44. Ancient Giants

Nothing like nature to give you a dose of humility. To put you in a more accurate state of mind, reminding you that you are not the beez neez, or the greatest thing since sliced bread. To remind you that this world does not revolve around you and that it did not skip a beat when you were born and will not skip a beat when you die. To remind you that your personal stresses, problems, or issues are such a small and minuscule part of this world. 

It almost draws a laugh out of me as I sit here looking up at a 2,200 year old sequoia tree. This tree was alive and growing when I was stressing out about which major to choose my freshman year of college. It was there when my dad was stressing out about which major to choose. It was there when Abraham Lincoln was stressing out about whether to accept his nomination and run for President or not. It was there when King Alfred the Great was keeping the Vikings from taking over all of England. It was there when Jesus was in the Garden of Gethsemane knowing what was about to come. I’m not saying those were not stressful or monumental times. What I am saying is that this tree has lived through all of it and is still watching our world from its’ throne. What would this tree say if it could talk? What stories would it tell? I spent 2 days of my 11,220 days on this earth so far walking amongst these giants. And these giants spent 2 days of their 600,000 to 1,000,000 day lives (and counting) looking down at me. 

Everything about them is humbling. 

The size of General Sherman, General Lee, and the countless named and unnamed sequoias is just baffling. You think you have entered into the land that Homer wrote about in the Iliad and at any moment a 40’ giant could come thundering through the forest. They command your awe and respect as they tower above you, some stretching over 270 feet tall. And as the largest tree in the world, by sheer mass, General Sherman sits 36 feet in diameter at his trunk. And six stories up he’s still nearly 18’ wide. It’s hard to comprehend the sheer size of these ancient living towers. 

Giants they are. Creating a right sense of self. It’s funny to learn so much from something that’s never said a word. 

43. More is not always more

It took a couple weeks to fully adjust to crawling into a bed 27” wide and 80” long. Crawling or rolling over into it is exactly what I do since I can’t fully sit up with the 25” of clearance from the top of the bed to the cedar roof. Even sitting on the bench side of the van it felt small. Understandable so, since I’m calling roughly 146 cubic feet of space home for a little while. And that includes a bench, a bed, pantry, spice rack, refrigerator, stove, pots and pans, wardrobe, shoe rack, electrical box, external battery, and little storage space for some gear. Just for reference, the smaller of my two closets at home is roughly 192 cubic feet. It makes me laugh just thinking about it. And on top of that, for 23 days and nights, that space housed me plus another. 

After day 15 or 16 is when Pearl became home. Something changed in my psychological thought process of rolling over into the narrowest bed I’ve slept in since I was child. Sure while camping my sleeping pad is probably close to that. But seriously, this is my full-time bed we’re talking about here. This isn’t a weekend of “roughing” it. This is life. It didn’t fully set in until I was offered a couch to sleep on in Bozeman, MT and turned it down because of my preference for my 6” memory foam bed inside my cedar walled cocoon. 

Stepping up into Pearl and heaving the stubborn sliding door closed brought a sense of comfort and protection. It was my constant in a world of daily change. New landscapes, new streams, new people, new roads, new weather, everything was new except Pearl. Stepping into Pearl felt like pulling into your driveway, unlocking your door, and stepping inside your house after a long rough day of work. It just feels right. 

I ponder what it will be like to drive down Bainbridge Drive and step back into my 2,200 square foot house. Or more comparatively, my 23,000 cubic foot home, not including the garage, attic, basement storage, outside storage, deck space, or front porch space. I believe I will be frustrated with the amount of space. The amount of things. My mindset for the past five months has been, “what can I do without?” “What can I throw away?” “What can I compromise for the sake of organization and tidiness?” Back on Bainbridge Drive, I have 3 couches, 3 recliners, 4 dining room chairs, 2 bar stools, 3 computer chairs, and 4 folding chairs for back up. All those things do is hold butts. That’s it! I could go on, I have two closets in my room and they hold stuff that I can’t even remember what’s in there. I’m getting frustrated just thinking through the amount of crap that I have stored, boxed, stacked, hung, packaged, tucked, and stuffed all through my home. The heck! Ugh! Why? There might be a day in 2021 where I’m invited to an 80’s party and I will pull out my retro Nike wind breaker that’s been stuffed in the back of my closet for the last 3 years and I’ll be ready! Gross. I think the only combative argument I have against that is the utilitarian and frugality side of me. “If you throw that away, some day will come and you’ll wish you had that one thing.” “Mason, now you’ll need to buy another one of those widgets because like a fool you threw it away 18 months ago.” 

