Ralston Peak
I'm lying in bed early on Friday morning. The air outside is showing 35 degrees, but the wind is calm. My backpack, water and snowshoes are already in the car eagerly awaiting me to push in the key and get on the road. I look at the clock and it reads 5:45 A.M. The alarm will sound in 15 minutes. My head begins the typical wanderings of self-doubt and guilt about stealing away for a day in the Sierra Nevada. I remind my inner voice that this was the reason I left my last job in Sacramento; to be able to roll out of bed, grab my hiking and mountain climbing gear, grab my climbing buddy and head up the hill to the mountains. A tinge of fear arises in me as my feet hit the floor full knowing that today's ascent will cover nearly 3,000 vertical feet over 4 miles.
I begin the usual routine of pulling on an insulated base layer pant, followed my well-worn and well-traveled Prana hiking pants. Buckling the strap on them, I do a simple squat to assess how my legs are feeling. "Good. Everything feels good today, Mike. No mind fucking yourself today. It's going to be an epic day of climbing and the weather looks perfect for winter hiking." I grab my "Iron Lion" shirt, smile and pull it over my head. It's a totem of sorts for me. I've worn this same shirt on every peak I've climbed since 2013. I sometimes feel like it is armor of sorts and that when I pull it onto my shoulders, I am protected from the veil and blackness of the depression I fight routinely. Next comes a light hoodie, followed by my silk liners on my feet and then heavy Merino wool socks to cover the liners. I'll pull on my down jacket when we arrive at the trailhead. I grab a few candy bars from the pantry and head out into the garage. As the garage door lifts, I walk out into the new morning and am greeted by a cool, but pleasant temperature. I turn my eyes east to try and see if the air is clear enough to see Ralston Peak. I can't. It's a bit hazy today, but I am hoping that will change as I get into the Sierra Nevada.
A final check of gear finds everything accounted for. Water filter, crampons, ice axe, snowshoes, first aid, snacks, gaiters, rope and carabiners. I close the trunk and sit down on the cold cement floor to lace up my boots. It feels so good to pull my size 12 Keens tight around my ankles. My heart swells as I know today will be full of adventure and mountain therapy. The ignition turns over, my Subaru Forester backs into the street and heads down a few blocks to pick up my climbing buddy, hiking partner and all around great friend, Jesse. We exchange a quick fist bump, he tosses his backpack into the trunk, his extra layers into the backseat and off we go. We follow our typical routine of stopping at the last gas station before the freeway for snacks, energy drinks and gas. Jesse and I have a celebratory snack on peaks we climb of Peanut M & M's and today is no different. Two bags of Peanut M & M's are in his hands along with coffee energy drinks. I grab a few extra candy bars to eventually put into my stomach to join the two bananas that are already there.
As the miles melted away and the car climbed its way up into the mountains, we chatted about the trail and what the conditions were likely going to be. The first sign of snow showed itself when the altimeter on my watch hit 5,350 feet. We were about 25 minutes away from our trailhead located just past the town of Twin Bridges, California. Conversation ebbed and faded as we both began our internal preparation for a winter ascent of a peak neither of us has climbed before. We understood the route would be steep in some sections, but we didn't know exactly how steep it would be until our progress was taking 10 steps and resting for 30 seconds.
After several U-turns in the middle of US Highway 50, we settled on a small area to park next to the snowed in gate of Camp Sacramento. Normally a place full of cars in the summer who are coming and going to enjoy the forested bliss which surrounds this entire area. Now, the area is a quiet and serene place of snow and ice far from the business which summer temperatures bring. Opening the door to the warmth within the car, we are greeted with temperatures in the 20's. I hurry to the tailgate to grab my down hiking coat and quickly pull it and the fleece beanie, on. I take a long look at the trailhead just across the road and smile because unlike the Pyramid Peak trailhead (which is only a mere 2 miles west of us on the same road), this one doesn't go straight up. I proceed to the normal pre-hike tasks of filling the water reservoir in my pack, strapping on my gaiters, adjusting my trekking poles and ensuring my snowshoes, crampons, ice axe and all the other gear is where it needs to be.
