder and awe that dreams are made of again.  I found my 41 year old self reading every night instead of watching television, while blissfully ignorant to Netflix, Hulu and all other "On-Demand" services (I still don't have any of those subscriptions).  The books I dive into so ardently revolve around Buddhist wisdom, Hiking, climbing, spiritual growth, philosophy and Mount Everest.

The sadness of the 1996 disaster on Everest has become a subject I've immersed myself in.  Devouring books by Anatoli Boukreev (the man I aspire to climb and be like), Beck Weathers, Jon Krakauer, Lou Kasischke, Ed Viesturs and Sandy Hill-Pittman.  Listening to their sagas of high altitude heroism and tragedy, it inspires and drives me.  Everest; Sagarmatha to the Nepalese.  Everest; Chomolungma to the Tibetans.  Chomolungma means "Great Goddess Mother of the Mountains".  That gives me goosebumps.  Always will.  It stirs something other worldly in my soul.  A divine purpose of sorts.  A calling.

A dream.

My dream quite simply, is to climb Everest.  To stand atop Chomolungma, kneel and offer my praise and thanks to the spirits and guardians of this "Goddess Mother of the Mountains".  To feel the energy, radiance and solace that she emits.  To stand on hallowed ground where so many others have lived their dreams as well, and see my own come to fruition.  Everest.  My dream.

I've given myself ten years to train, learn, gain experience and set a solid mountaineering base before I set out for Kathmandu and Nepal in celebration of my 50th year around the sun.  A dream that is so much more than just climbing a mountain and bagging a peak.  (There are many discussions in the hiking communities about "Peak Baggers" and "Hikers"; a blog entry in itself for another time by this "Peak Bagger")  Everest to me is a spiritual quest.  A time to not only climb the highest mountain in the world and to offer homage to the "Great Goddess Mother of the Mountains" but to also visit Buddhist shrines, learn local customs and grow in a way that only a foreign country can teach me.  

Every dream is different and unique to each soul.  Each is equally important.  My challenge to you all is that if you are not allowing your daydreams into your minds regularly, why not?  Why not find your way back to earlier days in your life and allow yourself to dream again?  To set your goals with something other than career achievement and bank accounts.  To task yourself with doing something you've longed dreamed about because of the happiness it would bring you.  As my own dream has evolved, I will continue to share the progress on training for it and even the setbacks that are likely to occur and how they've been worked through.  Share with me, if you are so inclined, what YOUR dream is for yourself and let's encourage each other.  Find someone who shares YOUR dream and engage with them.  Challenge each other and immerse yourself in it.  

Dream again.  Never stop.  Watch the clouds float by and see what they look like, tune out during a meeting and then catch up on it later with one of the other "Standard issue adults" who was paying attention.  After all, like Jack Kerouac so truthfully stated, "In the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain."

Dream of your own "Great Goddess Mother of the Mountains" and then go climb her.  

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

Namaste, friends...

      

Clearing storm near Kirkwood, CA Greetings Quarantined readers.  I hope this greets you all well, safe, healthy and as happy as you can be.  Thank you to all who took the time to respond with stories and thoughts from last months blog.  Your engagement and stories are not only appreciated, but loved as well.  Sharing those thoughts and at times, deep feelings, can be difficult, but I think that our society tends to hide deep feelings more than it should.  Sharing feelings is a wonderful way to assist in healing (even if you think you don't need to heal).  Thank you all.

I originally thought this month would be about sharing the responses for all, but on second thought, I feel more like sharing something I've been working on for just about a year (your stories and responses will be shared in a future post).  A chapter from the novel I've been writing.  Something that I've been working tirelessly on.  This week, I've surpassed the 50,000 word mark and wanted to open a bit of it for you all to read and hopefully, give you thoughts/opinions on.  This is raw.  This is real.  This is sharing of both the darkness of depression and the voices it creates within me, but also of the success of a mountain top summit and an adventure.  I hope you all enjoy this little glimpse of what I am hoping will hit bookstore shelves by December of this year.  

This Chapter is entitled, Mount Tallac - June 14, 2015:

The alarm sounds at 5:30 A.M and I curse the memory of the night before.  Too many beers you dumbass.  Why the hell can’t you simply stop after one or two?  Why does it always go to 6 or 7?  You knew you were going to be hiking today, and yet, you did it again?  Get your stupid ass up and get moving before the girls wake up or there is no way your will be climbing today.