I foresee a small home in my future. Is it possible to host 20 person dinner parties out of a small home? I don’t know. Maybe with the right layout? Not sure. But what I do know, is that I love stepping up into my cedar walled closet on wheels, closing the door behind me, making dinner, pouring a glass of wine, watching a movie, and then crawling up into my bed. I love picking something up, realizing I it is essentially a duplicate of something else and throwing it away. 

Pearl is a home where everything gets used or it gets thrown away. I think I have tried to make my home on Bainbridge Drive a place that puts too much emphasis on comfort and minimizing inconvenience to a degree that has led to excessive purchasing and hoarding. I’ve realized that when there is a degree of “making due” in my life with certain things, the amount of joy and thankfulness increases. When I have “all I need” it even minimizes the ability for others to love and care for me in simple ways. I’m not going to dive off into the correlation between close relationships, trust in the Lord, and a right sense of self as it pertains to having “all I could ever need” but believe that there is a lot to be picked apart and dissected in that space. 

42. Catalina Islands

My lungs feel like they are the size of watermelons, growing larger as each second passes. The pressure against my chest continues to increase. “Air, you need air.” My body is no longer asking my head to obey, it’s telling it to. “Air!” It begins to say louder and louder. But there! Fifteen feet away I spot a kelp bass hiding under a rock ledge. His fins waving back and forth keeping his body resting motionless in a ever moving tide. I slow the kick of my fins so as to not alarm him of danger. Ten feet away. Pulling my spear back, the bungee loads and I grip down tighter to keep it from shooting until the right moment. The tip of the spear sharpened with a file is ready to claim it’s next subject. The bass, facing the away from me, allows me to continue my slow steady approach unnoticed. My only movement now is coming from my legs behind me, slowly, steadily moving my fins back and forth. Cruising through the water gives my body a unique sensation of flying. It’s incredible. “AIR!” My body screams at my head so as to scare it into an ascent towards freedom. But I know this is a mental game more than anything, my lungs can go longer than this. Right? Surely. “Keep moving,” my mind commands my body to obey. The kelp bass is now only seven feet away. Placing my left hand on the jutting out section of reef he is hiding under, I guide my body towards the ocean floor for a broadside shot. As my head turns sideways to see around the edge of the reef, water floods my ears as the trapped air escapes. As the water hits my eardrums a burst of cold feeling inters my head. But I’m focused, and neither the cooling sensation on my eardrums or the rubbed raw spot on my ankles from the fins don’t draw my focus. “AIRRRR!” My lungs are now enraged that they have not been given relief and will not be ignored any longer. They begin a constant scream at my head to concede. I can’t tell myself it’s a head game anymore, my body must have air. The only thing keeping me there is desire. Now only five feet away, the bass senses something isn’t right and begins to turn. Lungs screaming, head unable to think of anything but relief, my arm thrusts out and lets go of the spear simultaneously. The spear launches forwards towards the bass. But he had turned just enough and saw my arm thrust forwards. As the spear rocketed from my hand, the bass shot forwards like a bullet from a riffle causing the spear tip to brush his tail fin and blow past him into the sandy ocean floor. As the spear tip hit the sand my feet were already unconsciously kicking ferociously. “AIR!! AIR!! AIR!!” Twenty-five feet away. Twenty. Fifteen. The mirror underside of the waters surface is getting closer and closer through my goggles. Ten Feet. Five feet. “HUUHHHHHHHH!” My lungs explosively draw air down in to my chest deflating the pressure that had been so long neglected. Only then can I muster, “Bollocks!” Out from my lips while treading water trying to catch my breath. “How could I have missed again!?” I say to myself with frustration as salt water enters in. Spitting it out I see Matt clambering over the side and into the dingy with a nice sheepshead stuck on the end of his spear. “Aghhh!!” I shake my head, clear my snorkel, and begin swimming the surface scanning the ocean floor for another opportunity.

