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The Heights- Try to Remember.......then keep running; keep climbing
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"Try to remember the the days of September, when life was slow and oh, so mellow", says the writer of "The Fantastiks", sung by my student, 16 year old Brooke Gemmell when she was 10 years old. Funny how a rainy day in December reminds me of that song of another season........another chapter. The "old days", now. It's the month that I realize that I could have been in the mountains, more.........especially with my Queen of the Hills, Lynn Chase. It was also the song that I used to whistle in the quad up at OSU where I met her in 1966. She always knew that I was coming to see her when she heard it outside of her window. How much time together would have been "enough"? I really can't say.............seems hard to ever get quite enough time in the hills. But the urge to think back; to remember wanting to cram in a few more climbs before the snows of winter obliterated my favorite trails to my favorite mountains, nags me incessantly this time of year when all is covered in blanket of white.......with rain in the valley of course.
I remember being jolted out of a deep sleep. It was 3:15 A.M., Saturday, October 8th, 2005 and neither one of my alarm clocks had gone off. I was lucky........the rest of the team was due at my house at 3:30. Luckily and uncharacteristically, I had packed everything the night before so that all I had to do was to pull on my climbing pants and shirt, scarf down a bowl of cereal, gulp down a cup of hot coffee, load up with the rest of the team in Greg's van, and we were off. Off to where?
The Middle Sister in all of it's 10,065 foot glory nestled between the North Sister and South Sister, all three mountains at near 10,000 feet. Middle Sister the mountain that seemingly everyone has climbed at least one time in their lives partly because of it's awesome carved out glacial approaches and it's characteristic volcanic shape..........a beautiful conical mass.
We were off to climb it again. Three of us had climbed it before, two had not.
"Why, one more time?" I thought to myself as we hurried up frosty trail at 5:40 A.M. This was about the 20th time for me in my 57 years of life. Was it the thrill of showing it to those who had not experienced it, or was it something else? As I pondered that question, someone in the dark said, "Just think, we could be home in bed, then get up and watch a game.........eat chips, clean the house, paint the fence..........but we get to do THIS!" I thought about that, especially in light of what Kurt Diemberger said in his book, "......Omnibus",
"I wonder how many Hillarys and Tensings have never found their way to the heights, simply because they didn't believe in them sufficiently? Maybe some descendant of the Vikings, on his Sunday afternoon walk, looks longingly at the waters of some river that winds down to the sea, and he knows that he is due in the office next morning. That is where he belongs in the "programme"- by his own volition......or did he will it? Resigned, he goes home, to watch television, on whose screen he finds what he has lost; the wide, wide sea, the far off, unknown shores. And he waits for something- but what? Finally, he shakes his head, this son of the Vikings, has a look at the papers, and goes to bed."
To get up and get out any way I can is a necessity. My father, a lyric tenor for most of his life, could no longer sing or speak in his later years. He found his way out with his walker..........stooped over........shuffled a half block down to Bi-Mart to buy some candy bars and shuffled home. Mom, 86 years old, a fine pianist and active mountain lady, can no longer play or walk because of a debilitating stroke. She finds her heights simply by shuffling down to the balcony above the cafeteria in her wheel chair..........climbs aboard her stationary bike and pedals for 15 minutes. Then, she climbs stairs with the aid of her trainer. I am proud of their quests, no matter how small they may seem to others..........it is their heights.
To believe in our heights and what they can do for us is what adds dimension to our everyday existence. It is non-"programme", a form of pleasant rebellion. The mountain and the struggle to it's summit gives the valley new meaning and relevance, no matter how many times you climb it.
I climb it not because it is there, but because I believe in what it does to my heart and my head. And I get very special satisfaction in climbing with and showing others, especially my wife. God created it for that.
This year, Lynn and I are climbing the steepest mountain, ever, together. It is hard, and grueling.........and lonely at times. The old seemingly mellow "norm" has past, merely to be remembered. The new "normal" has arrived. Remembering is crucial, but "climbing on" is essential. Every day here in the valley has new meaning because of this bleak and towering mass.
The summit looms above us in the clouds. We have no idea what awaits us, but we climb on. The mountain climbing maxim says, "the summit is optional, but getting back down is mandatory", is a life and death statement. Everyone who climbs mountains risks death, but the ultimate goal is to get home. So my sweet Queen of the Hills, remember when I used to yell out to you, "on belay" and you would say, "belay on", then you would say, "climbing", and I would yell, "climb on"? I say it to you again, today, Wifel, "CLIMB ON, BABE!" I've got you.........and God has us.
It's another season..........another chapter, but the memories are beautiful, and so is the view from the
heights.
Psalms 121:1:
A song of ascents
"I will lift up my eyes to the hills-
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord
the maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip-
he who watches over you will not slumber.........
The Lord watches over you-
The Lord is your shade at your right hand;
The sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.
The Lord will keep you from all harm-
he will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore."
David
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David Lowell Chase
158 South Garden Way Eugene, OR 97401 "The notes I handle no better than many pianists.
But the pauses between the notes ah, that is where the art resides." Artur Schnabel 1927
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