"Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity..." --John Muir, 1898
Sometimes a rainy day isn't a bad thing. Saturday, Tom (a friend from church) and I hiked along Brown's Creek to Brown's Lake; a good portion of the way up to the lake was under storm clouds, some thunder, and a steady rain. But the weather only made the scenery that much more inviting to me. Thick, rolling clouds hung low over the peaks, moving in and out, hiding and revealing. Rogue mists weaved among the trees on the steep cliffs around us. The forest was damp and aromatic, the creek lively, and even some waterfalls (which, on the way back in relative dryness, were barely noticeable) were running freely over one of the steep cliff faces. We met very few on the trail as well, probably due to the rain, and so enjoyed some solitude.
We found a beautiful waterfall on the way up, but it was raining, so we stopped on the way back to take a few photos.
Ironically, we were in the basin just below the two fourteeners I climbed the previous weekend. Mt. Shavano bore down on us from the south on the way up and we had great views of Tabeguache Peak hovering in mist over the lake. Mt. Antero, another fourteener rose to the north, hemming in the valley. It was an amazing feeling to be so far below those peaks (3,000+ feet), straining our necks to see the summits.
Tom on the trail.
Approaching Shavano (?) and the layers of forest.
Brown's Creek along the way.
Just before Brown's Lake.
Brown's Lake.
Tabeguache Peak as seen from the lake.
Falls along Brown's creek.
Unblinking
I lay down on that red, sun-baked sandstone
And wept for you
For me
Unblinking for seasons
Until sand leaves snow moss filled my eyes
And the retinas detached
The bloated darkness torrid sultry at noon
But still you did not come
I have just finished Pilgrim at Tinker Creek (by Annie Dillard) for the second time. This time around, I bookmarked and dogeared and underlined and re-read passages, desperate for the words to permeate.
In a day or two, I will have forgotten everything.
I would marry this woman if she were not twice my age, not already married, and wasn't a smoker. (She may not be a smoker anymore.) Of course, she wrote this panegyric to life when she was in her twenties, in 1974, the year I was born.
I must type a quote from one of the final pages. Hopefully I won't get sued.
Ezekiel excoriates false prophets as those who have "not gone up into the
gaps." The gaps are the thing. The gaps are the spirit's one home,
the altitudes and latitudes so dazzlingly spare and clean that the spirit can
discover itself for the first time like a once-blind man unbound. The gaps
are the cliffs in the rock where you cower to see the back parts of God; they
are the fissures between mountains and cells the wind lances through, the icy
narrowing fiords splitting the cliffs of mystery. Go up into the
gaps. If you can find them; they shift and vanish too. Stalk the
gaps. Squeak into a gap in the soil, turn, and unlock--more than a
maple--a universe. This is how you spend this afternoon, and tomorrow
morning, and tomorrow afternoon. Spend the afternoon. You
can't take it with you.
My coworker, Bart, wanted to climb a fourteener this weekend and he invited me along. It was a bit spontaneous. I didn't know about it until the evening before, and we planned to leave at 3AM. The goal was to climb Mt. Shavano, a fourteen thousand foot peak, and its slightly lower cousin Tabeguache Peak, another fourteener. We left my place around 3:15 and arrived at the trailhead by around 5:30. We were on the trail at 5:45, still surrounded by darkness, but just enough light that we did not need headlamps.
We spent considerable time in an inspiring gnarly aspen/pine forest, changing to pine before leaving timber line. The sun slowly descended an amazing ridge before us, a buttress holding up the world. There wasn't enough snow in the famous "Angel of Shavano" couloir to really see its iconography, but the views were spectacular nonetheless. Cresting the large saddle at the base of Shavano, the views got better and remained all the way to the summit, about four miles in. We summitted before 9:00, and fog lay thick in the Gunnison valley to the west. The next peak was Tabeguache to the northwest. It was a descent of about 500 feet (?) from Shavano to a connecting saddle and then an ascent to the peak. The views were even better from Tabeguache. The only trouble was we had to go back the way we came, which meant re-ascending Shavano. So, technically, we climbed three fourteeners in one day! (My hindquarters are still aching.)
On the top of Shavano, some low, thin, fast-moving clouds rolled in. It was a neat feeling, standing in the clouds at fourteen thousand feet.
We finished the hike around 1:30, I believe. A spectacular day at high altitude.
It stormed last night. This morning, the dirt road from my house to the highway was soft and slippery, the berm washed away in places. I kept my window down for a few miles to smell the richness of the wet earth and trees.