Sailing to the Catalina islands for the weekend last month to go spear fishing was by far one of the highlights of the trip so far. Partly because sailing is a blast and something I had never experienced before. Partly because I got to try my hand at spear fishing. But mostly because of the goons I got to be with on the trip. 

41. Be Silly

I chose a grassy spot just off the paved trail that ties Venice beach and Santa Monica beach together. It was an ideal spot for me to focus in and do some writing...

When I’m adventuring, it’s easy to end up with no down days to write, read, or rest. My mind tends to say, “Go! Go! Go! Otherwise, you’ll miss out on getting the most out of this time.”  But I believe the real truth is the exact opposite. When I force myself to sit back and be mindful about what I’m experiencing, the more rich my experiences become. Unfortunately, at times, I can let the “Go! Go! Go!” shout louder than what I know to be true. As strange as it may sound, I begin to miss out by doing too much. Consequently, looking back at my life, I become the most exasperated with juggling work, family time, friendships, have-to-dos, and want-to-dos when I don’t set time aside to be write, read, and rest. I might neglect it because I don’t feel like I have the time available or maybe it’s because I would rather do something active, but regardless, it can end up on the back burner. I don’t meditate. I don’t practice mindfulness. I just, Go! Go! Go! 

I’m reminded of a conversation I had with a good friend not long ago. He had began obsessing about reading one book every month. Always making sure the next book was one that would teach him to be a better father, husband, business man, investor, you name it and he was reading how to be better than he was yesterday. Most any person would respect and revere him for doing so. But, after a year of this it became apparent to him that he hadn’t stored the information he had read. He was eating so much intellectual food that his body wasn’t able to digest it at his rate of consumption. That’s how I feel if I don’t mindfully stop and digest life. Think through what’s happening, how I’m responding, enjoying, engaging, and experiencing this thing called “life”. 

...So, I chose this little tree in the grass to lean up against to be mindful and write about life of late. Half an hour had eased by and during my time of writing, I bet over 500 people had passed by me biking, skating, walking, running, dancing, and scooting. I hadn’t paid them any attention. But then a young family came to a stop on their bikes in the grass just a little ways away. The dad put his kick stand down and began to get their son out of the kid carrier. A boy near the age of three or four popped out and plopped down on the blanket his mom had just laid down. A moment later the little boy was running from tree to tree circling the little picnic as if he were being chased and the only safe spot was touching a tree. He was grinning from ear to ear giggling.

Shifting my focus from my writing to watching the little boy play, I watched as he ran from tree to tree with his imagination lighting up his face. I wonder who or what he imagined was chasing him? I wonder what kind of fortress his eyes were seeing when he would look at the trees? He was having the time of his life on a pretty plain patch of grass between four trees. After five minutes of this, his dad, still somewhat baby faced himself, jumped up and entered his child’s world. He landed hunched over with his feet wide and his arms out like he was trying to hug a sequoia tree. The monster had entered the scene. Growling and muttering the deep grumblings of a troll he began his pursuit. His boy wide eyed, laughed with glee and began running from tree to tree much faster now in order to escape the gangly armed troll. Around and around the picnic blanket the child ran always barely escaping the grasp of the troll. This way and that, they ran. The troll never broke character and even hurdled the bikes a time or two always landing in his hunched over arms out troll style. The troll was now making efforts to stay an arm length away from the boy but still keep the pursuit so as to never catch him. The laughter of the boy could be heard overtop the folk music playing through my earbuds. I turned my music off to hear the shouts of joy and laughter untainted by the music I had chosen for the afternoon writing session. After ten minutes the troll fell in a heap of exhaustion on the picnic blanket. As if the fall had caused the troll to immediately transform back into “Dad”, the boy came running in and jumped into his dads arms. 