The tailgate closes, Jesse and I nod at each other and across the road we go. The trail is covered in winters blanket and our boots begin to find their way up the snowy trail. About 150 meters in on the trail, a small forest service cabin is to the right and as we search for the true trailhead, we see it another 50 meters up on our left. We agree this is the time to put on our snowshoes.
The cold air gently fills my lungs and makes me smile as I fasten the rubber straps around my boots. “This is heaven. I needed this.” I think to myself as I stand up and look around at the snowy landscape. I look over at Jesse, nod and we begin our trek up the mountain. We pass the trail head marker, take a quick glance and continue on. The climbing is gradual for the first mile and a half. The trail winds through cedars and pines and we inhale the wonderful smell of the forest. We chat about how good it feels to be here and how we don’t do this as much as we’d like. We joke about creating our own Sierra Nevada Guiding Service where our days would be about taking other nature lovers hiking, backpacking and climbing into a place dear to us. We grow silent as we ponder the possibility of making this happen.
As we pass the mile and a half point, we are greeted with a steep incline up the side of the mountain to where we will climb until reaching a short saddle. Our snowshoes teeth bite into the icy slope beneath a glazing of powder. Our lungs and legs strain as we progress up the mountain. We pass the 7,500-foot mark and gaze to the east as views of the Sierra Nevada’s triumvirate of Freel Peak, Jobs Peak and Jobs Sister come into view over the Sierra-at-Tahoe Ski Resort. We let our cameras capture the moment and give our legs a short respite from the climb. A sip of water and we are off again. Gaining altitude with every step. We reach a short saddle and take a moment once again to admire the sweeping views. We look ahead and see a 50-degree slope staring at us. We discuss the need to put our crampons on as this slope will be much steeper than anything we have encountered yet today. We decide to give it a try with our snowshoes on.
Our progress grinds to a snail’s pace. A few steps and stop. A few more steps and stop. Our legs burn and our lungs heave. We laugh a little and I ask Jesse if he is ready for the Lhotse face yet. Jesse humors me with my obsession with all things Everest and Himalaya and it is my secret hope to one-day, drag him over to climb one of the 6,000+ meter (20,000 feet) peaks. We continue our slow trudge up the slope having no view of our final destination. I look at the altimeter on my watch which reads 8,300 feet. 1,000 feet left to climb. We stop for a quick break before continuing. I force myself to eat a King-Size Milky Way bar. The chewy caramel and chocolate may as well be Elmer’s Glue. I eat it as quickly as I can to be done with it. I’ve never been one to eat on hikes, but I know I have to force calories into my body to keep it moving upwards and eventually, back down the mountain. After the candy bar cannonballs into my gut, I stand up, toss my pack back onto my back and begin to press onward and upward once again.
Jesse begins to put a little distance between us as he is moving faster than me. I adopt a new mentality to climb my counting 30 steps before I allow myself to catch my breath. The constant counting of paces gives my mind something to do as my legs burn with the incline of this mountain. I take the time to truly enjoy the peace and solace we are experiencing here. We have seen not a single other hiker today and have been on the trail for nearly 4.5 hours. These are hikes I love more than any other.
As we begin to climb out of the tree-line, I am humored my Jesse’s drawings of various anatomical parts in the snow. “God I love this guy” I think to myself as I struggle to catch my breath after 30 steps. I can feel the strain in my legs growing and the darkness of self-doubt begin to creep into my head. I can see what appears to be the summit about 300 vertical feet above. There is a small clump of ancient trees and a hidden ridgeline in back of them. I continue to push out my 30 step and rest pace. Inching ever closer to the summit and towards Jesse, I try and push my pace to 50 steps. I find my maximum at 45 and am okay with that. I need to have the gas to descend after we hit the top.
As we near the clump of weather worn trees, Jesse laughs and says, “Bro, the summit is over there. We have a false summit here…” I turn my head to the left and see another 100 vertical feet left to climb. I am gassed. My legs are screaming for relief from the heavy snowshoes that seem to attract heavy snow like a magnet pulling paper clips in an office drawer. I look at Jesse and let him know I’m not sure if I have anything left in my tank. He smiles that sly smile and says, “Yeah. You got it in you. Now let’s move our asses before we freeze.”