I find my way out of bed with a throbbing headache.  I need to find comfort at high altitude today.  A trip to South Lake Tahoe and Mount Tallac has been on my mind for some time now.  I’ve been in California for 13 years and have yet to scale the famed summit of this mountain.  It looms 9,738 feet above sea level and 3,500 feet above the sparkling waters of Lake Tahoe.  I rinse my mouth out with some mouthwash and quietly creep down the stairs of my home.  I grab some snacks from the pantry and a jug of water from the refrigerator.  Carefully closing the garage door behind me, I begin packing my hiking pack for the trip.  Water filter, trekking poles, snacks, water bladder, first aid and hammock, just in case I decide to take a trail side rest on the way down to enjoy the afternoon.  I toss my pack into the back of the car, climb in and get myself going to the freeway.   

My head is a mix of hangover, sadness and anticipation for the climb ahead.  It’s the first day of chemotherapy for my dad.  His battle with CNS Lymphoma is about to be ratcheted into high gear.  A full assault on the residual tumor that wasn’t resected during the brain surgery just two months ago.  As my car climbs the hills of the El Dorado National Forest, I feel the familiar tinge of darkness pulling at my heart.  Hey fatass.  Hey.  Yeah you.  Listen to me.  See, you think you’re gonna climb this mountain today?  Well, I have news for you.  You aren’t.  You haven’t been hiking since Half Dome and guess what?  You better be ready to give up.  There’s almost four thousand vertical feet between you and this summit and your fatness isn’t going to get up there. 

I turn up the music a little louder and try to drown out the ruckus clanging around my brain.  It’s the all too familiar voice I hear challenging me with so many different situations.  I look to the left and see the magnificent Horsetail Falls.  A steady torrent of water plummets down nearly 500 feet and then continues to cascade over smooth granite and wind its way through wooded beauty.  I can only look at this beauty for a moment as the car turns steadily to the south.  In the rearview mirror, I see the massive Pyramid Peak rising into the morning sun.  I will come and climb you some day.  I can’t imagine what I will see atop your peak. 

Further up the mountain, racing along the narrow two lane US Highway Route 50.  The twists and turns of the road have been almost completely committed to memory.  So many times have I driven this route to the mountains and to Lake Tahoe.  Passing small cabins and tracts of homes the end of the climb nears.  Echo Summit signs mark the way for where the ascent will cease and the long and winding path into the Tahoe Basin commences.  I roll down the window to feel the temperature.  It’s warm already.  Probably close to 70.  I check the time.  8:15 A.M.  Shit.  I needed to be on the trail by now.  The exposed section of this climb isn’t one where you want to be making in the scorching late morning or afternoon sun.  I push the accelerator a little and try and make up some time as my car crests the summit and begins to roll steadily down into the Tahoe Basin. 

The sky is blissfully clear and not a trace of a cloud exists.  Bluebird kind of day.  Perfect hiking weather.  The wind rushes through the open windows of the car and I begin to find peace of mind in the mountains.  The darkness seems to have reached high tide in my brain and I am hoping it ebbs and fades away completely.  Today is about high altitude healing and solitude (or as much as I can expect from one of Lake Tahoe’s most traveled peaks).

As my car finally finishes the descent into the Tahoe Basin, I look west to see the looming peak of Mount Tallac.  A cathedral spire into the blue sky it rises.  Beauty and majesty.  My gaze is fixated as the car continues its roll toward the trailhead a few short miles away.  The dark hued summit is a stark contrast to the bright blue sky and I find myself lulled into a semi-daydream wondering what the summit will be like.  It’s a Sunday and the traffic is beginning to find its way out of the basin and back to the routine and mundane life in offices, classrooms and workspaces.  I, however, have adventure on my mind.

I find myself on the road heading to the trailhead surrounded by conifers and aspens.  The smell of the Sierra is in my lungs and heart.  Each breath is deeper than the last and I slowly start to feel the healing elements of this playground beginning to take effect.  I pull into an empty space near the trailhead and observe as other hikers are beginning their preparation for the climb as well.  With the tailgate open, I slip into my boots, top off the water bladder in my backpack and begin walking to the trailhead marker.  It’ll be a nine or ten mile round trip when everything is complete and I look forward to what is in store for the day.