Silliness. It’s a medicine not just for those who are involved but also for spectators. Kids do the best to bring silliness out of people, even those who believe they have outgrown it. If you find yourself taking life too seriously, make a point to spend some time around a child. Be a troll, a princess, or whatever the scene calls for. Change your voice, become the character, enter into the child’s imagination. Forget who is watching and fully submerge into the silliness. It’s safe to say, silliness is better than any drug or doctor prescribed medicine. 

So stop taking life so seriously, and find an excuse to be silly. There’s no age restriction, no income restriction, no maturity restriction, no responsibility restriction, none. The only restriction is the one we place on ourselves. So, unbuckle yourself, and get to it. Who knows, you might just inspire others to find the joy and laughter that silliness brings into our world. 

One of my favorite humans to be silly with! Love you CC!

39. Door Of Adventure

When you start off on an adventure living out of a van you don’t expect to find yourself at a wine tasting event with a handful of Jackson, WY locals. But that’s the beauty of adventuring. Nothing turns out quite like you expect. Maybe receiving joy from situations that ebb and flow away from the original plan is isolated to certain personalities, I can’t say for sure. But what I can say, is that I love the unexpected, the unplanned for, the shifts, the changes, the last second decisions whether to turn right or left. That’s what adventuring is all about in my book. 

I mean, what are you suppose to do when you accidentally leave your only warm jacket 7 miles out in the Yellowstone wilderness and it drops to 20 degrees with snow covering your van a week later? Or what do you do when your van locks you out without food, water, or warmth while you’re back in the sticks of a Wyoming national forest? What do you do when every camping site in the 30 miles between Grand Teton National Park and Yellowstone National Park are all full and you’re looking for a place to sleep? What do you do when a two day stop in Bozeman, MT turns into two weeks and you’re timeline is now totally off? What do you do when you’re miles out in the desert land of Wyoming and your original mountain bike tire and your spare both pop leaving you stranded? Or what do you do when you are miles away from your campsite back up in Shoshoni National Forest and the chain on your bike decides to break in two? What do you do? I’ll tell you what you do, you roll with it. 

But adventuring is not all about the unexpected problem or hurdles, sometimes it’s the unexpected blessing. What do you do when a guy working at the local fly shop walks in, hands you a beer, tells you to go check out the local rodeo, and then come out for beers later? What do you do when a random stranger tells you of a secret fishing stretch along the North Platte River? What do you do when you meet a random Italian guy in the middle of a national forest who invites you to join him and his pup on a hike to a mountain top lake. What do you do when you’re invited to float and fish the Madison River on a friend of a friend of a friend’s drift raft? What do you do when people offer to let you use their showers and run a load of laundry while you’re in town? What do you do when a girl asks you if you want to climb to the roof of a downtown office building while in Bozeman, MT? What do you when a guy with “Salsa Man” written across his shirt with a marker at a farmers market in Casper, WY asks you if you want to try his spicy salsa called “The Reaper”? What do you do when you’re invited to help bottle a batch of wine with the local winery? What do you do when you’re invited to a local hangout after last call at a bar in a town so small it doesn’t have a name? I’ll tell you what you do, you roll with it. 

When the door of adventure cracks open, don’t be afraid to push it wider and walk through into the unknown. 

37. Don’t Be Afraid To Say, “Yes”

I found myself struggling to keep bites of homemade spatzle in my mouth due to the belly laughing circulating through the six of us at the dinner table. If joy and laughter required a certain amount of square footage, this tiny arched cabin would have exploded. Sitting at the dinner table, we took up a large portion of the open floor plan of the downstairs space. You could be anywhere in the downstairs space in seven steps or less. The beautiful quaint kitchen held barely enough room for two people to move about. A handful of plates, bowls, cups, and mugs sat lovingly placed upon the natural wood grain open shelves. Flames danced behind the door of the wood furnace in the corner producing the only source of heat the cabin had to make it through the Idaho winters. A small bathroom contained the only interior door in the cabin. A ladder near the front door led up to the simple and efficient bedroom above. And it was in this space, amongst the laughter of new friends that I felt the most at home I have since I left my house over three months ago. Since living in the van I have learned that it’s not the amount of space you have, it’s how you use the space that makes it special. Sitting at the table looking up at the skis in the rafters above me I smiled at how efficient this cabin was being used. I was with new found family. In a town I had never been before, in a cabin I had never been in before, in a room of people I had met less than 24 hours before, I was with new found family. 