I find the strength once again and push hard to traverse the ridgeline that separates us from the Desolation Wilderness area of Lower Echo Lake, Upper Echo Lake, Tamarack Lake, Lake-of-the-Woods and Lake Aloha. Step. Step. Step. The teeth on my snowshoes find their way onto the granite of the summit and I stop to take in the never-ending view. It is breathtaking. A gaze around the area gives us views of the snow covered Crystal Range of peaks including Pyramid Peak, Mount Price Mount Agassiz and several other unnamed 9,000 foot mountains. We give each other a hug and just allow the majesty of this view to sink in. We don’t have to speak in these moments. The views do all the talking. As always, I close my eyes and give thanks to the spirits and guardians of the mountain for allowing us safe passage to the summit. I open up the steel ammo box and retrieve the summit register. There was one climber here yesterday and only a few over the past few weeks. I inscribe my thoughts and close the book. I add my standard memento to the box and close and secure the lid.
We take in the views for a few more minutes as we approach our pre-established turnaround time of 2 pm. We only spend a short 15 minutes on the summit as the temperature is hovering around 0 and our feet and hands are very cold. We snap a few more photographs to document our climb and successful summit and begin our climb back down. The steep slope allows us quick passage and plenty of laughs as we slip, slide and crash into deep snow drifts. An hour and a half later, we arrive back at the car; tired and ready for a beer. I look at the windshield and see a “welcome back” gift from the California Highway Patrol. A parking ticket in the amount of $32. I smile and nod that this ticket was well worth the price of admission.
I hope that all who have read this far enjoyed our trip up Ralston Peak and the good energy and positive vibrations it brought to our souls. I hope this New Year is full of positive energy and good vibrations for you all. May you find and enjoy what fuels your heart, mind and soul. This year will be full of blogs about the upcoming treks, summits and hiking trips I have planned. Cheers and best wishes to a new year and decade!
Namaste, friends.
"Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but pictures, kill nothing but time..."
This is Church
I've been out of the "Monthly Blog Business" for a while and thought how appropriate of a time it was to jump back in and share some thoughts and things which make me smile. As August and September approached and my heart was eagerly looking forward to spending a week of unfettered joy and bliss in the Eastern Sierra with some of my closest hiking pals, the darkness of depression and the shadow of brain cancer spread their wings of darkness over my eagerness, ending in an aborted hiking trip and the dread of a brain cancer diagnosis for another family member. Thankfully, the tumor which I was convinced was malignant, turned out to be benign. The darkness became a little lighter.
During this time of darkness, I began to channel my thoughts, feelings and deepest fears and highest highs into a novel, which I have shared about in my last blog. As it stands currently, I am just over halfway and am struggling with finding the time to write and word to fill the space with. I've read as many articles, blogs and messageboards as I care to read on the subject of writers block and how to get past it, but those 42,000 words I sit at, can't seem to be added to at the current time. The ideas swirl and crash into each other in my head. Memories flood back, but I can't seem to place the words into any semblance of order.
As the darkness continued (I use the word darkness in place of depression in an effort to strip the power of the disease and focus effort on bringing light and hope into the blackness), my mind perseverated on how to heal and how to cope with missing my most favorite vacation of the year and number one way I combat the darkness within me; my Eastern Sierra hiking trip. Mired in sadness and anger at missing this precious trip, I looked for anything to sate the feelings of dread within me. I looked back over the summer, and year as a whole, and relived some amazing trips. The climb up Upper Yosemite Falls with a dear friend, scaling wind swept Pyramid Peak (with another of my dearest friends and regular climbing partner) from a route unfamiliar and laden with glacial snow, arising pre-dawn to take in sunrise over the magnificent Hoodoos of Utah's Bryce Canyon National Park as well as the annual backpacking trip with my oldest daughter into the Sierra Nevada. These memories lift the veil of the darkness. The healing power of nature, intervened and continues to intervene.