Climbing out of the parking lot, the trail begins a steady trajectory skyward.  It’s not terribly steep, but the altitude is already taxing my “flatlander” lungs.  Flatlander.  That’s they call all you people from “down the hill”.  The trail is well maintained from the footsteps of close to 10,000 hikers per year.  It is a true gem of the Lake Tahoe experience.  My feet find a comfortable rhythm and I begin to make good time. 

Climbing up and out of the dense forest past the 7,000-foot mark views of Lake Tahoe begin to open up and I sigh with contentment at what I am seeing.  The air is thin and my breathing is labored, but the blue sky, towering pine trees and the spire of Mount Tallac loom high above me. 

My trekking poles are stowed in my backpack as the climb so far has been gently sloped and on packed earth.  No traces of boulders, talus or scree, but I know that is coming.  The last 1.5 miles are supposed to be challenging, but even in my semi-hungover state, I feel good.  I find myself 1.5 miles in relatively quickly at an overlook point of Fallen Leaf Lake.  I take a small spur trail to a rocky outcropping to sit and have a light snack and just “be”.  Far too often hikers, climbers and adventurers get caught up in destination fever that they forget to stop and enjoy the views.  I scramble up a rough boulder and place my backpack to my right.  In it are the snacks for the day and a water bladder which is currently full.  Grabbing one of my favorite trailside snacks; stroop waffle, I dig in and lay back and look up.  The air has warmed considerably even at this elevation.  I don’t care as the days are almost at their longest point and I’m in no rush to leave the mountains.  Munching on my waffle and lazily looking skyward, I close my eyes and let my mind wander.

Shit.  My dad.  He has chemo today.  I didn’t call him yet.  The girls are supposed to video chat with my folks today too.  They’re going to be pissed.  I’m such a dumbshit for not having them do it yesterday.  Why can’t I think more in advance?  Tomorrow is going to be busy.  I have all my staff meetings and I need to finish the budget for next fiscal year.  I probably should look into some accounts and make sure they are good enough for the estimated closing numbers for the Board of Trustees.  I should…

“Shut up, Mike” I say out loud with my only audience being a marmot which has lazily wandered out from its burrow.  “Seriously, none of that shit matters right now.  Get moving and stop thinking about all that crap.”  I feel an ominous tug at my heart.  Something feels off.  Something isn’t right.  It’s not the headache or lack of good sleep.  It’s something else.  I feel the cloud of darkness approaching.  Before shouldering my backpack, I grab ear buds and place them into my ears.  Plugging the other end into my phone I find my playlist full of Tibetan meditations and the singing bowls of shining copper I am so deeply moved by and begin to try and relax my mind.  The singing bowls resonate through my ear drums and send shivers through me.  Yes.  This is what you need.  You can listen to the earth on the way down, but you need a clear head going up the steepest section in the exposed bowl.  It's hot, you are hungover and you don't need the darkness to overcome the beauty of today.

Another half of a mile down the trail leads to beautiful Floating Island Lake.  Its shores are choked with healthy pines and Aspens.  I take only a few moments to snap a few photos, record a short video and continue moving on.  It’s a bit past 10 A.M. and I feel the heat beginning to rise.  The trail turns and begins to slope a bit more steeply.  I know I’ve got a little further to go before the trail becomes even steeper and I begin to rapidly gain elevation.  The music fills my ears and my lungs struggle to grasp enough air.  I don’t even notice how hard I’m breathing until I round the corner and get a glimpse of Cathedral Lake.  There’s a large deadfall just off the trail and I take a moment to ditch my pack, grab another Stroop Waffle and take a short stroll to Cathedral Lake.  The water is sublime.  Crystal clear and icy cold.  I cup my hands and bring a handful to my face.  It feels magnificent.  The purest form of refreshment.  No bowl of ice cream, beer or cocktail could refresh me as much as that scoop of water.  I dry my hands and take a few photos of the area.  There are other hikers lounging around here enjoying the last shaded section before the climb up the exposed bowl begins.  I want to sit down by this lake and just enjoy the day, but I came to climb and I want to summit.  I can come back another day and just enjoy the day by the lake. 

