Lists, they are everywhere. Cluttering my desk, tacked to my walls, written in short hand, scratched into notebooks and overflowing from the garbage can. Some of them complete, many more still wanting my attention. What I notice though is that these lists all have dates scribbled at the top, so I cannot deny that these lists are all in fact "To-Do"
Looking back at these lists and other pieces of my life I can recount an entire year of accomplishments, mishaps and memories.
In my mind, I tend to choose a moment that defines the situation or in this case the year. I won’t pretend that there is a debate between great moments because one of them undoubtedly stands out. A simple and significant interaction between the people and the place.
It was early July, and just like most memorable times would have it, everything was going wrong. Out of money, out of a job, unable to eat, pay rent or be proud of myself I sat on the hood of my car in the driveway of our spray lakes house. I Looked out over the reservoir, watched the clouds push between the mountains and the town of Canmore continue its business as usual. How could everything have strayed so far from the plan?
Refusing to feel sorry for myself, I resolved that I would do something productive with the remaining hours of light left in the day.
My climbing partner and I packed our gear, our water and our troubles and spent the night projecting a 5.10a named Johnny Neumonic. The climb itself was part of my goal to finish all the climbs of that grade in the area before the month was up. At the time it seemed a stretch that I would reach that goal. That day was my third or fourth attempt to send it.
The hours between when we arrived and when we finally completed the climb were the only ones I had all week were my thoughts were focused on just solving the problem in my face. One more bolt, one inch higher, and one more second before my footing gave out where the only things I prayed for. Not money, not food, not anything.
Not much was talked about during that time. “Pass the water” “Secure” “Clipping” These must have been the only words spoken for nearly 4 hours. A pure state of focus had fallen over those 20 vertical meters, and the 10 horizontal feet that we stood that day.
I realized this when the light finally disappeared from the valley and we coiled our rope and started the hike back to the car. When we got to the top of the hike the Mountains had given us a gift. Settled between the East end of Rundle and Chinamens peak was a full moon on a perfectly clear night that reflected off of the glass still lake. The mountain goats could be heard dropping rocks behind us and the reflection of light off the lake made the entire upper pass seem heavenly.
We took a pause, caught our breaths from the hike and looked on at that jaw dropping view. As I asked to pass the water we both realized that we had the two biggest shit eating grins on our faces out of the entire town. Nothing could bring down the high, no one could stop us from laughing at how stupid our problems were and never would I give up the pursuit of moments like those.
Go, Get Outside
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