7/3
I accidentally crushed a snail today, only moments after bidding it good morning.
A delight to start the day, destroyed.
The lightness with which the shell gave way, the small movements of my destroyed comrade signifying the interminable will to live.
So I felt no choice but to step a second time.
7/4
“It is easy to be a patriarch for a country who’s grown up in prosperity.”
Ukrainian team, when faced with online commentary to their mountain livestream, inquiring why are they there, instead of fighting for their country.
“Where you’re born, like your religion, is not your choice. Why should I feel obligated to fight and die? You make money, you erase some people, you have a line of defense from Russia. Ukrainians die.”
A trudgy up. Dozens of climbers camped here. Beef sticks, sourced from Texas. Gummi worms through sugar factory dirt. To what end? I don’t want to disparage, the grandeur is undeniable. It’s undoubtedly a holy place. Is there not room for just enjoying?
I can’t help but think about the systems that allow us to be here, though.
7/5
The striations of the pink snow algae, a breath of life circulating from the high alpine. Snow, rock, wind, sun. Simple elements for momentary living.
Strangers to friendly acquaintances,
beta as a bridge.
The Lion’s Way (5 pitches).
7/6
Thank you body. Thank you mountain. Thank you food. Thank you Jaysen. Thank you sunshine. Thank you pika. Thank you trailbuilders. Thank you snow. Thank you rock. Thank you, others, for whom I can share love.
Bugaboo Spire, Cain Route. Glorious weather, couldn’t have asked for better. 9:45 start, smooth sailin’ to the col. Up up up, not thinking about the (heinous, chossy) down. Some tough moves but kept my cool. All to ourselves, save some major traffic near the top. Crystal clear, no wind summit for over an hour. Gratitude, Jeff in heart with his upcoming birthday. Fighting for every day he can get, a cocktail of meds.
Rappels (fun), then interminable choss descent. Col rappel. Back to camp. Chores and life tasks awaiting, as always. Tired, a little grumpy, feet barking.
A good day.
7/7
Into action—Pigeon awaited. Smooth and fast, plan for solo. Knife edge at start, pop in hip. Anxiety, have I hurt myself? Slow down. Don’t try to rush after Jaysen. Many good moments and moves. Proud of me.
Spiders and ladybugs and a long antennaed insect in the snow. How are you here?
In the cathedral, centerpoint of Bugaboo, Pigeon, Snowpatch, and Howser. Powerful.
Ever the next route, the next climb—when to digest? I washed my balls for the first time in a week, with water in a zip lock and a a few drops of Dr. Bronner’s, held in a sun cup of the snow. Happened upon by three climbers. A good camp atmosphere, but always so much—to do (water, food organize, self care). Aussie convos in the airwaves, nice legs strolling on by. Hard to just be, for me.
I want to (and need to) assimilate and integrate. These are powerful and challenging and high output activities—to stack them one by one by one doesn’t give much time for them to catch up.
I know this is about presence, but I don’t want it to feel escapist. I don’t want to feel stuck in yet another chase for grades, clout, achievement.
7/8
Much needed rest day. Caffeine headache. Laying around. Sultans of Swing tent platform dig. Talked to everyone to ask route intentions—maybe just us so far for NE ridge. Revitalizing to talk to people, instead of just being anti-social. Set ourselves up well for tomorrow, glad that I was honest with my needs.
Jeff’s 57th birthday.
7/9
Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.
After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.
Northeast Ridge. Windy. Cold. Uncomfortable, at times painful (5.9 crack—fun for Jaysen, a string of expletives for me). Resilience.
The sliver of moon high in the sky through the day, climbing granite in pursuit. Strong boody, breath to match. Trust, Process, System. Laughter with Jaysen.
Airy traverse after uneventful summit (journey, not destination, yadda yadda). ‘Dancing on glass’ rappel footwork. A bird said hello on belay platform. Tiny mosses and flowers in the cracks and folds.
Cold fucking hands. Collapsing feet in the crack. The discomfort of leaving a stable platform. Snowpatch choss-bypass. Peter, Cass’s friend. Gratitude for my body to be strong and capable.
Back to camp, chores.
Chop wood, carry water (literally, on the latter).
7/10
Rest. Much needed. Apparent in just the steps from the water fill-up back to camp. Read for hours, dozed. Sunshine, hunkering down. A shared moment with a ground squirrel, real close, perceived trust. Obvi, just on a food mission, but perceiving the other life forms with a little less hierarchy (currently finishing The Overstory).
Our perceived sense of need changes based on context, familiarity, and relative comparison—ie here, ~5-8 L of water/day (90+% reduction)—a group of many in camp making it work with a whole lot less, if but for a moment. Or an escapist fantasy in my more cynical moments.
7/11
Manage your heat. Manage your hydration. Manage the rope. Watch your step. Watch every single step. Mind the sun. Mind the wind. Pace your hunger. Pace your breath. Are you sure the knot’s right? When was the last time you put on lip balm? Remember, if you fall, you die.
Or maybe worse.
Holy shit what a view. Do I have to shit?
Goddamn, my feet.
The bouquets of mosses and flowers in inhospitable zones. The golden gleam on the faroff ridges. The silhouette of your friend against the glacier as he drops over the edge. The feel of,
“Oh, I CAN do this.”
Solving a problem on the fly.
The way every part of you finds any way possible to hold on when the prospect of falling feels a little too real.
7/25
Home now. Familiar bed, creeks, and sea. The remnant fullness of a venture so wildly successful, a friend for life, and a sense of awe in what we get to experience when it all lines up just so; and the requisite burrowing to recover, to integrate, to dare I say it, rest.
Until the ever approaching next, that is.
Take a look at the full gallery.
Leave a Reply