I see an ocean.

It's depth scares me so. And I know this fear well. Crashing upon this shore. Surging forth with power beyond this creature's reckoning. The thunderous collision of it's strength. Beautiful? Yes with beauty. Moving about with clever grace and mystery.

I feel the ocean.

I feel the ocean but I can't touch it. Salty drips of liquid mockery collide with my face as if to pronounce, though I may feel its breath, I may not swim in its place in this world.

You are there and I am here. Why these tethers? Why not the handshack of our bodies? You splashing, me running. Jumping at the drum of my bare feet on your shores. The pounding of my heart beat, the thundering of your liquid applause. A union of bodies - your's massive, mine oh so small.

And I hear the ocean.

I hear the ocean but I see mountains before me. Insurmountable I called them once and call them still. Menacing they claim to be. And I know it well. I cannot climb their snow caped crowns.

And to my knees I falter. Ocean come to me! I hear, I see - no I feel you. I know you're there. Come to me I cry. For this ridge I cannot tame, this peak I've failed to conquer. Is this fate now mine? This legacy, the collision of faltered hopes and failed dreams.

For you are there and I am here and I fear that never shall the two meet.

Minus 20

The wind was like a thousand knives peeling, cutting, detaching my skin from my body.

It was minus 20 degrees. Any exposed skin promptly submitted to the strong arm of winter by way of a white flacky complexion. Early stages of frostbite. There were slivers of exposed skin beneath and above my sunglasses that allowed the wind to drive stakes into my head with uninhibited force. We were only a mile and a half in when I found myself saying, "This is not good. I can't make it." At the time standing at the base of what I thought would be my floor at some point in the day.

So no, we weren't at the summit of Mt. Quandary. In fact we weren't anywhere close.

I found out the hard way that I don't have all the equipment I need to tackle a mountain in the dead of winter.

I was beaten. Quandary ate my lunch, handed me my hat, the question of "whose your daddy" was answered by a rock lying just northwest of Breckenridge.

And so with a middle finger held high in Mt. Quandary's general direction I've begun the process of recollecting my strength, will and nerves in an attempt to transition from being the conquered to being the conquerer.

And to Mt Quandary I say this: Your day will come. You will submit to my will.

Oh yes...

you will.

Mt. Quandary

I'm climbing Mt. Quandary this Saturday. Pretty excited - and scared. Can I do this thing? Have I got what it takes to accomplish the task? I suppose that's one of the reasons I'm so transfixed with climbing. Every time I step up to one of these monuments of rock and dirt I'm stepping up to the edge of myself. The edge of my masculinity. Asking the questions of me that demand answers. Whether it's failure or victory they must be answered. Because one's failure in applying meaning to his existence is worse than the failed attempts it will take in getting him there.

Why do we explore and why do we wonder? What are we looking for? To see what's around the corner? Why do we care what lies around the bend? Maybe we're looking for ourselves. Not the self that we come face to face with every day. But something deeper, a part of us that we haven't discovered yet. That we don't meet very often. Or ever. Does that mean we all need to climb moutains? No. But mountains take on many different shapes in one's life, agreed?

And so my questions to you is this, have you climbed a mountian lately? Not have you conquered one but have you tried to climb one?

Rocky Mountain National Park

Another snow shoe trip. I even included a picture of me.This one was in the Rocky Mountain National Park up near Estes Park.

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