I drag myself back to the deadfall and take my trekking poles out of their storage area.  I know they will help over the course of this next section.  I get them adjusted to the height I prefer, shoulder my pack and off and up the trail I go.  My pace slows as the trail becomes rockier and steeper.  Switchbacks replace the gently sloped earth from the initial portion of the hike.  In front of me, the full view of the south facing bowl sits.  Holy shit.  Steep.  Damn it’s hot.  Do I really want to climb this? 

I continue to press onward and upward.  Gone are the switchbacks which aid in lessening the brutally steep climb.  The trail is gravely and exposed.  The radiating heat seems to be cooking me.  Now I know what the oven feels like.  A drop of sweat falls onto my glasses and temporarily obscures my vision.  I look down at the GoPro which is on and recording and I notice sweat droplets all over it.  I stop and wipe the lens clean hoping that the video won’t look too bad.  I don’t think anyone wants to look at your sweat, dumbass.  You need to be checking on this more often. 

Slogging up the slope, I can see a few hundred yards ahead appears to be the saddle to the bowl.  There is something blocking the trail I can’t quite make out yet, but it’s large and white.  Another deadfall?  That would be the oddest one I’ve ever seen.  Doesn’t even seem possible.  I continue chugging along.  Up, up and more up.  As I near the mysterious pile, two other hikers are stopped by it.  Then, it dawns on me.  It’s snow.  Cold, glorious snow.  I can’t help but laugh out loud at the fortune I am experiencing.  It’s June and I’m going to be eating a handful of this luscious Sierra summer delicacy.  The hikers see me coming and ask to take a snapshot of them enjoying their own treat.  They each have a snowball the size of their fist in hand.  They pose pretending to be taking gigantic bites of their treat and then pretending they are throwing it at each other.  We all laugh and they offer to take my photo to which I decline.  I want to grab a big chunk and enjoy my “roadie” as I crest the saddle. 

Oh my god this is heaven.  The snow freezes my mouth and makes its way down my parched throat reminding me with every passing inch of just how cold it is.  Never has a snowball tasted so blissful.  I smile and remember the countless snowball fights of my youth.  I remember the night my dad and I went out into the darkness with the task of shoveling the driveway which morphed into a guerrilla warfare snowball battle.  As a 13-year-old kid, I still loved this type of activity.  My dad and I would begin our battle on opposite sides of our house and try to ambush the other.  That night, the freshly fallen snow lay on the ground 27 inches deep.  It was perfect for snowball fights.  My dad set off to the backyard in his black snowsuit laughing telling me I was a dead man.  I set off to my task of making snowballs to pelt him with.  As I finished manufacturing my ammunition, I rose to my feet and began to scan the blackness around me.  Looking to the left and right I tried to see any trace of him sneaking up on me.  Turning my head even further to the right and up the street, I strained my eyes hard.  As I began to look up, my head rocked back with a violent impact and my feet gave out from under me.  I lied there flat on my back covering my snow filled eyes and writhing in pain.  I hear my dad in the distance in a flat out sprint running over to me to see if I was okay.  He sat me up and apologized profusely and after the ice crystals in my eyes melted and my sight resumed, we laughed about how amazing a throw it was.

As violently as that snowball hit my face, a huge surge of cold air blasted me as I crested the ridge of the bowl and onto the saddle.  In front of my eyes was the enormous expanse of Desolation Wilderness, a place I love to explore and get lost in.  The wind was blowing cold and hard over the saddle.  Immediately, chills broke out on my skin and I hurriedly began to roll the sleeves of my hiking shirt down from their rolled up position above my elbow.  Thanking my good thinking this morning for putting on a long sleeve shirt and pants, I began the final 1.5 miles to the summit.  Over the course of this ascent, I climb from 8,600 feet to the awaiting summit at 9,700.  1,100 feet of gain in just about 1.5 miles.  I opened a packet of energy gel, ate it quickly and took a pull on my hydration pack.  Uh oh.  Almost empty.  This is not good.  How am I almost out already?  Have I really been drinking this much and not even realized it?  Fucking rookie mistake.  I knew I should have filtered water at Cathedral Lake.  I am such and idiot.  So freaking stupid. 

The telltale sound of only droplets of water making their way from the interior of my backpack over my shoulder and to the opening of my hydration tube.  A mistake of colossal proportion.  Something a novice hiker would do and not someone with hundreds of miles of experience.  The darkness began to gather in my head with the latest misfortune, but I was determined to summit this mountain.  My dad had just been through brain surgery and here I was whining about a lack of water.  Push on you fat ass.  Get your ass in gear and get up this mountain.  He’s fighting for his life and you’re back here feeling sorry for yourself. 