It rained on my way home last night as I drove up the pass, glanced occasionally at the lighted house in the valleys, and listened repeatedly to a song that has become very meaningful.
Art and life sometimes work together so powerfully. I discovered a new acoustic indie EP from Andrew Osenga (former front man for The Normals and guitar player for Caedmon’s Call). I’ve always loved his songwriting. Here, in an online-only set, Andrew has taken solicited ideas from his online community and incorporated them into six, stripped-down, acoustic songs. He has made them available for free download, noting that donations are welcome. (A buck a song is the recommendation.) A true indie/community effort. I was skeptical of the quality, but after hearing “Swing Wide the Glimmering Gates”, I bought it.
The rest of the songs are very, very good, but “Swing Wide” is special. I can’t stop playing it. Andrew asked his blog community to submit via email a recording of themselves singing several melodies (no lyrics) that he gave them. He then combined them all and mixed them into a “choir” that is, to me, incredible. What an awesome (and well-executed) idea. It isn’t often that I hear a song that moves me at the deepest level. It caught me by surprise.
If you’re interested, a link to the download is available here:
http://www.andrewosenga.com/blog/letters-to-the-editor-vol-1
I'm still making my way through Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard. This is my second time through this beautiful, inspiring book.If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? A philosophical question we heard as children, seemingly stupid at the time (of course it makes a sound!) until we grew up and learned about other philosphies and about the harsh reality that beauty and wonder often go unnoticed when we are consumed with life and ourselves. Annie gives a response to this question, a challenge to me.
"The answer must be, I think, that beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there."
I poured my adoration for you into a hurried, handwritten score and sent it off to the publisher. It was rejected, he said, on account of the poorly-crafted counterpoint. When I received the publisher’s letter, I imagined the music lifted from the envelope with disdainful tweezers and transferred to an antique brazier of smoldering coals, and I laughed until I couldn’t breathe.
Peripheral Vision
You glanced at me with iridescence
Like wings of damselflies
Limned on spinning drops of mercury—
Heaving phosphors encircling apertures that
Snap shut like event horizons
Leaving in atrophied pathos
The universe
me
When you look away
Just a few-mile walk saturday evening at Red Rocks Canyon Open Space. The light was terrible as storm clouds were coming in, blocking out the sun most of the evening, so I didn't get many worthy photos. However, I did see a black bear, about a dozen yards away or so. Gave me a bit of a start. He stared at me for a few minutes, looking a little perturbed, before lumbering down the hill.
I made a few photographs this weekend with my new camera. It feels good to slow down and craft them as opposed to, well, pointing and shooting. I am still trying to get back into practice and also learning the ins and outs of digital as opposed to film. In any case, here are a few photographs I made while tramping around downtown Colorado Springs, Old Colorado City, Colorado College etc. I am also re-learning how to see and get inspired again, so it was a challenge.
An alley in downtown Colorado Springs
Tejon Street in downtown Colorado Springs
Courtyard fence of a Tibetan store in Old Colorado City
Sandstone pillars at Colorado College
Buddhist prayer flags in Old Colorado City
This recipe is the result of some experimenting in the kitchen, and I thought it was good enough to share. Plus, nobody got injured, so I considered it a success. If you decide to make it, let me know how it turns out for you.
Salsa
3 medium tomatoes
3 tomatillos
1-2 arbol chiles
2 tbs. diced onion
1 tbs. fresh cilantro
1 large garlic clove
½ tsp. kosher salt
1 tsp. lime juice
½ c. whipping cream
Omelet
(Makes one. Multiply as necessary.)
2 eggs
1 tbs. cold water
1-2 pinches kosher salt
Omelet Filling
Diced tomato
Diced onion (optional)
Fresh mozzarella
Directions
Basically, there are two major steps to the recipe: making the salsa and making the omelet. The salsa will probably make more than you need, and the quantities listed are recommendations (to my taste). I usually throw a bunch of stuff together, so this is as close as I could come.
Boil the tomatoes, tomatillos, and arbol chile(s) for a minute or so. Remove from heat, drain, and run cold water over them. Peel the tomatoes only, and don’t worry about cutting out around the stems. Place the whole tomatoes and tomatillos in a food processor. Coarsely chop the now softened chile(s) and add it (them) along with diced onion, fresh cilantro, peeled garlic clove, kosher salt, and lime juice. DO NOT add the whipping cream. Process until pureed. (Note: It is best to let the puree set in the refrigerator overnight so the flavors can ripen, but it’s not necessary.)
