Mountains
Photos this week are some of my earliest, taken by me and my friends during the years that I write about in this blog
As a flat-land Kansas boy, hills and high places had a
special draw for me. When I moved to
California at the age of 11, it was my Uncle John that introduced me to the
High Sierras. When he visited, he would sometimes take me meandering,
often going where there was no trail along a watershed or a mountain slope, not fixed on reaching a destination, but
enjoying the experiences along the way.
From Uncle John I learned the names of many wild plants and rocks. I learned the principles of “dead reckoning”
and how to find my way through the forest and find my way out again. At a critical time in my life, after my
father had died, he played a pivotal role in my growing up.
Resting - Planning the next move
The morning I turned 16 years old I was in line at the local
DMV to get my license to drive. Soon
after I took my summer earnings from doing farm work to buy my first car; a blue behemoth of an old Dodge! Gasoline cost
26 cents a gallon... and the world of new adventures was open before me. I lived in Visalia, “The Gateway to Sequoia
Park”, and it was possible to be at 6000 ft. within 45 minutes from home. Thus began my love affair with the high
mountains.
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| One of my early cars - unpacking before the hike |
My buddies and I must have been blessed with special
guardian angels with some of the harebrained things we did! At first it was all quiet innocent – just
going to the mountains and hiking familiar trails and back the same day... Then
we graduated to car camping – going up Friday night after school or after work, hiking during the day, and camping in one of the campgrounds.
But we encountered people who were backpacking. It sounded like such
fun!
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One of my climbing buddies, Charlie
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Having very limited budgets, we
went to the local army surplus stores and bought used military issue packframes, sleeping bags, and minimal cooking gear.
Since we had no real teachers on “how to backpack” it was largely trial
and error... I remember carrying a cast iron skillet on one of the first
excursions, something I quickly eliminated from the list. In later years we became minimalists , reducing the weight of our loads as much as possible.
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| Sierra rock is mostly hard light colored granite – hence the name “ Range of Light”. |
Much of the higher rock has been
shaped by recent glaciers (in geologic terms). As we hiked into higher
elevations we encountered rock systems that just invited young adventurers to
climb to the top... And then I was really hooked. I connected with the natural beauty of this land. I felt its poetry. I could hear its music... this land above the forests.
It is a land of ice-sculpted rocks, flower filled pocket meadows, flowing
and falling water, and light. Once in my blood, it has never left.
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| Me with rucksack |
Along the
way my friends and I decided that we really needed climbing equipment- but we didn’t
know the first thing about rock climbing... I discovered a fledgling company in Seattle called REI – a mountaineer cooperative that only sold a small range of
climbing equipment. From them I
purchased two books – both printed in England that described basic technique...
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| Charlie and me after climbing this pinnacle |
From the books I learned what equipment we needed; rope, pitons, carabineers...
Rope was expensive – but I bought 120 ft. of 5/8” hemp rope for the climbing rope (this was before the age of nylon climbing rope) . Then we sat about
learning how to climb. We learned the
technique of using a rope to belay the lead man, using a hammer to drive a
series of pitons into a vertical crack system, hanging slings to hold our
weight, reaching a safe place and then belaying the persons below as they
ascended. (Last person removed the pitons).
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Packframe, rope, pitons & carabineers, piton hammer
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Coming down over a cliff or steep slope involved using the rope to rappel down. ( Rope through the legs, over the shoulder, and hanging down the back. then lean into the rope and hold tight! ) . We learned how to descend rapidly through a field of loose scree by glissading, and the art of using a minimum
effort to cross a field of larger rocks by jumping from one high rocky point to the next
high point – With practice and luck this allows quite rapid movement. In high elevations we struggled with the oxygen poor air - making progress slow and painful. But the exhilaration of standing on the peak is grand!
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| A chimney maneuver |
Along the
way I sometimes had opportunities to travel with more experienced climbers – from whom I
learned a great deal. My sister arranged
for me to climb with the Fresno State University mountain group. I recall that climbing a particularly fine pinnacle with them was some of the most exposed climbing I ever did - but I felt like I was in competent hands.
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| Limestone cave - W. side of Sierras |
On one trip I spent about
12 hours underground with a caving group that had to employ various climbing techniques.
One caving experience was enough for me – There was a lot of crawling through very confined spaces, and swinging across vertical holes – I prefer
sunlight to carbide lanterns.
A good part of mountaineering was the time spent pouring
over maps, closing routes, destinations, planning supplies.
After I went away to college and getting settled in my
career I was pretty much away from my beloved mountains for a number of years. And when I fell in
love with Judy and learned that she to had a love for the mountains, our mountain adventures have continued ever since.
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| Judy - on a mountain top |
At this point in my life I feel
like I have come full circle – back to enjoying quieter rambles through the
high rocks and meadows. We still reach some dramatic high country – but no more
ropes and climbing. Like Uncle John “it
is the journey” rather than the “destination” that draws me now. I still get very excited by the sight of a pika
or a water ouzel... by a miniature Sierra Columbine or a Sticky Monkey
flower... by the water flowing out of an ice cave and the clean rarified air at
12000 ft.
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| August at 12000 ft. |
Here is a poem I wrote to the mountains a few years ago...
Hello, Old Friend
Those were crystal mornings
When my levis
Soaked with dew
Crossed your green bladed meadows
Laughing as my rucksack rode strong and balanced on my back
With audacity
I believed that I mastered your granite faces and spires,
With unmeasured certainty
I accepted noon and twilight
Within your glades and talus fields.
Now you remind me
Of companion faces long unremembered
Bits of conversation still linger in your twilight air
Like eagle feathers stuck into a broken straw hat.
I believed that I could conquer your every aspect
But I didn't see your patient smile
It has taken me all these years to understand.
“Hello, old friend
Why have I changed and not you?”
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| The backside of "Sawtooth" in Mineral King |
