Summiting Me
Mountains were easy to climb. I’d been on hikes before, and pain and fatigue weren’t problems. I knew I’d be on top of Mt. Hyndman by the end of the day, so why worry? We had gotten to the trailhead the previous night to the hike. My brother, father, and I, along with some cousins and uncles, were fatigued from the long drive and needed rest. Camp was made and everyone piled into their tents to refresh themselves for the long hike ahead. Early in the morning, we struck camp and headed out on our climb. The trail started off peacefully, meaninglessly meandering through thickets of willow trees and patches of tall shifting grass. It was dim, but the markings of the well outlined trail were unmistakable. Through the trees and past the looming peak, the sun broke through the clouds and pierced the frigid state of the morning. It was so
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Over the next several hours, we worked our way up onto the saddle that looped down in between our mountain and another smaller one. As we reached the top, a bitter wind billowed though us, fighting its way into the thin hiking jackets everyone had worn. To our left was the peak, a pile of large and small rocks expanding upwards into the dark clouds, and in front of us was a thousand foot drop that curled my stomach into a tight fist as though it could hold me firmly attached to the slick stones. As we started up the steep incline, I began to give up. The cold assisted by the sneering wind bit at my fingers and toes as pieces hail started to pelt my face. We still had a thousand vertical feet to ascend. When this thought crossed my mind, that was it, and I was turning around to descend to the well protecting trees below, but then my Father stopped me. “Son,” he said over
The freezing wind had chilled my hand to the bone. Even as I walked into my cabin, I shivered as if there was an invisible man shaking me. My ears, fingers, toes, and noes had turned into a pale purple, only starting to change color once I had made a fire and bundled myself in blankets like ancient Egyptians would do to their deceased Pharaohs. The once powdered snow on my head had solidified into a thin layer of ice. I changed out of the soaking wet clothes I was wearing and put on new dry ones. With each layer I became more excited to go out and start snowboarding. I headed for the lift with my board and my hand. Each step was a struggle with the thick suit of snow gear I was armored in.
It was simply amazing hiking out there, the mountains covered in tall trees that dug into the rocky soil, the beautiful sky, when visible. Even in the midst of strenuous exercise I still en...
The air was fresh and chilly. The trail came out of the forest and we joined a logging road and continued our climb. We re-entered the forest and continued to climb...yes we were gaining altitude quickly and soon our hearts were thumping! This was no longer a gentle climb.
On the winding, mountainous seven-mile drive, my ears crackled and popped as we ascended through the mountains. Suddenly, a mother black bear emerged alongside the road with her three little cubs wandering closing behind her, so I quickly grabbed my camera to capture the image of these striking animals. Approaching Clingmans Dome, I observed numerous dying trees and areas of bareness towering the Spruce-fir forest. Finally, I arrived at the Forney Ridge Parking Area below the summit and began the short, steep one-half mile hike on the paved spiral concrete ramp leading to the observation tower. The sun filtered through the misty-fog as I climbed higher, the mountain air had a fresh scent, and the breeze was slightly chilly. As I reached the top of the observation tower, I experienced some shortness of breath from the 6,643 feet of high elevation, so I took a moment to rest before enjoying the view. The concrete circular platform surrounding the tower provided an awe- inspiring panoramic view of the scenery for miles. The incredible scenery looked like an artist’s palette with vivid hues of green, shades of brown, and touches of yellow speckled throughout the landscape. The natural wonders in sight were breathtaking, just inspirational beauty. As I peered upward, I felt a sense of floating in a sea of clouds as they rolled in and out
My legs ache from this long, treacherous hike. As I walk up the rocky, steep trail, my feet start to slip, but I regain balance before I fall. I shiver from the extremely cold temperatures, and my body starts to go numb. Soon I realize, my body can not take this hike for much longer. When I find a nice place to rest and make camp, I pray that there are no bears or other predators that are looking for a feast. Just as I was about to get some sleep, I hear a loud noise, coming from the mountains. I look over and see an avalanche coming down straight towards me. I grab all my stuff and start running the other way, trying my hardest to get away from the rocks tumbling towards me. This extreme place is located in the Rocky Mountain Range, and is the highest point in Colorado and the rocky mountain range.Mount Elbert has an impact on animal's, temperature, and the steepness and extremeness of the mountain.
