exitclimb, strategy pretend.
29 May 2011 § Leave a comment
I have an old soul. People tell me that sometimes, and I believe it’s true. Some of them with the desire – but perhaps not the ambition – to be intelligent consider this a compliment. I’m not so sure.
Mud caked my mountain boots. Both were jammed into small crevices to hold my weight while I looked for a handhold. I’d abandoned the sun earlier, right before crossing the river. It wasn’t a good idea, crossing that snow bridge above the small but raging water, which splashed at the bottomside of the snow, melting it, taking away noticable chunks of ice even as I watched. I only needed the support for a second.
Ridge lines carry a special attraction for me – they are the skyroutes from which we can see the world from a higher place, a perspective it takes work and a little bit of sacrifice to obtain: wet socks and fingercuts from unsure rocks kicked down by previous climbers. Scramblers, we all. We pick and grasp at stones until they unhinge from the tundra moss that keeps them still. We’re climbing up the shed skin of still-growing mountains, letting the collapsed remains tumble farther down after we’ve used them to pull ourselves up. Sound familiar?
With summer comes focus and determination. I’m more sure now of what I’m supposed to be doing than I have for the past year or so. I’m alive again, and not merely waiting for the next breath. I’ve got a couple of lifetimes worth of plans in my pocket, and I’m counting on their evolution.