it started out as many adventures do, following a bouncy backwoods road to its end. we walked along the overgrown gravel until signs pointed us left. an etch in a fallen tree branch, a small pile of rocks. bright orange flagging tape led to scuffs in rotting logs, to broken twigs and worn roots, while minutes turned to miles. “sign of life!” we’d yell, another breadcrumb to connect us to the last. to the next. at the river camp we headed up - up up up to fields of blueberries and too arid slopes, to towering granite barely perceptible through the smoke. if you doubt climate change, i’d love to take you here. the next day we woke before dawn, continuing up up up, then down, down, finding a ridge shooting out from the waning glacier. black as night and more vertical than i expected. at this point you might find yourself wondering where, but i just can’t bring myself to tell you - all of you. i will say that it’s certainly not hiding if you care to look. up we climbed, 2500 vertical feet to be approximately exact, the rock clean and steep, though loose at times. on the summit we imagined mountains through the haze: redoubt there. challenger that way, luna, and slesse behind. then down, down, sleep, and down again, connecting blueberry feasts with our leftover breadcrumbs. at the river we had the choice - land or water - and choosing the latter we immersed our feet for the first time of many. sunlight danced on clear pools filled with bright red salmon, resting on their own uphill journey. bear prints in the sand were our new signs of life. the day grew warm and the current refreshing. really, we began to wonder if we’d stumbled on heaven, or magic, or whatever you choose to call it. we wanted to stay forever, together. but back to the van, and a few dozen miles down the road to my parents’ house, already wondering if our narnia was real. of course it is, and how simple it is to return - no plane to board or sponsors to gather, just enter through the wardrobe in the spare room.
My friend @climbwritekalman wrote a book. Some have compared it to Jack London’s To Build a Fire, others to the classic climbing novel Solo Faces. I haven’t read either (though I intend to), but I have read Chris’s book, and I personally think it’s beyond comparison. In short, I‘ve never come across a climbing book quite like this. It’s the kind of story I’ll read a dozen times and still notice new things, one that makes me want to ask Chris a million questions. And it’s beautiful too. Plus, when you buy this book, you get the knowledge that you’re supporting one of the greatest climbing writers of our time!! Check out the link☝🏼in my profile to order.
