quote:
Original post by krez
i never said big words... and i never said they were impressive either... i said... oh, read my previous post properly then come back to this!
Hmmm, you explicitly said I reminded you of someone who liked to impress with his use of language. Now you are saying something else entirely, yet being vague about it.
quote:
Original post by krez
a little smug for someone who can't even explain himself in plain english in the "writing" forum... guess what? if i were the type to confuse illiteracy and metaphore [*ahem*] i could start rambling "a little over the top" and then smile smugly at everyone who wouldn't pretend that i was making sense. but i'm not like that (i prefer making sense at the expense of not sounding psuedointellectual).
Wow. I'm not trying to sound intellectual. Forgive me if you think I am.
quote:
Original post by krez
try me (yes, i'm calling you out on this one).
Try what? I assume you are actually calling me on the notion that I don't actually have within my capacity the ability to share with others the way to powerful destinations which transcend time, places which humble and sometimes humiliate, places which present fantastical vistas which awe the senses, excursions which test one's resolve and in the end build powerful memories?
Unfortunately krez, you speak as if you do not believe it is possible to gain such an experience on this Earth in this life within the realm of practical reason. This harks back to another thread I created where I psoposed the question of whether certain places have an intrinsic romanticism over an extrinsic romanticism.
Why don't you try a day trip to the moraine in front of Keeler Needle amidst a thunderstorm as you contemplate the 14,000 crest of the Sierra rearing up in front of you like some high mountain palisade blocking entrance to Tolkien's Mordor? How about venturing over the gabled crest of Kearsarge Pass to look down upon the verdant green meadows and scintillating lakes in the paradise like basin below? What about journeying over Lamarck Col into the Evolution Basin or venturing into the Evolution Basin via the Keyhole? How about a trip down Buckskin Gulch? How about walking along a ridge at 14,000 feet looking a thousand feet down a sheer wall at the highest lake in the U.S. on one side and two thousand feet down a sheer wall on the other side to another set of lakes?
The above are places I have ventured to many times or (in a few cases) failed to reach due to circumstances. They always challenge the body, provide a puzzle to the mind in the form of route finding, electrify the senses, awe the imagination, and always exceed one's expectations. They are the preferred venue of many world class adventurers, beckoning to such individuals over and over again even after they have ventured to such remote place like the Himalayas or the poles of the Earth.
To quote Gordon Wiltsie:
These are the mountains that kindled a love that has lured me to some of the wildest ranges on Earth. But nearly everytime I have struggled halfway around the globe to the Himalaya, the Alps, the Andes or Antarctica, I've found myself wondering why I hadn't just stayed home.
Here in the spacious wilderness stretching between Mt, Whitney and the Sawtooth Range, lie most of my fondest climbing memories, as well as my closest brushes with elements far more powerful than I. This landscape has humbled me and it has almost killed me. But mostly, it has inspired me to come alive .
Who could not become enraptured after wrapping fingers over the Sierra Crest? Nowhere else will I ever find more joy than watching vast panoramas unfold below my feet on the Swiss Arete, Cathedral Peak or Charlotte Dome. And to every horizon, high above sparkling lakes and iridescent meadows, are endless other granite highways, with cracks and chickenheads leading straight into a sky so clear and blue that the sun is just a pinpoint.
These are mountains we can meet with just a rucksack and a ropemate, but they're also not to be taken lightly, looming with every element of personal challenge we might seek from the sport. I've learned many a frightening lesson from the bergschrund on Palisade Glacier, from runouts on long, blank faces, and from rocks that have teetered and tumbled when I expected them the least. And benevolent as Sierra weather might usually be, I've felt my hair stand on end from lightning, and staggered miles through surprise summer snow. But even the worst, endless bivouacs, when cold and a distant dawn gave rise to my deepest fears, I've never questioned why I climb there. So krez, as Wiltsie has experienced, so have I gazed upon some of the most soul-stirring panoramas that I have ever seen. I have felt the wrath of a summer thunderstorm which sounded like Armageddon as I ascended to University Col in rain and sleet. I have wrapped my fingers over the crest of a peak to discover grand views opening up and down with dizzying force. I have walked a ridge high above a granite basin of desolation. I have walked in a day from the hot sandy desert floor to the snow drifts of a high mountain pass bathed in a chilling wind. I have been sick, humiliated, scared, and forced to walk out in the dark mustering all the strength I could.
It is here that I walk in the footsteps of the intrepid and visionary, including explorer Clarence King, naturalist and mountaineer John Muir, writer Mary Austin, photographer Ansel Adams, mountaineer Norman Clyde, mountaineers John and Ruth Mendenhall, big wall climber Waren Harding, adventurer and climber Royal Robbins, photographer and adventurer Galen Rowell, and the list goes on and on.
The high altitude of the High Sierra brings with it a sky incredibly deep blue and clear. At night, one revels in the blaze of lights stretching across the heavens. It is there that I have witnessed the most meteors streaking across the sky with amazing regularity. It is there that I have seen satellites move across the sky more than any other place. It is there that I found the moonlight to be enough to hike by at midnight because the thin atmosphere doesn't dim the moon's illumination.
Ansel Adams wrote:
All the early morning the sky was thronged with cloud and a sharp wind beat upon the crags. Before noon an eager arm of cloud clutched at the sun, and a sigh of shadow came over the mountains. Rippling patterns of wind flashed on turquoise waters-ice fields became cold gray as the moon before dawn. It was good to be buffeted by cool and fragrant air. And one must ever bow before the deep benediction of thunder. We sat for long under a rocky shelter while the storm moved over the pass and roared down canyon to westward. High summits were veiled in massive clouds that swirled and blended above us. Edited by - bishop_pass on December 21, 2001 9:22:57 PM