Anyone who wrestles with depression also likely deals with the reliving of any mistake they ever made.  From the earliest point in the furthest reaches of our minds, we remember.  We remember all the mistakes, missteps and errors we have made, and we continue to relive them.  It is not easy to forget, no, it's downright impossible.  We can remember the failed tests, quizzes, letting down of teammates, harsh words to others, accidents and tears we've induced.  It's not a fun thing.  Those memories haunt us in the midnight hours when we can't sleep and during the times at which we are feeling at our lowest.  A gut punch to ensure we stay on the ground in a ball.  Depressions goon squad.  

My pace slowed drastically, most due to the altitude and thinner air, but also to conserve as much energy and water as I could.  I didn’t want my body to sweat profusely and dehydrate up here.  As the trail continued its steep ascent, I ran into a group of hikers who looked like they were not having a fun day.  I took the ear bud out of the left side to ensure they were okay and not in need of help or assistance. 

“Everything okay over there, gang?” I asked the group that was gathered around a gnarled old Juniper. 

“Yeah.  Just didn’t bring enough water or snacks.” The oldest man of the group replied.  He looked to be about 60 with an out of control white beard that gave the appearance as though he had never trimmed it.  His family sat around on the ground below the tree not looking up or saying a word.  Their faces told me their story.  Their bodies were heaving with lust for more air and the red tones on their cheeks and neck told me they were overheating. 

“You all may want to consider descending.  It’s only going to get hotter on the bowl this afternoon.  You can stuff your water bottles with snow and sit just below the ridgeline to melt that water and hydrate before you start going down.”  Novel thought.  Maybe I should consider doing that too.  Maybe I should go back and fill my bladder pack up as well?  Nah.  I’m not that bad.  I only have a mile to go.  I got this.

“Thanks, friend.  We’re going to rest a while here and then figure out what to do.” The old man answered back.

I placed the earbud back into my ear and continued trekking up the mountain.  One step after the other, the breeze was cool and refreshing.  I was beginning to get a good look at the final part of the ascent when my phone began to ring.  It was my mom. 

“Hey mom” I said as my lungs tried to catch more oxygen.           

“Buddy, its dad.  He’s so angry today and doesn’t want to do the chemo.  I can’t do this if he is going to be like this.  I can’t go through all of this if he doesn’t want to fight it.  He’s just so angry.  What can I do?” she sobbed.  My heart was now laying on the sandy soil strewn with chunks of granite.

“Tell him it’s time to fight.  Tell him that if he wants to watch his granddaughters graduate from school, he better put his helmet on and get in the fucking game.  If he doesn’t want to fight for this, then just tell him to give up and save us the heartache.” My voice shook with fear, anger and sadness.  I’m 9,000 feet up on a mountain and couldn’t feel more low.  The silence over the phone was deafening. 

“He’s not going to respond well to that, Mike.” My mom responds between deep breaths that are an indication she too, is fighting the same tears which are leaking from my eyes. 

“Well, he needs to hear it and start fighting.  If for no one else, he needs to fight for his own self.  The time for self-pity and sadness is over.  If his will to beat this is gone, then he may as well die.  The dad I know and knew, would never allow me to quit while facing adversity.  I’m sure as hell not going to allow him to quit either without some type of fight.” I say with a newfound source of strength within me.

“I’ll do my best to tell him.  Call me when you get back into town later tonight?” she asks me tentatively.

“I will.  Don’t let him quit.  That is not an option for him” I sternly respond.

“I’ll try again to talk to him, bud” she says to me before hanging up.  “Promise me you’ll try and talk to him if I don’t get through to him?” she asks.

“Yes mom, I promise.” I responded.  We said our goodbyes and I hung up.  Forcibly thrusting my phone back into my pocket after turning cellular service off, I turned to the west to face Desolation Wilderness and let out one of the loudest and angriest yells I’ve ever heard come from my body.  I have no idea who was nearby to experience this guttural scream and then see me fall to my knees sobbing.  My chest is heaving as my eyes are dropping oceans of sadness onto my cheeks which then drip onto the arid ground.  All around me is high altitude beauty, yet I am consumed with heartbreak and darkness. 