As the weeks passed, and summer melted into the golden hues of fall, I found myself in the Sierra Nevada taking in the breathtaking Aspen trees and marveling at their radiant beauty. I made my way into one particular grove just as the wind picked up and magic happened. Heart shaped aspen leaves cloaked in their brilliant hues began their fall from the canopy to the leaf litter below my feet. Turning my gaze to the tree tops, I closed my eyes and took in the moment. Quiet, serene and majestic. Gone were the voices of the office and daily life. Fleeing darkness in my mind and heart as those leaves fell softly all around me. A smile rose from my soul and cleared the clouds of chaos. My soul became calm once again.
In the weeks which followed that magical moment amid the stunning Aspens, I found a meme which so truly describes the impact of nature on me. One in which I continually try and impart on my children. The picture was of a beautiful unnamed mountain peak with a trail meandering the valley below it. Snow-capped and jutting skyward into a beautiful blue sky, the caption read "I'm going to tell my children, this is church." It was perfect. It is perfect. The healing power of nature and the connected feeling to the earth and all living things.
That simple meme struck such a chord within me. "This is church". Yes. Yes it is (for me, at least).
Growing up in a Roman Catholic family and going to mass were routine. The constant "rise, sit, kneel, rise, sit, kneel" of mass were to Sundays like eggs were to an omelette. Before long, it all became rote. The only time wonder ever happened for me, was stepping into a 200 year old cathedral and hearing the footsteps echo throughout the marbled walls and soaring ceilings. Doubt crept in and replaced blind faith. The hypocrisy of the Catholic Church failing to protect children from predators (and not just limited to the Catholic Church...) drove me away. It's stance on so many other things, drove me away. I found myself searching for a place which rang true. A place where my soul felt at home. Calm. Peaceful. Connected.
Nature. My church. My place of peace and of solace.
Nature, and especially the mountains fill that space. Pure and spectacular. The absence of civilization atop peaks and secluded valleys makes my soul feel at home. Connected. This is where I am most alive. This for me, is church. No worship of anything out here, just connecting to the life around and feeling the radiance of millions of years of evolution to this very moment. Connected. This is church. This is my church. People around the world have their thoughts and beliefs on what "church" is to them, and for that, I smile. A relationship with the Divine is different and unique to each soul walking this earth. Each of us chooses what we feel most connected to and that is a thing of beauty. If we as an earthly civilization could strip away the hatred and eons of fighting over what is "true", a utopia of wonder and connectedness could be found. Celebrating the beliefs of each person and sharing why they believe what they do instead of pushing belief sets and dogma would offer a harmonious place to live. So much darkness would leave this world and allow ascension to plane of true connection with each other. Where greeting strangers with smiles instead of caution would become the norm. A place of wonder.
Those of you left are likely either smiling and laughing at the rambling of this Lost Souls prose, or hopefully reflecting on what "Church" is to you. That is the goal of this months blog. Reflection. Nature. Church. It means something different to us all. I hope we all remember that as we move into the New Year. Each of us is inherently different. We are all made of different opinions on so many things. What is church to one, is different than what church is to another. These things should be celebrated as they make us who we are. May all of you be filled with the joy and beginnings of a New Year and new opportunity to find what makes you whole and fill yourself with whatever brings peace to your heart.
To each of you, I send light, love and healing peace and wish you nothing but a New Year full of happiness, joy and wonder.
Namaste, friends.
"Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but pictures, kill nothing but time..."
Novel Thoughts...
The merriest of late summer wishes to you as you read this entry!
Recently, I began the pursuit of writing my first book. A novel to be precise. A dream held dearly ever since my freshmen year in high school, when the most unlikely thing happened. My freshmen year English teacher, Mrs. Yeager, assigned us homework that required us to write a “What am I” piece of poetry. I had never really thought about poetry until then. Poetry to me at that time was about twisting the old and tired limerick of “There once was a lady from Nantucket…”. Childish humor and ignorance to what poetry, and creative writing is, was all that was held in my head. That assignment and subsequent reception to it, by both my instructor and class peers, led me to think deeply about what creative writing is.