The trip began when I took a small green pencil and signed by name on the release forms needed to hike in Yosemite National Park. I and nine of my friends left the ranger station that night with a neatly folded map and a felling of excitement to what lay ahead. The long drive to the park left us tired and in need of a good night’s sleep. We decided to stay in tent city like most hikers do before they set out for their trek. Tent city was a large subdivision of tents that resembled a community of houses. Each tent was perfectly uniformed in its appearance and made up a total of fifty tents. Before we went to bead, we studied our maps and made an itinerary to the amount of hiking we would do.
Dani and I stand in the sun waiting for the “men” to catch up. The view was worth Quill’s whining and navigating through the snow. The breeze catches in the bright green and gold of new Aspen leaves whispering around the lake. The Pine trees scent the air and bask in the sun to steal its warmth from the forest below. The trees are a dark canopy along our path permitting only a few patches of the raised finely mulched trail to a beam or two of sun. Framed like a photo three pencil lead gray peaks rise above a lower sweeping curve of pines. They look close enough to walk over the ridge and touch them. Boulders precariously cling to the side of the mountains. The perfect deep blue early summer sky is the perfect backdrop.
As I inched my way toward the cliff, my legs were shaking uncontrollably. I could feel the coldness of the rock beneath my feet when my toes curled around the edge in one last futile attempt at survival. My heart was racing like a trapped bird, desperate to escape. Gazing down the sheer drop, I nearly fainted; my entire life flashed before my eyes. I could hear stones breaking free and fiercely tumbling down the hillside, plummeting into the dark abyss of the forbidding black water. The trees began to rapidly close in around me in a suffocating clench, and the piercing screams from my friends did little to ease the pain. The cool breeze felt like needles upon my bare skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps. The threatening mountains surrounding me seemed to grow more sinister with each passing moment, I felt myself fighting for air. The hot summer sun began to blacken while misty clouds loomed overhead. Trembling with anxiety, I shut my eyes, murmuring one last pathetic prayer. I gathered my last breath, hoping it would last a lifetime, took a step back and plun...
By 4 PM we had conquered most of the peaks. As we were climbing what we thought was our sixth peak, Big Red, a storm struck. It was a cold driving rain that froze us as we struggled up the mountain. We reached the top jubilant, but exhausted. As the crew tried to get a bearing I came to the slow realization that we were not on Big Red, but another peak. We had two peaks to climb, and in freezing rain! With no options, we hiked on.
I was the first person to ski off of the chairlift that day; arriving at the summit of the Blackcomb Mountain, nestled in the heart of Whistler, Canada. It was the type of day when the clouds seemed to blanket the sky, leaving no clue that the sun, with its powerful light, even existed anymore. It was not snowing, but judging by the moist, musty, stale scent in the air, I realized it would be only a short time before the white flakes overtook the mountain. As I prepared myself to make the first run, I took a moment to appreciate my surroundings. Somehow things seemed much different up here. The wind, nonexistent at the bottom, began to gust. Its cold bite found my nose and froze my toes. Its quick and sudden swirling movement kicked loose snow into my face, forcing me to zip my jacket over my chin. It is strange how the gray clouds, which seemed so far above me at the bottom, really did not appear that high anymore. As I gazed out over the landscape, the city below seemed unrecognizable. The enormous buildings which I had driven past earlier looked like dollhouses a child migh...