I arrived to the Ross Creek Cedars in Idaho due to a suggestion from a group of people I had met while at Symes hot springs in Montana. Getting out of Pearl I stepped around to grab my jacket and overheard, “How long is this hike?” The guys parked next to me were discussing the hike and I tuned in to see if I could learn what I was also wondering. Interjecting myself into the conversation we started chatting. This led to me joining their group for the hike. Before long I was helping Tim and Tawny’s little girl Willow over streams and down from tall logs. I could just tell the way they talked and interacted that there was something different about them. “Hey, I have a feeling like I already know the answer to this...” I started in as we hiked through the 1000 year old cedars, “...do y’all know Jesus?” A smile crept over their faces. “Yes, indeed we do.” Tim answered back. “I grew up in the Dominican Republic in a missionary family and Toby, the German over there, and his wife Shalom were also missionary kids. And yes, Jesus plays a big part in our lives.” That answered it all. The scripture, “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” came to mind. And that’s exactly what it was, it was their inclusivity and love that made them different than the average Joe. An hour later the hike came to an end. Toby strolled over and in his German accent asked me if I wanted to join for dinner and games that evening. They lived over an hour back the other way from the direction I was needing to go. I had even told a friend I would be at his house that evening in Sandpoint, ID which was a couple hours the other direction. Weighing my options I knew that I had no option but to say, “Yes” and join. 

For the next 24 hours I ate every meal with them, played every game with them, talked Jesus, politics, and everything in between with them. I even accidentally smoked everyone out of the house the next morning at 7am when I couldn’t get the wood burning furnace to work properly. Coughing and laughing all five of them with sleep still in their eyes came down the stairs. That day for lunch I learned how to make homemade spatzle thanks to Toby and his family roots. I’ve never felt so accepted and close to a group of people after only knowing them for only 24 hours. Truly a blessing of knowing Jesus and meeting others who also know Him. 

When adventure asks you if you want to join, don’t be afraid to go out of your way and say, “Yes”. As a good friend of mine once told me, “Adventure begins when you are no longer in control.”

38. To Be Still

To lie on your back watching clouds morph and dance across the sky. To listen to the babbling brook, the different sounds of her voice clambering on and on. To watch a dragonfly dance in the sun. To notice the business of a bird go about its daily tasks. To watch shadows move. That, is to be still. It is an art. A lost art in many ways. To be still long enough that nature forgets you’re there. Or to notice the feel of the temperature drop degree by degree as the suns light gives way. That, is to be still.  

Only then, in that stillness, can one fully analyze the senses that God gave us. To notice the feeling of the sun warmed rock upon your back. To pick apart the thousands of sounds the forest shares, each from it’s own source, picking them apart like a child separating his marble collection. To see the maze of veins running through the backside of a mesmerizing yellow maple leaf after its final Fall decent. To taste the swirling mixture of tart and sugary sweetness of a wild raspberry pulled from its thorny hiding place. To smell the cool fresh scent of a mountain brook. Only in those times of stillness, can the senses be fully appreciated.    

It seems that our attention spans are shortening. The advertisements must be quicker, more unique, more colorful to catch our eye. All 5,000 that the average person sees in a day are fighting for 3 to 5 seconds of our attention to convey their message before they lose us to checking Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, or a myriad of other attention drain holes. Are the days of watching clouds a thing of the past? Has finding beauty in a sunlit leaf become archaic? Will people still lie on their backs and be enamored by tall pines stretching upwards towards the heavens? Has our world traded our ability to find joy in the little things for the ability to swipe right or to double tap a “like”? 

