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As humans we all have certain character flaws. My personal flaw is that I sometimes think too much. It is also commonly accepted that as humans we are unique in processing a heightened awareness of our surroundings and our role in them. Whether this truly is unique to Homo sapiens is not so certain to me, but I do know that I personally have spent a large portion of my life thinking about existence and purpose. Over the relatively insignificant twenty one years of my life I have been forever building upon my experiences and ponderings to form a world view that is very distinct from any other. In actuality, these feelings have grown to become even more than a world view, because they attempt to address my questions of existence and purpose and peace. I define these feelings as my religion. These feelings usually center on the natural world, which I try to respect with every breath. I believe that every single microscopic and seemingly unessential iota of this universe has a place, a divine reason for being, that is probably just as crucial to the whole of existence as any one of us. I revel in the natural awesomeness of all places, but especially those that exist in a more uncorrupted and balanced state, no matter how barren or unforgiving they may seem to us as humans. Thus, when I get a brief chance to explore these places I tend to get a little too ambitious. I can be perfectly content examining one small handful of earth and its inhabitants for hours on end, but I also take pride in my nomadic abilities. It just seems that I have an inborn urge to "cover ground@. As a result, some of my most inspiring memories are of scrambling and gasping up rather challenging mountains where a fit hiker can climb from the lush hardwood forests to wind scorched boulder fields in a matter of hours. I can=t even really explain the satisfaction that I get from such grueling hikes, but in some way my toil and suffering almost seems like an offering of myself back to nature and its own universal laws, back to the era of survival of the fittest. My most recent ascent was of Bomber Mountain and Cloud Peak, two neighboring mountains in the Bighorn Range of Wyoming. My parents had wandered west for our annual family vacation, and they too were eager for a hike in one of our favorite wildernesses. Of course, it still was a vacation, and we did not actually begin our trek until slightly after 00 a.m. We had been warned by a local that our goals were a little unrealistic and that Mirror Lake was a rather difficult hike for only one day, but were undeterred. We decided to keep our plans flexible, head that direction, and see what would happen.
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The weather was gorgeous when we left, but slowly worsened as we climbed. Actually, that is a relative statement that assumes the weather existed just for us, and I should instead say that the weather became less and less conducive to hiking. It became somewhat colder, but more ominously rain clouds appeared to be blowing in. Undaunted, we still made far better time than predicted, and we reached Mirror Lake shortly after noon. On the brim of this almost painfully beautiful alpine lake we snacked and debriefed. My parents were tired and sore, while I was ready to set my own pace and see far more. So I collected a few small snacks, some water, and the map and headed up to Florence Pass. I was anxious to see how much it had changed in the past thirteen months, and I made excellent time. This encouraged me to climb further still in search of the sixty year old bomber wreckage that gave this foreboding mass of broken rock the name Bomber Mountain. Again I fared far better than expected and found the wreckage in short order. While investigating the twisted pieces and trying to read their story, I met a father and son team who had spent a great deal of time hiking in the area. They explained precisely how to get to Cloud Peak, the highest in the range, and what to do if I wanted to challenge myself on its boulder cluttered slopes. They insisted that I go back to the truck and load up with enough gear for two days. I could then, if I really hustled, climb back up to Mirror Lake and camp there for the night. This would put me in the perfect position to tackle Cloud Peak in the morning, but even with this head start the scramble up Cloud Peak and back in one day would be pushing the envelope. I thanked them for their help and then proceeded up the slope to the ridge, just to earn a distant glimpse of Cloud Peak. I honestly intended on following their advice and only wanted to familiarize myself with the next day's route to the summit. I am rather goal oriented and ambitious, and when I saw that summit one of my character flaws again came to the surface. I started to rationalize an excuse to go for it all, right then and there. I had already proven that I could cover far more ground than anyone expected, why shouldn't I continue? The weather looked hostile, but it had been threatening for hours now and had never intensified. The summit seemed only inches away, and I could hear the irresistible Sereines' calling to me. So, against all notions of reality, I began descending the precipitous chasm that separates Bomber Mountain and Cloud Peak. I am still surprised that I survived unscathed. It was definitely not an approved route, unless you are a mountain goat. I think that I sent about half of that ancient mountain clinking down before me in the incessant small rockslides that I created. What matters, though, is that I made it to the bottom in impressive time, which was all the more motivation to push on. As I began my climb up the opposite side of this rock strewn rift the weather final began to follow up on its threats. Soon, lightning, rain, and then freezing rain drove me to cower beneath a large boulder. But the storm began to subside within a few minutes and I was soon back on my feet and moving fast. The steepness quickly intensified, and then the boulders began growing in enormity. Before long the thin air mercilessly forced me to pause for breath almost as much as I climbed. The strain and fatigue was starting to even affect my thinking as all other thoughts drained from my consciousness. All I could think of was reaching that peak, and every time I clawed up over a ridge I was sure that I had finally accomplished my goal, or at least until I would look up to behold yet another sea of rocks. This went on for quite some time until suddenly, at over 1,000 feet, I reached a sheer precipice which almost seemed to be the end of creation. It actually scared me at its almost instantaneous appearance. Below me, by at least a thousand feet, was a small, dirty, and ribbed glacier slowly creeping into an electric blue lake. This view took my breath away, which was the last thing I needed. As I tore my eyes away form the lake's enticing beauty I could see mile after mile of forested mountains and lakes. Then, suddenly, I remembered what I had come for. I gingerly turned one hundred and sixty degrees to my left to gaze upon, only a few hundred yards away, the cairn that marks the summit of Cloud Peak. With one parting look below I began my stride up those remaining few boulders. I had done it. My life was, for at least that moment in time, complete. I had made my offering. I was exceptionally cold and fatigued, but it was all worth it a million times over. Now I only had to get home intact. Which is another story all its own.
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