After what seems like forever, I find my legs under me and rise.  I see a few hikers who have passed me heading up the final ascent to the summit.  I reach into my reserves deep within and drag myself up that scree filled slope.  The early afternoon sun is baking and the only refuge from it is the steady breeze blowing off of Desolation Wilderness.  Each step is laborious.  Each step I fight tears.  I want to go home.  I want to see my dad.  I fall to the ground again and burst out into tears once more. 

I can’t do this.  What is the point of this all?  You need to quit.  Quit damn it.  Go home.  Go home and think about what a failure you are.  Sit there and remember it.  Remember everything.  Swallow some pills and get high again.  It’s been so long, but you remember how that dulls the pain, right?  You can easily find someone to help you kill this pain.  Remember how you failed at helping "her" when she tried to end "her" life?  Remember how good the highs were from the little white saving graces?  Get your fat ass off this mountain and accept the fact you are worthless.   The fight between my ears continues to become more hard to ignore.  I turn my gaze ahead and see just how close to the summit I am.  500 yards is all that separates me from one of the most beautiful vistas the South Shore of Lake Tahoe has to offer.  I continue to plod forward fighting the voice in my head urging me to turn back and the onset of acute dehydration.  I am well aware that my lack of water is going to become an issue, but with the summit this close, turning back is not an option.

The final ascent to the summit has no real trail to follow.  It is a maze of boulders, talus and scree.  Depending on the route chosen, every step forward results in a small slide backward.  The crystalline sky above me and the soaring views of Desolation Wilderness are enough to keep me from beating a retreat down the mountain only to regret it later on that afternoon.  Cautiously, my steps find their way to a narrow pathway with minimal scree and I am able to push my pace to where in a few short minutes, I find myself staring out over the enormous alpine lake in the moment, I lose myself in its beauty.

I walk over to a narrow band of talus and find a rock suitable for resting.  I take off my backpack to expose the sweat laden back of my shirt.  As always, I allow my head to bow low and I give thanks to the spirits and guardians of the mountain for safe passage.  Upon opening my eyes, I'm greeted with magnificence.  The wind on top of the summit is refreshing and invigorating.  I extend my arms to their full length at shoulder height and let the wind rush through the baffles on my shirt, cooling my body and drying me at the same time.  There is a sizable crowd up here on the summit, but everyone seems to be keeping to themselves or within their hiking groups.  I set my backpack on the ground and scan the area for any traces of greedy marmots who love nothing more than to tear into my pack to devour the treats within.  Seeing none, I turn on the camera of my phone and begin to snap photos.  Gone are the thoughts of inadequacy, self-doubt and worthlessness; the hallmarks of my depression and struggle.  My mind is awash in the beautiful blue waters and sound of the wind.  

I place the phone back into my pocket while ensuring the service to it is still stopped.  I want nothing and no one to spoil these moments on this summit.  I need this to heal as I have some many times before.  Mountain summits are to me what temples, mosques and churches are to most all the rest of the population.  They are my place of respite and solace.  A place I yearn for in times of darkness and crisis.  A place which bears the scars of harshness and light all the same.  My place of peace.  My connection to the universe, its magic and to whatever lies in wait when my souls journey in this body ends. 

I sit down and pull a “Crunchy Peanut Butter Clif Bar” from my pack.  Music continues to play in my ears and my smile tells of a man who is finding peace.  I can’t tear my gaze away from the beauty this summit offers.  I allow myself to become lost in a daydream while looking out over the Tahoe Basin.  I watch the lake intently and see fellow summit seekers posing for pictures in every pose imaginable.  Some mug for the camera with the pout of gangsters while others do handstands to show off their feat.  Hike your own hike.  I hope everyone here is enjoying this view and are taking the time to appreciate exactly where we all are.  I remind myself that not everyone up here is a dreamer or free spirit and that they are free to enjoy this mountain peak as they intend.  I smile again watching the alpine gymnastics event take place until they have the perfect photo for whatever social media site it is destined for.

After 30 minutes, I feel the pull of thirst nagging at me and the need to begin my descent.  It will be hot and dry going down into the basin again, and once I cross the saddle dividing the basin and Desolation Wilderness the heat will become intense. I shoulder my pack and take a final glance out over the Tahoe Basin.  It is sheer beauty.  This is the highest I have been yet.  On the cusp of 10,000 feet.  I turn my back to the lake and begin the descent.