I believe the most needed medicine our world needs is a prescription to walk out to an open field, lie down, and pick out what the clouds draw as they dance across the sky.  

To be still... 

40. Old Friends

 Ben Rector said it best...

“You can grow up, and make new ones

But truth is there's nothing like old friends

'Cause you can't make old friends

And I've got some good friends now

But I've never seen their parents' back porch

I wouldn't change how things turned out

But there's no one in this time zone

Who knows what inline skates that I wore

Can you take me back when we were just kids

Who weren't scared of getting older? 

'Cause no one knows you like they know you

And no one probably ever will

You can grow up, make new ones

But the truth is

That we grow up, then wish we could go back then

There's nothing like old friends 

'Cause you can't make old friends”

I sit here on a boat grinning from ear to ear between laughs surrounded by old friends. These are not just any old friends, they’re “The Family”. Any one of them can tell you handfuls of stories of what has made me into the man I am today. To my left, Matt is feet up and head down nearly asleep as the rest of the crew is making playful jabs back and forth telling old and new stories. Max and Trent are sitting kicked back on the bench across from me scheming up something that the rest of us can’t hear but will be sure to see come to fruition at our expense in the moments to come. Having been roommates with Max for the better part of two years gave us many late night conversations discussing all the finer and many times more sticky situations life brings. We still to this day call them “Blue Chair Conversations.” Anytime we need to hash something out we often reference the 1960’s baby blue cushioned chair we used to sit in back in the day as those late night convos flowed. To my right Alex, now Alex Lambert, leans up against Annamarie as they drill me with questions of a recent date I went on. However, their questions turn into more advising me of where I went wrong and telling me what I should have said or should have done. They play the sister role to a “T”. There are only a few women who have earned the right to give me a mixture of hounding and correction and they are two of them. The only person in the room I’ve known longer than Alex is Matt. Meeting Matt roughly fifteen years ago in high school we have more stories together than I can count. He brought Alex around for the first time almost ten years ago and there are mixed stories floating around but the truth is that I married them over a seafood dinner nearly two years ago now. Yessir, you’re reading the writings of an ordained minister in the state of California. 

If I added up the years of friendship between the six of us, I’m looking at somewhere near fifty years of friendship between them and I. And that’s not even including another eight years of friendship with Jeremy who didn’t make it out on this trip but is also a member of “The Family”. Naturally, his wife is incredible and she’s been adopted in the family. So that adds several more years to the total. Needless to say, we’ve all been friends for somewhere between half and one third of our lifetimes to date. 

One of the greatest desires of human beings is be known. It’s a better gift than gold. When we meet people we want to grow close to, we tell them about ourselves and share with them experiences we’ve had during our lifetime. We do this to try and explain who we are and what makes us, us. This is all fine an dandy and not to be overlooked. But there are a few people who know you based off years of being by your side, having lived those stories with you. Years of being neighbors. Years of exploring together. Years of sharing meals together. Years of being stupid together. Years of watching Sunday afternoon football together. Years of making breakfasts, brunches, lunches, and dinners together. Years of laughting and crying together. Years of traveling to Austin, New Orleans, Tahoe, St. Louis, Nashville, Denver, Miami, Atlanta, Portland, Las Angelas, Oklahoma City, Dallas, Santa Barbara, Central America, and even overseas together. There’s a different level of being known when you can sit across from friends and without saying a word, be known. It takes time. It takes walking through through different life stages together. It takes hotel rooms, rental cars, Uber rides, and lost luggage adventures. It takes learning how to share sushi between five lions and not fight over it. It takes eating street food together not knowing exactly what it is you’re even eating. It takes pushing the limits of life and death together.  

There may be other ways of creating this level of being known, but this is how it happened for me. You don’t choose your blood family. But you do get to choose your friends. I’ve been blessed beyond measure with not only my family, but also the friends I have in my life. I don’t think I could have written it out any better than how it’s come to fruition. To that, I give God the glory.

