I willingly spent this previous summer 1,674 miles away from my home, without showering or sleeping in a stable structure for four days straight. People say that company is everything, and the company I had during that four day span was the best, the Canadian Rockies.
It sounded to be a simple trip up to Calgary with my younger brother, uncle, and aunt. We were to spend some quality time in Banff National Park trekking through the mountains. I had never been in the Range before, and was looking forward to climbing the giants of the earth. The trip had a rocky start, an anonymous airline called United lost our luggage for the full eight days we were staying. The loss of our luggage was infuriating, having all of our possessions stripped away led to my quiet temper flaring up, but we made it through with an exhausted optimistic attitude. I certainly learned that improvisation resulting from setbacks can lead to the most interesting times. Overjoyed, my brother and I had the privilege of wearing our middle-aged uncle's clothing around a metropolitan city while searching for equipment to use. We finally gathered up what we would need to survive the Rockies, a modest $600 worth of equipment. Despite embarrassment, walking around in a University Professor's shirt, detailed with over 15 different pictures of animal scat, proved to be more fun than wearing the clothes we had packed in the lost luggage.
Before the day of departure, I had caught a few glimpses of the Rocky Range, off to the West. It was mysterious. After living in the flat Midwest, I found myself flabbergasted that the towering majestic rocks were just off in the distance, mere triangles on a clear day. Before leaving, we toured the wild Canadian suburbs; they were gloomy, rainy, and depressing, indicative of the trip as a whole thus far. However, the day we set off, the sun came roaring through the bedroom window, it was time to go. We loaded the backpacks and boarded the rusty old cars. Dwelling on the crappy trip that was behind me so far would have done nothing, I had bigger things to look forward to, a whole chain of them.
As we headed due west in the mid-life crisis aged Honda Civic, the tiny triangles I had gazed at before began to grow, and as they grew larger, so did my eyes. The passing plains of Alberta did not exist to me anymore, I was locked straight ahead. Modeling my father, I whipped out the camera and began taking pictures with the madness of a man who was about to lose sight. The effect that the rocks had on me was unparalleled, unexplainable by any standard. They called my name, and I obliged by taking yet another picture of them. The pinnacles reached for the sky, rising above all other things; they were the perfect combination of strength and beauty. It is unbelievable what the world has to show if you pay attention.
The final voyage to the new world was in a bus service that had shocks like solid steel on a road that fashioned more craters than the moon. After we bounced about for what felt like an eternity, we arrived at the site. I was delighted to see we were located right next to a mountain; I felt as if I could reach out and touch it. My brother and I spent all the time we could scrutinizing every last inch of the jagged mountain. We stared. Any memory of technology quickly began to fade; I was deeply embedded in a mountain range, and it was stunning. The first thing I learned from the Rockies was that, contrary to popular belief, you do not need modern society to be happy. The second thing I learned was a much more tangible lesson; you also don't need indoor plumbing to survive.
Regimented schedules evaporated each day we went out hiking through the gorgeous wilderness. As we ascended and descended treacherous and rocky slopes, as we turned corner after corner to a view that you would find on a postcard, time was never an issue. I would liken the camp we were at to a detox center; a place to go and let the fast pace of society seep out of you, until you could take your time, breathe easy, and enjoy your perfect surroundings.
When it came time to leave I could not bring myself to do it. I had grown too attached to the culture of the campground. Wake up early; eat a hearty meal in which everything tasted the same. Then go hiking for six plus hours a day and snap as many pictures as possible, but hope that your mind can hold even more. The hikes back to camp were always the best. I would find myself happily exhausted, my body ached from all the punishment the rocks could dole out, but I returned to camp, happy to see the mountain, like an old friend. Through all uncertainty, they stood tall.
It was 12:01am on July 24th; I was sitting back in my Uncle's house on Facebook and as a newly christened 17 year old. I saw the world through a different paradigm, because I knew; life is good as long as you know what matters, and enjoy it no matter what happens.
It sounded to be a simple trip up to Calgary with my younger brother, uncle, and aunt. We were to spend some quality time in Banff National Park trekking through the mountains. I had never been in the Range before, and was looking forward to climbing the giants of the earth. The trip had a rocky start, an anonymous airline called United lost our luggage for the full eight days we were staying. The loss of our luggage was infuriating, having all of our possessions stripped away led to my quiet temper flaring up, but we made it through with an exhausted optimistic attitude. I certainly learned that improvisation resulting from setbacks can lead to the most interesting times. Overjoyed, my brother and I had the privilege of wearing our middle-aged uncle's clothing around a metropolitan city while searching for equipment to use. We finally gathered up what we would need to survive the Rockies, a modest $600 worth of equipment. Despite embarrassment, walking around in a University Professor's shirt, detailed with over 15 different pictures of animal scat, proved to be more fun than wearing the clothes we had packed in the lost luggage.
Before the day of departure, I had caught a few glimpses of the Rocky Range, off to the West. It was mysterious. After living in the flat Midwest, I found myself flabbergasted that the towering majestic rocks were just off in the distance, mere triangles on a clear day. Before leaving, we toured the wild Canadian suburbs; they were gloomy, rainy, and depressing, indicative of the trip as a whole thus far. However, the day we set off, the sun came roaring through the bedroom window, it was time to go. We loaded the backpacks and boarded the rusty old cars. Dwelling on the crappy trip that was behind me so far would have done nothing, I had bigger things to look forward to, a whole chain of them.
As we headed due west in the mid-life crisis aged Honda Civic, the tiny triangles I had gazed at before began to grow, and as they grew larger, so did my eyes. The passing plains of Alberta did not exist to me anymore, I was locked straight ahead. Modeling my father, I whipped out the camera and began taking pictures with the madness of a man who was about to lose sight. The effect that the rocks had on me was unparalleled, unexplainable by any standard. They called my name, and I obliged by taking yet another picture of them. The pinnacles reached for the sky, rising above all other things; they were the perfect combination of strength and beauty. It is unbelievable what the world has to show if you pay attention.
The final voyage to the new world was in a bus service that had shocks like solid steel on a road that fashioned more craters than the moon. After we bounced about for what felt like an eternity, we arrived at the site. I was delighted to see we were located right next to a mountain; I felt as if I could reach out and touch it. My brother and I spent all the time we could scrutinizing every last inch of the jagged mountain. We stared. Any memory of technology quickly began to fade; I was deeply embedded in a mountain range, and it was stunning. The first thing I learned from the Rockies was that, contrary to popular belief, you do not need modern society to be happy. The second thing I learned was a much more tangible lesson; you also don't need indoor plumbing to survive.
Regimented schedules evaporated each day we went out hiking through the gorgeous wilderness. As we ascended and descended treacherous and rocky slopes, as we turned corner after corner to a view that you would find on a postcard, time was never an issue. I would liken the camp we were at to a detox center; a place to go and let the fast pace of society seep out of you, until you could take your time, breathe easy, and enjoy your perfect surroundings.
When it came time to leave I could not bring myself to do it. I had grown too attached to the culture of the campground. Wake up early; eat a hearty meal in which everything tasted the same. Then go hiking for six plus hours a day and snap as many pictures as possible, but hope that your mind can hold even more. The hikes back to camp were always the best. I would find myself happily exhausted, my body ached from all the punishment the rocks could dole out, but I returned to camp, happy to see the mountain, like an old friend. Through all uncertainty, they stood tall.
It was 12:01am on July 24th; I was sitting back in my Uncle's house on Facebook and as a newly christened 17 year old. I saw the world through a different paradigm, because I knew; life is good as long as you know what matters, and enjoy it no matter what happens.