As my feet cover the ground filled with scree, I find it immensely easier than the climb up.  My pace is no longer that of a sloth and I am able to look around at the alpine views I did not fully take the opportunity to look at on the way up.  Striking Sierra Junipers with their gnarled and ancient appearance cling to the nutrient poor soil standing in defiance of time and weather.  I take the time to touch as many of these beings as possible.  I want to feel their resilience to time and weather.  I want to see what they have seen. 

The trail continues its downward path and crosses a small alpine meadow that I have no memory of on the way up.  The tall and green grass blows steadily with the wind and my hands enjoy the soft nature of the tips of it.  I feel like I am walking on air.  Gone is the dread from the phone call which occurred prior to the summit.  The darkness lifted and elation and the summit high took its place.  The magical mantle of happiness lays firmly on my shoulders as my boots continue to work their way down the trail towards the saddle.  As the time and miles pass, I find myself in the wind tunnel on top of the saddle.  The hot air comes up from the Tahoe Basin as the exposed bowl bakes in the afternoon sun.  I begin my descent with a parched throat and an urgency to find water.  The high from the summit is beginning to ebb.

Finding my way down over the switchbacks and boulders, I weave through the trail watching other summit seekers working steadily uphill toward the saddle.  I stop for a moment to take a few photos and am greeted by a sensation of nausea and mental fog.  Grabbing the boulder to my right, I steady myself.  I hang my head lower with my chin on my chest as I inhale deeply to stave off whatever seems to be affecting me.  Several minutes pass and I release the grip on the chunk of granite.  I begin the downward path once again, only to see the tunnel vision setting in.  I’m dehydrated.  The mistake of not filtering enough water prior to my summit climb has come back to haunt me.  My pace slows and I rely on my trekking poles more now.  A hundred feet pass and as the trail begins to turn left, I see a small spring flowing from the base of two large boulders.  My pack flies off my shoulders and within seconds, my water filter is working its magic.  I pump a liter of water and quickly drink it.  The fog lifts slightly and I am able to pump more water at a much less than manic pace.  With a fully filled hydration reservoir, I grab some energy gel, down it quickly and feel the surge of energy course through me. 

Back on my feet I continue to descend for another mile before reaching the copse of trees guarding the shores of Cathedral Lake.  As I walk into the shaded grove of trees, my tired body makes the decision for me to rest for a bit.  I take off my pack and find a downed tree to prop myself against.  I flop onto the ground, pull down the brim of my hat and am asleep within minutes. 

After an hour, I am awakened by the sound of a father and daughter happily swimming in the frigid waters of Cathedral Lake.  I raise the brim of my hat back into its proper position and take a few moments to watch the two frolic in the alpine water.  I find myself daydreaming about moments like these to share with my own daughters should their love of hiking and climbing take hold as it has for me. 

Feeling refreshed from the filtered water and energy gel, I find my way back to my feet.  The discomfort, nausea and tunnel vision are gone and my body feels at peace.  I shoulder my pack and continue the descent into the El Dorado National Forest.  The shaded trail and light breeze assuage the tiredness from the climb and the sadness in my heart.  I make a mental note that I was able to persevere through the darkness and summit a peak I had long dreamt about.  

I reach the car at 4 P.M. and drop my pack.  The satisfaction of climbing this peak radiate within me.  Shedding my boots in favor of sandals, I flop into the front seat of the car and begin the drive back into the clouded reality of chemotherapy and depression.  Before Mount Tallac disappears in my rearview mirror, I take the moment to thank the spirits and guardians of the mountain once more for the healing energy and safe passage.  The pit in my stomach returns as I reach for the phone to call my mom.  The ringing of the phone begins to summon the darkness, once again...

Thank you for making it to the end of this chapter and sharing in a little piece of what I hope will be only the beginning of a second career as an author.  Maybe it's good, maybe it's not, but sharing it with you all gives me hope that it could be something beautiful.  

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

Namaste, Friends...

Light, love and radiance to all of you who have decided to venture here during this time of uncertainty and madness.  I imagine that you all are feeling much like I do as these days come and go.  An air of eerie unease and dread hangs heavy in the ethos.  Daily routines have become a patchwork quilt of their former selves with thoughts of quarantines, social isolation and the unknown of what family members and loved ones could possibly fall prey to this virus sweeping our planet.  Fear and trepidation become the norm as our lives turn away from things which bring light and happiness.