I began to write poetry more. I began to allow myself to daydream more. I began to read even more than I already did, which was a lot. I was a happy nerd. I am, still, a happy nerd, when it comes to writing. There was rarely a time where I wasn’t carrying a novel or book around. Classmates would tease me about my insatiable desire to pour of the pages of a book and become lost in them. I found myself walking stride by stride with Roland, the last gunslinger, from Stephen King’s epic series The Gunslinger. I fell in love with the storytelling prowess of Edgar Allan Poe, Jack London, John Krakauer, and J.D. Salinger. I was captivated and taken far away with tales of heroism and fantasy as told by J.R.R. Tolkien and cried ugly tears as Roland watched his love, Susan Delgado, perish in fire within the covers of The Wizard and Glass.
Literature has impacted me so deeply and has helped mitigate so many trying times in life where I needed to simply get lost, if I couldn’t be out climbing a mountain. Lost in the pages of a story either becoming the main character or simply observing the tale unfold from afar. It’s fair to say that literature changed my life. A book I hold in the highest of esteem is Dr. Michael Newton’s Journey of Souls. The book answered so many questions I had held for so long about what lies beyond the realm in which we understand. The theories of what happens after death and where we go. It was a spark, no, not a spark, for that would understate the impact. It was a supernova of epic magnitude. A colossal explosion of awakening within me. A rebirth and calmness for me that settled a soul which was always asking questions, which could not be answered.
Creativity, for me, was not just about literature, though. No, it was so much more than just that. Photography followed and consumed my visual thirst for art much like the way my brain and heart desired novels and prose. Studying videos, articles and paying attention to the masters of light and composition. Striving to tell the stories of clients, landscapes and stars alike through images burned onto disk and printed onto paper. Photography and writing. A marriage of perfection. A perfect union of creative energy.
A photographer friend of mine posed the question to a group about photography being worth the investment of time, money and energy, when the resulting income never meets expenses. I fully understand the conundrum. Each year I fight the urge to let this website go and simply go back to being an amateur shutterbug. I question my product, my abilities and my place in the world of photography. I ask myself the question of, am I good enough? Can I stand next to other photographers and be held equal and able? Why am I not booking more sessions?
These questions haunt me, but still, I continue. Refocusing on why I love photography and the solace it gives me. The way a client’s eyes light up when I turn the LCD screen to show them the moment we captured. The way a shooting star is recorded onto my camera’s sensor and the gleeful exuberance I feel (and sometimes dance around) after realizing I caught it. Those moments in the wee hours of the morning when it is simply me, the stars and my camera. Solace. The story writes itself in these moments.
And so, after years of thought, wrestling and wondering if I could write a book, I began. The story being told is of my fight with depression brought on, initially, by the attempted suicide of a long lost friend and by the diagnosis of brain cancer for my father. The havoc the two events wreaked in my soul and antidote to it; hiking/climbing. More importantly, climbing Mount Whitney. Writing this novel has been more than just cathartic. It has allowed me to relive some of the darkest moments of my life and realize that those events helped me to experience one of the most light filled. The summit of Mount Whitney and realization that depression is something which can be fought. A journey of keyboard strokes and sometimes, tears, that hopefully will culminate in a published version of aa story designed to lift others and show them an additional way to fight the darkness.
I question whether my own, self-created, literature will be good enough. I question whether people will want to open the cover and dive into a personal struggle of someone they may not know, or care about, for that matter. But, I hold hope that maybe, just maybe, the book will fall into the hands of someone struggling. A fellow climber/hiker that may be experiencing the same darkness and is looking for illumination. I hope that the tale of the struggle with depression brings them a reason to reach for the light. To climb their own Mount Whitney and realize they, and they alone, hold the power to combat dark clouds that hang in their heads and hearts.
Literature.
Photography.
Hiking.
All things which bring peace, smiles and solace to my Lost Soul. The namesake of my company, Lost Soul Imaging. Not a sad name by any means, but one which tells everyone who I am. The creative dreamer, lost in his own thoughts and while engaging in the pursuit of telling the story of life.
