Muir and Me

Anyone who’s done any rock climbing, mountaineering, or maybe just anything, knows that rather often you fail to accomplish the goal you set out to do. This is certainly the case with rock climbing and mountaineering for me. In cycling, I know enough about myself to set my goals nice and low so that I don’t get disappointed quite as often. The problem with climbing rock and ice is that people have set grades to them. I started climbing 5.6 then moved up to 5.7 on up to 5.10 and so on. The problem is that these grades are so dependent on the experience of the climber that set the grade as well as that person’s personal strengths and even their size. Bigger is not always better either. Sometimes a route, this happens more often indoors, is set by someone much smaller than me (6’3”). The hand and foot holds end up too close to each other, but to far apart to stretch to the next set. So, I get stuck making some tricky moves with my body all cramped up. 

Most mountains don’t have difficulty grades, and if they do the mountain is usually technical enough in nature that you better be fit and knowledgeable before you attempt them. Weather, snow conditions, temperatures, fitness and recovery for the day, all play into success of any venture into the mountains.

If I’m heading out for a new objective usually I’ll have done some research on it, thank you internet. This means if I’m picking a rock route I know what my grade limit is and I’ll choose some fun routes that I think I have a reasonable chance on. Sometimes I’m right and sometimes I’m wrong.

I’m usually upbeat enough and not tied so emotionally to my goals that if I fail I’m not too broken up by it. If that’s the case then I usually just look around at the surrounding mountains, rocks and trees and think how lucky I am that I’m able to spend those few hours in the mountains. My oft repeated statement in these times is “Any time spent in the mountains is a good time.” And it’s the truth. I’ve come to realize that most people seem to feel some kinship with the mountains, so I don’t think it’s just me. While walking up Rock Canyon on our way to Provo Peak my friend Dave exclaimed, “I love the pines,” which was a tad surprising to me only because I’ve said the same thing a number of times. Something about pine trees is so calming and comforting. Dave thinks it’s the majesty of them, so tall and strait. The fragrant green boughs overhead along with the flaky and gnarled bark on the trunks make a pine forest a true joy to walk through.

I’ve been reading a giant 800+ page compilation of the works of John Muir for the last few months. I usually find an hour or two per week to read so it’s slow going. I love the mountains. John Muir loves the mountains like my 6 year old loves chocolate, like Darth Vader loves choking people with the Force, like the programmers that I work with love Mountain Dew; you get the idea. As much as I love the mountains John Muir has opened my eyes further to all the beauty that abounds. This man loves the pines. He also, like me, has an affinity for rock formations and the geologic forces that it took to get them there and in that shape and condition. This especially applies to the great massive grinding force of glaciers. Muir marvels equally at the beauty of the soaring granite peaks as he does the ability for squirrels to clamber around in pine trees eating the nuts and somehow do so without getting any sap or mess on their fur.

The fact that I have three canyons and the Wasatch range within 15 minutes of my driveway is of incredible importance to me. I used to have an office cubicle next to a window that faced Mount Timpanogos and Lone Peak. Often, when I needed a break from staring at a computer screen, I’d swivel my chair a few degrees and trace ridges to the tops of the mountains, looking for new interesting routes to reach those highest peaks. I dream of hiking the canyons and listening to the wind blow through the trees until it sounds like a roaring river. Or, scaling a cliff face straining to hang on to that tiny hold long enough to clip the rope into the next bolt. I may fail to top out, I may fail to summit a peak, but it’s all time spent in the mountains, and that can only be good.