Last month, I laid a portion of my soul out on the table.  Raw and real, painful and true.  My lack of Self-Confidence and how it impacts me in my everyday life.  This month, in the midst of a world gone mad, I want to turn our thoughts and feelings to things which bring us joy.  A celebration of sorts.  Something that can not only brighten the day, but engage your mind and let it wander to places which make you most at peace.  I want to know something about each of you.  I want to learn.  I want to share and then share in return.  A gift, if you will.  I want to hear stories, see artwork, read poetry and prose.  I want to listen to your stories of adventure in mountains, to secluded lakes and quiet sunsets on far off beaches.  I want to turn our minds to something full of light and energy.  A place of peace and smiling.  An escape from this reality we are living.  

I would love to see your responses, whether in the comments to the blog or through an email ([email protected]) on what place makes you happiest.  I'd love to hear stories of your adventures and why in those places, you feel at home.  I want to know what you will do differently once this pandemic has come to an end and where you will celebrate.  Will you journey to a place of azure waters, calm and clean to snorkel with brilliant colored sea life on reefs that stretch for miles?  Or will you find peace on wind swept summits, lungs labored under the strain of altitude as you gaze out at the expansive wilderness which lays in front of you?  Or still yet, will you find yourself hiking amongst tall trees and lushness in old growth forests and the drone of civilization is miles away?

Every email or comment with a story, picture, poem or daydream, will be reprinted here (anonymously, if you prefer) in next months blog for all to read and hopefully be inspired with as well.  For your participation, I will send you (FREE OF CHARGE!) a print of your choosing from my landscape gallery to brighten up your office, home or place you see it best.  A print that I hope will inspire you to get outside and seek what brings you happiness.  A print that makes you smile as you look at it.  A print that allows you to daydream when the world around feels like it is crashing down and imploding.  I want to share happiness and creativity.  An 8" x 10" of your choice for simply sharing with me, a memory or adventure you experienced that brings light to you in times of darkness.  

Creativity.  Sharing.  Adventure.  Kindness.  I'd also love to hear about stories of human kindness.  How a good deed you have done for someone else made you feel and touched you.  Again, another story.  More sharing.  Interested?  I hope so.  Let's share light, happiness and wonder in a time where it seems to be in short supply.  Again, by you opening up and sharing your moment of kindness with me, I will in turn share with one (1) person who submits a story on kindness, a print of their choosing in a size format up to 20"x 30".  Free of charge.  A gift, from me, to you.  Simply for sharing.  A token of friendship and a picture that inspires you to do more good for fellow humans.  

I'll start things off with an act of kindness I experienced with a homeless man on my way to work on a cold, rainy January morning 6 years ago.  As I waited for the light to turn green to make a left turn, he stood there in the rain, with a shabby cup and faded smile.  I asked him if I could buy him breakfast at the Starbucks not even 100 yards away.  His smile and our conversation still rings in my head.  We talked about his service, astroprojection, philosophy and how scones are a much more pleasant way to begin the day than a muffin.  I think about him often.  His smile.  His genuine nature.  The softness in his voice as we chatted like old friends.  I wonder where he is now.  I wonder if he still sits by the I-80 offramp to Norwood Avenue.  I wonder if anyone else has spared 40 minutes to chat with him and just "be present".  

Our souls are merely passengers in this vessel made of skin, muscle and bones.  An opportunity presented to us to touch others through acts of kindness and by sharing dreams and creativity.  A way to touch others and be touched in return.  We walk through life and experience a full and wide sweeping range of emotions.  Maybe our minds and hearts are consumed with fear in our current day?  Maybe we allow the fear to wash over us as we look forward to coming adventures with glee and happiness?  I hope it is the later.  I hope the power of your place of peace soothes your heart and lightens your being.  I look forward to seeing your stories.  I thank you, in advance, for taking the time to share with me.  

It is my hope that you all are now thinking about things that bring you happiness.  Dreams of adventures past and adventures to come.  Far to often as we grow into adulthood, we lose our ability to daydream.  Allow it to come back, if only for a few moments.  Let your heart and mind remember.  Smile.  Experience your adventures and deeds of kindness again.  Our world could use it.

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

Namaste, Friends...