I hope you, the reader, have enjoyed this month’s blog. I hope that when the time comes, you may even grab a copy of story I am penning. I hope that you look at things in a different lens when it comes to personal struggle and methods in which you can deal with them. I hope that this summer has filled you with light, love and happiness. May the coming fall season, also, fill you with wonder and joy.
Namaste, friends.
“Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but pictures, kill nothing but time…”
Pyramid Peak
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..."
Yosemite; Home of my Soul
Happy “Almost Summer Solstice” to all the souls who are taking the time to read this blog entry. I hope each and every one of you are experiencing a wonderful start to the summer months and that you are engaging in passions you love and live for. I thought I would take the time to write about a place that leaves me speechless, no matter how many times my body crosses into it. A place that exemplifies the ever changing and ever evolving earth. A place that, even after eons, continues to change and look different. A place that takes the breath away from one’s lungs with its soaring altitude as well as simply from the sheer beauty. A place like no other in this country. Yosemite National Park. Growing up in the rolling hills of eastern Pennsylvania, the “mountains” we had access to were the Alleghenies, Blue Ridge, Poconos and South Mountain Range (and I use the term “mountain” loosely as the tallest mountain in Pennsylvania is Mount Davis at 3,200 feet tall). During those days of my first experiences with the mountains of Pennsylvania, I remember being at peace in them. Feeling that sense of calm and wonder at the same time. There is one place that stands out that truly fostered and made my mind wonder about what else was out there. The Kinzua Bridge in the Allegheny National Forest. I remember the first time I had a vantage point clear enough to gaze out on the Kinzua Creek Valley and marvel at the magnificent scenery in Northwestern Pennsylvania. I remember thinking that this view was both majestic and inspiring. It made me feel at home. It made me smile. It calmed me and filled me with sheer joy. I still hold those images in my head and smile. The vantage point from which I stood and filled the photo catalogs in my cerebrum with countless still images, is now gone. The view from the middle of that 2,052 feet long, 301-foot-high viaduct, was stunning. The bridge swayed in the gentle mountain breezes as the humidity from the creek valley below melted away in the sheer beauty of the forest all around. The way the stark steel stood in contrast to the lushness of the forest all around still sticks in my head and heart. The towering railroad bridge was lost in a tornado, 16 years ago, but the memories will always remain. I am so thankful to have grown up in a beautiful state and have my love of the outdoors fostered there while climbing and hiking trails with names like; Susquehanna, Turkey Hill, Conestoga and Gettysburg. These places were the foundation for love affair I was to have with the Sierra Nevada. I love my home state and always will have a piece of my heart there, but the Sierra Nevada stole my soul. Driving on highway 120 east, there is a stretch of road where all of a sudden a gentle, sprawling meadow gives way to the behemoth rock that is Half Dome. The altitude at this spot reads a touch over 5,400 feet, but standing there outside the car gazing into the Yosemite Valley staring at this monolith, makes one feel like one is on top of the world. It is a view that will resonate for the rest of one’s life. Four billion years of tectonic movement, glacial shifts, earthquakes, floods, temperature variations all which, led to this moment. This view. This world famous hunk of granite. As the axles underneath the car turned and bodies were carried through the hollowed out granite above, I sat in slack jawed amazement of what was unfolding in front of me. Walls of granite which dwarf the Empire State building rise out of the ground and soar into the troposphere. Incense cedar, lodge pole pines and Giant Sequoias cover the ground with a regal nature that give shade to the creatures which move about the forest floor. The sweet smell of the conifers that fills the lungs and stimulates the mind to bookmark this memory for all of one’s earthly life. Following the meandering two lane road down into the heart of Yosemite National Park, you are greeted with waterfalls out of storybooks. Horsetail Falls, Ribbon Falls, Bridalveil Falls and the highest waterfall in North America; Yosemite Falls. The first time my eyes fell onto the upper portion of those falls, I had a moment where I knew I had to climb it. There are some hikes/climbs/peaks which simply call to my heart and soul. This was one of them. 6,700 feet above sea level with a total drop of 2,425 feet (the 20th highest falls on our earth). The falls are as stunning as they are high. The mist blows hundreds of yards out into the valley on breezy mornings