Only one week passed since our return from the Northern Rockies. The inspiration of the range has not completely vanished, but it is diminished. A burning desire to accomplish has been replaced by a slow burn of long term motivation. It is always so, as I fumbled through reentry into the day to day.
When I close my eyes, I see the clouds race across faces of glaciers and rock. I can feel the burn of cold air in my lungs, and the sting of snow crystals blowing into my face. I envision myself just beyond the mist, disappearing into the mountain.
Our honeymoon was the first time I had been to the Canadian Rockies in close to twenty years. I had vague memories of the peaks and hanging valleys, the glaciers and the seracs, the scope and majesty of the range. Twenty years of mountain adventures diluted the initial awe I felt of the range.
My first exposure to the Canadian Rockies came by means of a family trip to Jasper, Alberta. My mother was great at planning trips for younger people, and planned a guided hike on the Columbian Icefield. I was so excited to wear crampons, and our guide had a harness and rope coiled over his shoulder, ice axe in hand! While we were hiking along the glacier, I looked upon the mountain which would come to define me. Mt Andromeda.
The twin peaks, joined by a massive ridge… the glacier and hanging valley… this mountain was in a different league than those of Southwest Montana, my native mountains. Here, the wild power of glaciers were plainly evident. I didn’t need to imagine where the ice flowed, it was right in front of me. I asked our guide, “do people climb up there?” I remember his wry grin, and his stating, “yes. If you train, and get experience, I'll take you up there.”. Thus, a climber was born.