The Mountains Don't Care How Old You Are
And neither should your sense of adventure. By Del Albright
There is something downright magical about climbing a mountain in a 4WD, especially as the road keeps narrowing, the trees get shorter, and the world you left behind keeps shrinking.
The engine hums, the tires crunch over loose rock, and around every bend comes another reason to stop, take a picture, and simply marvel at the country God put on this earth.That's pretty much how I felt recently as we climbed toward 11,000 feet on Kavanaugh Ridge in California's magnificent Eastern Sierra Nevada. I've been four-wheeling for more decades than I sometimes care to admit, but I still get that same little rush of excitement when the trail climbs toward the sky, and I have absolutely no idea what spectacular sight might be waiting around the next corner.
And let me tell you, this trip did not disappoint.
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| Mike & Sally Molé with Stacie and I on Kavanaugh Ridge |
A View Only God Could Create
As we worked our way higher, the landscape changed dramatically. The tall trees gave way to twisted, stunted survivors clinging to rocky slopes. Granite peaks rose around us like ancient cathedrals, their rugged faces telling stories written over millions of years. Wisps of clouds drifted lazily across the mountaintops, casting moving shadows over a landscape that seemed to stretch forever.
Then came the lakes.
From our lofty perch, we could see five lakes scattered across the country below, some appearing almost stacked one above another as the terrain dropped away toward the distant valleys. Their blue waters sparkled against the gray granite and muted colors of the high country. It was one of those views that photographs can capture, but never quite duplicate.
Far below, those beautiful glacier-carved mountain valleys and their sparkling lakes seemed to beckon to the fisherman and young man still living somewhere inside me. I could almost feel the excitement of hiking down to those waters, fishing rod in hand, eager to discover what might be swimming beneath that glassy surface.
For a moment, my mind wandered back to younger days, when my legs were more willing, the miles seemed shorter, and a distant mountain lake was an invitation I rarely turned down.
Then a knowing smile crossed my mug.
I've been there. Done that. And still love the memories.
Funny thing about getting older. You don't necessarily lose the desire to explore every canyon, climb every ridge, or wet a fishing line in every beautiful lake. You just develop a deeper appreciation for the adventures you've already enjoyed. And sometimes, standing high above those places, remembering the good times is an adventure all its own.
I shut off the Jeep, climbed out, and stood there taking it all in.
Wowza.
I've been fortunate enough to see some incredible places in my lifetime, from jungles halfway around the world to remote deserts and mountain ranges across the American West. But standing on that ridge, surrounded by such raw beauty, I felt the same wonder I remember feeling as a young man discovering the outdoors for the first time.
Maybe that's one of the secrets to staying young. Never lose your ability to be amazed.
The Mountains Have Stories to Tell
Of course, being me, I couldn't just admire the scenery. I had to poke around a little. (Smile.)
Among the loose rocks scattered across the ridge, we discovered something fascinating. Many bore random scratches and abrasions, markings we suspected might be evidence of ancient glacial activity. Not necessarily the neat, parallel lines of classic glacial striations, but a collection of scars that made us wonder about the tremendous forces that once shaped this country.
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| Glacial abrasions on loose rock, Kavanaugh Ridge |
Imagine that for a moment. Thousands of years ago, immense masses of ice moved slowly through these mountains, grinding, scraping, and reshaping the landscape. Were these rocks bearing witness to that icy past? We couldn't say for certain, but the possibility alone was enough to send my imagination wandering back through geological time.
Here I was, standing nearly two miles above sea level, studying rocks that might have stories thousands of years older than my own. And believe me, I've accumulated a few stories. (Smile.)
And then there were the trees. Gnarled, wind-battered, and barely hanging on in places, some looked as though they had been fighting for survival since the last glacier left town. They weren't particularly tall or pretty by conventional standards, but they possessed a rugged dignity that I found irresistible.
Those old trees had character. They had endured. They had adapted.
I rather liked that.
The Older I Get, the More I See
Somewhere along the way in life, we're supposed to start slowing down. At least that's what the calendar seems to suggest. Maybe we're supposed to trade the rough trails for paved highways, the mountain ridges for comfortable chairs, and the unknown for the familiar.
Well, somebody forgot to send me that memo.
Don't misunderstand me. I know perfectly well that I'm not the same young fellow who once bounced around the mountains without giving a second thought to aching muscles or tired bones. These days, I occasionally make a few interesting noises climbing in and out of my Jeep. And I have learned that a good night's sleep is every bit as valuable as a good set of tires.
But here's the thing. While my body may have collected a few miles, my curiosity hasn't worn out.
In fact, I think the opposite is true.
I notice more now. I appreciate the little things. I spend more time studying the shape of a tree, the texture of a rock, or the way sunlight dances across a distant mountain. I wonder who traveled these ridges before me, what wildlife calls this country home, and what forces shaped the land beneath my boots.
When I was younger, reaching the top was often the adventure. These days, everything along the way is part of the reward.
And reaching the top is still pretty darn exciting!
The Real Treasure Is Still Out There
As we eventually pointed our Jeeps downhill and began the long descent toward civilization, I found myself thinking about how fortunate I am to still be doing what I love. Exploring wild country, sharing discoveries with good friends, learning something new, and occasionally getting a little dust on my hat.
These adventures don't happen by accident. They require planning, preparation, good equipment, a healthy respect for the terrain, and, perhaps most importantly, the willingness to keep going.
I'm also reminded that the privilege of reaching places like Kavanaugh Ridge depends on keeping our public lands accessible and taking care of the trails that lead us there. That's a cause I've spent much of my life working for, and days like this remind me exactly why.
But this particular day wasn't about meetings, regulations, or land-use battles. It was about the sheer joy of being alive and standing on top of a mountain, surrounded by scenery so magnificent that words seem inadequate.
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| Lundy Canyon near Lee Vining |
So, here's my advice, for whatever it's worth.
Don't let the number of candles on your birthday cake determine how much adventure you have left in you. Find a trail. Take a friend. Stop often. Look closely. Ask questions. And never pass up an opportunity to stand somewhere that makes you feel wonderfully small in a very big world.
The mountains haven't gotten any smaller, the lakes haven't lost their magic, and the trails haven't stopped calling. I've just learned that sometimes the best view includes looking back.
Because the mountains don't care how old you are.
And when you're standing at 11,000 feet, looking across a landscape only God could create, neither do you.
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| Kavanaugh Ridge by Diane Hawks |
See you on the trails!
Del Albright