and freezes in mid-air (on winter days) forming an array of crystals and ice paintings on the sheer granite face next to it. My soul was longing for the mountains in recent months. It had been dormant for far too long. My boots had been relatively idle since our epic, 22 mile trek up Mount Whitney. The opportunity presented itself in a weekend with no kids at home to make the 3.5 hour drive down to Yosemite to climb these falls and my heart leapt at the chance. The car was packed up and ready to go at 8 pm on Friday night. Everything I needed was sitting in the trunk of my Subaru Forester. Boots, hydration, trekking poles and my journal. All that was needed was my camera and lenses. Asleep at 10 pm and wide awake at 2 am. I tossed on my Dri-fit shirt, sandals and pants and jumped into the car. The moving music of Anugama quieted my soul as the miles melted away and I neared the park. Pulling into the parking lot near the legendary Camp 4 (I think I saw Alex Honnold’s van on the way in near El Capitan; but can’t say with 100% certainty), I sat for a moment to take in the falls and allow my heart to fill up on this place. This wondrous realm of mountains, valleys, waterfalls and canyons. This place where my heart is full and my soul is at peace. The 3,175 vertical feet of climbing over 4 miles passed in the blink of an eye. The trail was remarkably, uncrowded for a nearly summer morn. True hikers and their trail pals were out enjoying the misty morning below the falls, shivering as the “mist” was more like a downpour one would expect in the Amazonian Rainforest. The shutter on my camera snapped shot after shot as the trail climbed and the noise from the valley dimmed. The roar of the falls became a memory as the trail shifted north and around to the back side of the falls. The final mile of the climb was steep and dry. The ridgeline was nearing. A small copse of trees marked the terminus of this trail and the split into trails that led to other parts of the park. A short spur trail carries one to a viewing area that can only be described as Awe-some. The word must be split as there are few views like it. A view of my beloved Yosemite lay in front of me. The throng of tourists was far below and the horns of their cars, muted by the thunderous falls, were on my left. I found a gigantic boulder in which to rest on, sat down and closed my eyes. Letting the words “Om, Mani, Padme, Hum” repeat over and over and over again between my ears, I was truly and fully, at peace. Allowing only the roar of the falls and the mantra I chanted to be a part of this moment. As my mediation ended, my eyes once again opened to the view of the Yosemite Valley and my lips found that familiar smile. Gazing out over the valley which captivates me each and every time I am here, I looked around at the peaks and quietly named them in my head. With each name recited, I either remembered the hike up or earmarked it once more to place it on the “To Hike” list. Far too often are we consumed with trivial nature of existence. The 9-5, mortgage payments, car payments and ferrying of children to their variety of events. We lose our sense of adventure and freedom. It is an onus that hangs on us until we are able to set our souls loose and venture to the places where we are truly alive. As this year dawned, I made a promise to my soul I would allow my boots to find the places where I heal and feel at peace. I don’t consider myself a motivational speaker or even someone whose opinion should be valuable at all, but by writing out these thoughts and ways to live, I am holding myself to it and giving myself permission to live and explore with passion and zest. I know how important it is for me to find myself in the mountains and forests and allow them to heal me. Not all humans associate the climbing of mountains with solace; some find the gentle waves lapping at the shore of their favorite beach to be heaven, still others love the hustle and bustle of Big Cities. I hope each person reading this will truly think on this and care for yourself in the same fashion; whatever your place of respite is. I bid you all, a wonderful and happy summer. I leave you with my second favorite quote by John Muir, “Keep close to nature’s heart… Break clear away, once in a while, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean.” If you’ve made it this far, perhaps you are willing to try and guess what my favorite quote by Mr. John Muir is? If you fancy a try, leave it in the comments below and if you are correct, you’ll win a free 8 x 10 landscape of your choice to celebrate my 3rd year operating Lost Soul Imaging. June 25th will be the deadline and prints will ship on July 1. I want to thank you all, especially to those of you who take the time to read every month, for being here and looking at galleries as well as interacting. I love photography and the visual art it is. Thank you all.
Namaste, friends.
"Leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but pictures, kill nothing but time..."
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