You can perform the next step if you want a smoother, creamier sauce for the omelet or just skip it in the interest of time. It just makes a better texture. I put the puree in a sieve to extract the liquid only. I do this a couple times until I have one cup of liquid. (The bonus is you are left with a delicious, thicker salsa for dipping!)
In a metal bowl, place one cup of the liquefied salsa (or just one cup of the salsa) and the whipping cream. Whisk until very frothy. Refrigerate until ready.
Make the omelet as you would a French omelet. Combine the eggs, water, and salt. Whisk until combined but not frothy. Heat a skillet with about a tbs. of butter (or less) to ensure the bottom of the pan and sides are greased. Add the eggs. Over medium heat, cook the omelet until it starts to set. Run a turner around the sides of the pan, lifting the eggs so the uncooked portion flows underneath. When the egg is just about set, add the diced tomato and onion, and sliced fresh mozzarella in a column down the center of the omelet. Turn one side in halfway, then the other until they overlap. Remove from heat and cover for about a minute to let the cheese melt.
Transfer omelet to plate, add a generous helping of the sauce, and garnish with fresh cilantro leaves.
Addolorato
I should have loved you then
And let you kiss me—
Far away from caviling whispers
To the shadows of paper lanterns
And suffused stammering chamber waltzes—
But there was snow
And winds stirring the violet sea
Like sweating cello bows assailing breves and semiquavers
Fleeing jaundiced pages on
Frightened
Threadbare staves
Well, the marathon hike has come and gone. It was a good one, but long. I think the longest I've ever taken. The round-trip was 26 miles. I invited a new coworker to go along, as he is an avid hiker/backpacker and in great shape. It was great having the company on this epic dayhike.
We started the ascent at 4:30 AM with headlamps and arrived (13 miles later) at the summit around 11:00. I brought way too much in my pack, so I struggled a bit nearer the top where it became steeper and the air thinner. (I'm a bit of a preparedness freak.) I was a little disappointed in my fitness level after the months of working out and eating right. I suppose it would've been worse/impossible if I had not been rigorous about it, though. It is easy to forget that I am no longer a teenager full of boundless energy. I was sore enough yesterday to not even leave the house...
Here are some snapshots of the trip along the way. I was more concerned with lungs and muscles to spend too much time making art, but at least you'll get to see some of the scenery. Enjoy!
Morning light on a nearby peak near the beginning of the trail.
The A-Frame, a landmark three miles from the summit.
Bart on the trail, past the A-Frame.
An odd grove of dead trees.
Our trail looking down from near the summit.
Closer view of the switchbacks as they skirt a very deep cirque just over the edge.
Another view of our trail on the way back down.
Panorama (such as it is) from the top. The train tracks belong to the Cog Railway that takes less-adventurous tourists to the madness at the top.
I am the bokeh
The inscrutable blur that vibrates in the ambiguity
The infinity
Of light off water
Weeping from the crooked fingers of muses
In your photographs
Last year, Peg, my good friend (and partner in countless hiking/backpacking adventures) moved to Victoria, BC. It was the end of an era, as she was really the one to show me the ropes in backpacking and the San Juan mountains in general. I still remember spreading those maps out on the floor in Hesperus and salivating over them, planning our next wilderness foray. She was back in Durango last week for a visit and we took advantage of yesterday, her last day in town, for a nostalgic hike to familiar territory.
A bit of catching up over eggs Benedict and coffee at Carver's in Durango started our day. We then headed north of Durango to Little Molas Lake to hike up to a saddle that ends up at the base of Sultan and Grand Turk peaks, which we had attempted to climb twice, once successfully. (Judging from her reaction when I began reminiscing, I think Peg is still miffed that I dragged her up Sultan in gale-force winds.)
During the climb up, we had impressive views across the valley of the spiky Grenadier Range and the hulking Twilight and Snowdon Massifs, which never cease to ge
t my heart pounding. There is something of a sobering feeling in viewing from afar these valleys and peaks that I have visited so often, perhaps like watching an old friend in a crowd who is distracted with conversation with someone else, acknowledging you with barely a glance. It takes little more than the pine-laden folds between their feet, the remembrance of rivers hiding there, mist rising from ponds in the dawn. The mountains there are like that for me: old friends with whom I've stayed up at night having intimate conversations; we know one another, but they are sometimes aloof.
After crossing the saddle, and having limited time and energy, we decided to find a close high point to take in the view and chat a bit about how life is playing out in our separate worlds. Some things are always the same, some things can never be. But the mountains did finally show up, that silent third party nodding in sympathy and agreement as we cast our fears and wishes for freedom into the wind.
