To breathe. One of the simplest actions a human can take and the one thing that makes us like every other living organism. Inhale. Exhale. Breath is life. There’s no way around it. Stop breathing, stop living. It’s one of those things that you learn to kind of ignore and then you learn to try and control, holding your breath underwater, seeing how long you can go before your instincts take over and you are forced to consume oxygen.
Most humans I know have a semblance of what it means to not be capable of breath, at least for short periods of time. Some older brother, bully or otherwise asshole, at some point probably held your head under just to that point that you began to gasp, to panic and then let you go. It’s almost a right-of-passage to understanding what it is to be human and to need this globe with its atmosphere to survive.
It’s an wierd sensation and/or place to be in life when your body decides that you shouldn’t be able to respire. Especially when that happens in the one place you spend most of your time thinking about, dreaming about, scheming about. To live for the mountains and then have them step down on your throat and say, “You’re not welcome here.” Well, that’s an interesting mental space to inhabit.
http://mooseknuckleralliance.org/2014/06/the-jmt-diaries-part-h-a-p-e/
The goal wasn’t particularly high. We really just wanted to see what could be done given the situation and mental space of being kicked off the JMT a year earlier. We were anxious. There are no roads in or out, just our favorite two-footed style travel. And to be honest, there wasn’t much risk of anything going horribly awry. Our anxiety had more to do with knowing where I stood with the altitude and how my body would react.
This wasn’t the first time I had been back to elevation, it was just the first time we were actively testing where I could go and how my body would react. Plus, we had pills. Modern medicine said I could go back to the mountains and with its help, we were going to see how true that was.
We returned to Great Basin National Park. We had left certain peaks unclimbed and routes unwalked. It fit our needs perfectly. Quick ascent meaning a quick descent is also possible and peaks above the tree line.
During our last hobo adventure, we had gone straight up to Johnson Lake and then over the pass to Baker, which seemed to be the camping place of choice. The time around we opted to go up Baker Creek but stop at Johnson and throw out our bed rolls there for the night. We would then see how things felt for an ascent of Pyramid Peak on our way over to Baker the next morning.
We settled in for the night. Pumping water, setting up the tent and otherwise getting camp ready for the evening. There were four deer that kept checking on us and showing off their velvet covered horns. Other than the wildlife, we were alone. And for the first time in my life, it was I that was trying to get KB to walk around and explore. She just wanted to nap, but I was in the mood for seeing as much as possible, even when I just stopped and inhaled deeply and slowly let the oxygen escape from my lungs.
I walked around the lake one way and then checked in at camp. Everything was good. I then walked around the lake the other way. There was this fascinating feeling of clarity, but not the kind I have experienced in the past. Instead of an inability to think due to the lack of oxygen, I’m able to think due to the ability to breathe. And that small, insignificant act suddenly makes everything perfect. I don’t even care when the other couple shows up to share our mountain retreat. Their presence isn’t important. There is nothing that can break my exuberance of being where I am.
Being above 10,000 feet meant no caveman TV to accompany our night due to the park’s regulations. I’m sure you all know that means we ended up in bed and falling asleep as the first stars began to pop up in the sky. This also meant that even getting a full 8 hours of sleep would mean that we would be waking up when the sky was still dark and then spend a few hours of fitful rest waiting to get up.
Which in and of itself is an interesting concept, to wait to get up. However, that waiting also added to the anticipation of coffee and drinking of said dark substance whilst doing nothing else but being in the mountains. We stayed in our sleeping bags until the sun finally came up and then jumped at the opportunity for the stove to be lit and water boiled for that cup of joe.
One cup wasn’t enough and we ended up seated in the meadow at the end of the lake watching the deer surround us and the bees slowly begin to buzz for nearly an hour. The sun was high when we decided it was time to move which was fine as we didn’t have anything to do that required us to be actively engaged in hurrying. Another 1 or an hour and a half passed before we had camp packed up and were doing the ritual idiot check before heading up and over the pass.
Nope, we got everything, even that other dude’s trash.
The last time I was here, my ears were ringing. Both from the thunder and lightning ringing out around me but also from the lack of oxygen that seems to amplify everything that is happening. My inhalation was steady and laborious. I had every intention of climbing Pyramid Peak, but was stoked that lightning drove us down the other side. I was much too tired to attempt it.
This time was clearly different and the steroids the doc had put me on were making me feel like Rocky after his last fight of each movie. We dropped our packs and made the climb up the talus field to the top. The wind ripping across the ridge was cold but felt good considering the effort we just put in. There were metaphorical high fives and down we went.
Pyramid Peak was just one of the things we had left undone.
Mount Wheeler was the real objective/test. The air was bright which is to say that it was clear and the morning air was crisp kind of like you would expect a mountain morning to feel. We headed up and for whatever reason I felt inclined to document the journey. It’s strange how simple acts like climbing a mountain that has a trail up it become epic when it’s not part of your routine. Which is a great reason to just ride the opposite direction every once in a while.
I could lie and tell you that it didn’t feel like a big deal to be at 13,000+ feet, but it did. We had the peak to ourselves and we reveled in the emptiness surrounding us. We traced the ridgeline we had seen on the map back to Pyramid Peak and marked it as undone. We’ll be back as long as we can keep breathing.
P. L. and R.
