Ice Lakes Peaks

I lay in my tent listening to the hail, my muscles melting into the ground, and the feeling hits me. It is big love I have for my dad. The feeling has come out of nowhere but as soon as it arrives, I know it is true. I see the path of care I will give to him. It opens for me the way these mountains have been opening. 

Fuller, Vermilion, Golden Horn, Pilot Knob

I am in the tent after climbing four peaks. I am exhilarated and satisfied, my summit fever quenched. My cousin and I have summited Pilot Knob, Golden Horn, Vermilion, and Fuller Peaks in some intense class 4 scrambling and route finding. The peaks are beautiful and ring the equally beautiful Ice Lake and Island Lake. But the rock is crumbly and loose. 

Earlier we had scrambled up that rock, ascending a steep gully on Pilot Knob's east side. I was monkey scrambling on all fours, my butt way up in the air like a monkey tail. I was moving quickly, attempting to win the race with the rock sliding down beneath me. I'd peek up and pick my line, then bend down again to scrabble up. 

My cousin was ahead of me. At intervals, I'd straighten to check his location and line. But every time I did, I paid a price. Vertigo swept through me, causing me to swoon. I learned to not crane my head up and instead stole quick glances. I neared the saddle and the opportunity of flat ground. I had one more move to do and I'd be there. I darted a glance at the wall ahead of me, grabbed the side of a microwave sized oblong rock and, sickeningly, felt it move toward me. I pushed my left hand back against it, meanwhile darting my body around to the right, out of its path. As soon as I cleared it, I pulled my left hand back. Off went the rock. It rolled and crashed, screaming down the gully, picking up speed and raising dust. "Rock! Rock!" I yelled. Though we had seen no one else on the mountain, I wanted to warn if there was someone below. 

Climbing a weakness

I watched as the rock finally came to a stop. I took a few more steps on the saddle, rounding a short tower and saw John. He saw that I was okay, and said "That was scary, huh?" 

"I should never have touched that rock," I said. I shared the vertigo I was fighting - and how my method for doing so had led me to grab the loose rock. I would have to take more care when selecting holds. We continued on, picking lines and glorying in how "way leads on to way" as the mountain opened up to us.

As a climber looks ahead, a mountain presents jagged towers, steep dirt and rock, and beautiful but unscalable faces. Yet, little by little, we found the weaknesses that allowed us to pass - a chimney here, a crack with hand and foot holds there. We'd round a tower and find a ledge system that would lead us along a cliff band, getting us 20 feet closer. This spirit of discovery and problem-solving, coupled with deliberate movement had occupied my mind for 7.5 hours it had taken us to climb the four peaks. It was all-consuming and rewarding.

I'd had no room in my brain for anything other than where I would place my hands and feet and what my next line up the mountain would be. But then, in my tent, I realized Dad had been with me all the while, his recent health issues in my brain. It came to me, as clear and sweeping as any swoon, that blast of big love. I saw how I'll care for him, how true I will be, how steadfast and generous. How there will be ups and downs, how he'll drive me crazy and put up roadblocks with his bad moods and ill temper when he's not feeling well, with his over reliance yet high expectations of meals and phone plan and quality of lifestyle. It won't be an easy or a straight path. There will be obstacles. But I have the perfect training and the way will open up. I will deliberately pace myself and place myself in the best position to be there for him. My big love will fuel me.