Friday, March 12, 2010

Climbing to Cambrian Chief Mine

Vista Hunting
Originally uploaded by maplemusketeer
It started hours ago, kilometers below the debris strewn summit we now explored.

3 hours, 180 minutes, lay beneath our feet and soaked our clothes.

Our fevered brows now chilled by the wind that met us on the open exposed mine floor atop Mt.Hallowell. Weary soreness instantly forgotten to the euphoria and rabid curiousity of destination; of goal.

A mine atop a coastal mountain.

A mine left behind decades before our time, with no vibe of ghosts or phantoms, only eagle's circling soaring flights over old circled vehicle tracks around long extinct extinguished fire pits beneath the long gaze of the long mossy draped stunted trees. Wise old trees are they that saw the time before, during, and now post-mine.

The surveyors, the miners, the partyers, the adventurers all have flashed and dashed below these wisend old trunks which benefited from the mining a view, exposure, light. Now looking out over Sakinaw and Ruby Lake to Texada and Nelson Island and further still to the distant peaks of Vancouver Island's northwestward lie.

Few clouds dot the clear cool sky, few clouds offset the high pressure blue: the great blue tarpaulin covering our temporary dwelling place, our precarious shelter that is the habitable zone of our existence.

Perhaps it is the clear air and clear view that lead to clear thoughts. Up here out and above the pollutions, the grind, the miasmic perfusion of giant quibbles, titanic minutiae, and clashing egos and issues.


Perhaps there is a reason certain moments are refered to as mountain top.

From the top of a mountain you gain perspective. It can be no other way. It takes work, effort, choice. It is challenging, it is difficult, it is painful, and it is oh so worthy. We are changed by mountain tops. The person who began is not the person who returns.

We forget, I forget, we forget this often.

Our vision narrows, our focus tightens, our lungs draw short breaths, our neck muscles hypertrophy, stress responses trigger cortisol releases flooding our bodies, and we plod, grind, stumble, plow on in admirable stubborn enduring humanity. We do it again and again, day in and day out.

Our short term vision becomes all we see.

Our short term visions bump into others' as we become more insular and unknowingly cloak ourselves in assumption. We become like horses with blinders because we feel we must, we believe we must, we are told we must by all that surrounds down in the cacaphony of the day to day to day to day to week to week to month to month to year to life.

The call to mountain top resounds as importantly today as yesterday: a call often subverted, put off, buried.

We forget, I forget, we forget.
I remember. We remember.

For our hearts, for our health, for ourselves and each other, listen and be drawn to the mountain top.

There is an intimacy at the ocean's shoreline, a connectedness deep in the forest's green embrace, and a humbling expanding awareness at the mountain's top.

I implore you to go, to remind me to go, to go alone, to go together, to hike or climb or drive, but to go.

Be reminded, as I am, of the freedom of choice, the finality of each passing moment, the opportunity of each impending moment, and the wonder of wonders which is the bizarre interplaying tapestry woven between you and me, us and we, individuals together corporately.

A grand adventure. The grand adventure.

Our grand adventure.

Go well.