"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

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Hike: Mount Princeton

July 25, 2009: Mount Princeton, 14,197'

I've never hiked across so much talus in my life. At least I can't remember it. There was nothing technical about this climb up Mt. Princeton, but it was sure tiring.

Mount Princeton is the impossible-to-ignore monarch of the collegiate peaks, visible for miles around and glorious to see from a distance. But what looks like solid grey rock from afar is really unfathomable amounts of boulders and talus. The farther you get from it, the more the talus appears to be pebbles, then sand, then a formidable wall of stone. I suppose it is much like an ant crawling over a pile of coffee grounds!



Mount Princeton from the last bit of real tundra on the mountain. Not far from here, the trail becomes dirt and talus.






Ah, yes. This is much more accurate.






The trail and (I believe) Unnamed Peak 13,273 as seen from the summit.






Looking back at Princeton on the way down. Still some folks on the summit (they look like black specks).






The Mount Antero massif as seen from the ridge below Princeton's summit.



Thursday, July 23, 2009

Hike: Huron Peak

July 12, 2009: Huron Peak; 21st 14er.

The grandeur of these mountains will remain in memory for many years to come. I spent a lot of time during this hike meditating on the intricacy of life; how, even though in many ways the earth is marred and shaken, everything seems to work together so intrinsically and systematically as though the earth and the universe were one collective breath and exhale, effortless, symbiotic.

Information pouring out of every living corner, the world is alive with data. Somehow the tiniest seed contains everything it needs to know to sprout and blossom into a lovely marsh marigold. Why do I find these flowers beautiful? Why is any of this beautiful at all? Why don't I find it ugly or at the very least mediocre? How can my attraction to this amazing alpine tundra be explained by evolutionary necessity? Is it possible that I am designed with a spirit that pines for it? Was all this designed to draw me toward it or something beyond it? Even the couch potato can look at a mountain and claim it is beautiful. Is this objective beauty? And if so, why do we all experience it? I am humbled by the prospect that all this--the mountains, the tundra, my own spirit, the tiniest Edelweiss that will go unnoticed, the peak in front of me that demands my awe--was designed so that I might look beyond it, hear a voice drawing me. The awareness is simply transcendental.


The Three Apostles as seen from just above timberline.





My first glimpse of Huron Peak.





A brook along the trail.





Another view of Huron as I approach.





A view of the Three Apostles from the summit.




A high-altitude lake as seen from the summit.




A saddle to Brown's Peak (I believe.)




Blue moss campion along the trail as I descend.






Buttercups along the trail.






Marsh marigolds growing in a marshy area near the trail.







A tarn just a ways off the trail.






Looking back to another view of Huron.






A final view of the Three Apostles before descending below timberline. With the rolling hillside full of wildflowers and the dramatic peaks ahead, I might as well have been in Switzerland!






A final view of distant mountains.