He arrived at his first destination after about an hour of hiking. After a short while he figured he had looked over his new found haven enough, he was ready. He started down the grade with a small arsenal, consisting of a shovel, about ten granola bars, two bottles of power-ade, his snowshoes, and what was left in his hydration bladder in his pack. After descending about two hundred feet he came into the clearing he was hoping to find, it was as smooth as silk, twenty inches of fresh powder under his board. Up ahead he say a small but formidable drop off on the mountain, he knew if he was going to escape this with his dignity he was going to have to work some magic, to his success. The drop was approximately eighteen feet, but he was ready for it, he landed perfectly, it was like a dream the poof of snow exploding out from his impact, and the gentle flakes hitting his face. As he continued down the slope he did not realize that his gentle landing had severely weakened the physical structure of the mountain’s blanket, and that any moment he could bring the mass down upon himself at impossible speeds.
With stress on my mind and a cookie in my hand, I headed towards the wooded area behind her home. At the beginning of the trail, there was an old rotting tire swing barely hanging onto a low-hanging branch. The extensive amount of muddy puddles and the surrounding damp grass made me hesitant to follow through with my grandmother’s suggestion; the mountain of homework that waited for me back at home convinced me to continue. Trees towered over me, adding to the existing weight of stress that sat upon my shoulders, as I carefully maneuvered around the biggest puddles, beginning to become frustrated. Today was a terrible day to go for a walk, so why would my grandmother suggest this? Shaking my head in frustration, I pushed forward. The trail was slightly overgrown. Sharp weeds stabbed my sides every few steps, and I nearly tripped over a fallen tree branch. As the creek barely came into view, I could feel the humidity making my hair curly and stick to the sides of my face. After stopping to roll up the ends of my worn blue jeans, I neared the end of the trail. Bright sunlight peeked through the branches and reflected off the water. The sun must have come out from behind a cloud, seeing as it now blinded me as I neared the water. A few minutes passed by before I could clearly see
Her spry, Timberland-clad foot planted itself upon a jagged boulder, motionless, until her calf muscles tightened and catapulted her small frame into the next stride. Then Sara's dance continued, her feet playing effortlessly with the difficult terrain. As her foot lifted from the ground, compressed mint-colored lichen would spring back into position, only to be crushed by my immense boot, struggling to step where hers had been. My eyes fixated on the forest floor, as fallen trees, swollen roots, and unsteady rocks posed constant threats for my exhausted body. Without glancing up I knew what was ahead: the same dense, impenetrable green that had surrounded us for hours. My throat prickled with unfathomable thirst, as my long-empty Nalgene bottle slapped mockingly at my side. Gnarled branches snared at my clothes and tore at my hair, and I blindly hurled myself after Sara. The portage had become a battle, and the ominously darkening sky raised the potential for casualties. Gritting my teeth with gumption, I refused to stop; I would march on until I could no longer stand.
A blast of adrenaline charges throughout my body as I experience the initial drop. My body's weight shifts mechanically, cutting the snow in a practiced rhythm. The trail curves abruptly and I advance toward a shaded region of the mountain. Suddenly, my legs chatter violently, scraping against the concealed ice patches that pepper the trail. After overcompensating from a nearly disastrous slip, balance fails and my knees buckle helplessly. In a storm of powder snow and ski equipment, body parts collide with nature. My left hand plows forcefully into ice, cracking painfully at the wrist. For an eternity of 30 seconds, my body somersaults downward, moguls of ice toy with my head and further agonize my broken wrist. Ultimately veering into underbrush and pine trees, my cheeks burn, my broken wrist surging with pain. Standing up confused, I attempt climbing the mountain but lose another 20 feet to the force of gravity.
Mount Everest, the world’s highest point at 29,035 feet, is a special trophy among high altitude mountaineers. Standing atop the world’s highest point a hypoxic climber clad in a fluorescent down suit is above everything else on the planet, for a moment that individual can reach farther into the sky than any other. Arms raised in a victorious salute, a climber feels like they have conquered something that few others ever have, and justifiably so. The summit is usually the final fruition of months, sometimes years of planning, weeks of travel and acclimatization, and days of endless plodding at a feeble, learning-to-walk pace.