The best advice I can give anyone who is wanting to build closer friendships, is to go travel and cook food side by side with the people you want to become close to. Go to cities you’ve never been to. Try cooking things you’ve never cooked before. Share new experiences, get into a little bit of mischief, don’t be afraid to dive into deep meaningful conversation, travel, eat, and dance together. That is the recipe for rich friendships. And if you’re lucky, you’ll be doing those same things with the same people come two years, and then five years, and ten years, and then you have “old friends”. That’s how it happened for me. 

 

36. Highline

A bead of sweat falls down the front of my sunglasses leaving a trail behind as it falls. The breeze feels brisk and cold as I take my hat off revealing my sweat soaked hair. Even at six miles in I feel great. My feet are finding the flat spots between the bigger rocks as I cruise down the trail. To my right the hillside climbs so steeply you could stand and nearly reach out and touch the hillside. To my left is a hillside that would send you tumbling a good ways before your body would be able to stop due to the grade. And looking out are granite mountain peaks as far as the eye can see. 

My pack is too heavy, per usual. Earlier that morning, I filled my 80oz water bladder to the top before I started thinking that I might have gone a little overkill. I also packed three granola bars, a cup of trail mix, a package of tuna, an avocado, a tangerine, and some kale. Even then I had to consciously tell myself to stop putting food in my pack. I have a problem. I love packing too much gear and almost always overpack on food. Two things reign supreme when I camp or hike and those are that I will not want a piece of gear and be without and I for sure will not go hungry. This unfortunately lends itself to overpacking and when you are planning on running / hiking 14+ miles in a day, every pound counts. But alas, here I am at the chalet having averaged 4.5 miles per hour and typing this on my iPad. Yes, I even threw my iPad in my pack. But when you’re alone it’s not a bad idea to always pack your headlamp, extra layers, rain jacket, extra food and extra water. When crap hits the fan, I’d rather be prepared. 

I got some funny looks as I jogged down the two to three foot wide trail with a 300 foot drop off to my left. A kid even asked as I passed by, “Why are you running?” And the only answer I could think of was, “Some people have a little crazy in them.” I said back over my shoulder keeping my pace. Which is not far from the truth. But having jogged the first three miles of this trail with Tim Bailey five days prior, I had the drive to jog the flats and downhills and hike the uphills the 7.5 miles to the chalet. 

There are only two places that have truly taken my breath away with the sheer impressiveness of its magnitude. Driving into the valley of Yosemite with El Capitan and Half Dome rising into the sky is tied with driving the Going-To-The-Sun Road or hiking the Highline Trail in Glacier as the two most impressive mountain view’s I’ve ever witnessed. I can’t rank them which one is better than the other, they’re different. It’s like if I told you to think of the most amazing Italian meal made by a 70 year old Sicilian grandmother in her own kitchen and compare it against a Mediterranean meal made in the same fashion from a kitchen in Athens. How can you say one is better than the other? This may not resonate if you dislike one of these cuisines but plug in two that you love and you’ll have a better understanding. There is no “better”, they are top of the line in their own uniqueness. Just the sights that your eyes behold draw out a verbal response of shock and awe. I’ve never been in a car with someone in either of these locations without exclamations of wonderment. The sheer amount of rock that rises above you in both is truly unreal. 

As I sit here at the chalet a few of the mountain peaks are still holding fast to isolated sections of deep snow from the winter before. The northern faces hold the majority of what’s left having been mostly shielded from the summer sun. Elsewhere on the higher peaks the season’s first snow from a week ago is sprinkled about as if you had dusted them with powdered sugar. Following the steep grades of the mountain peaks downward, there are lines of snow drawn across the faces horizontally showing outcroppings holding snow and the sheer dark granite drop offs below much like if you were to look at a stack of Oreos. Dropping down the sides you find the tree line dark green with yellows and oranges sprinkled in with areas of cardinal red as the patches of huckleberry bushes begin to take their most vibrant colors. Their leaves will soon begin to drop in another couple weeks. It’s breathtaking. 

Between the tree line and the sheer peak drop offs there lies one snow white mountain goat carefully choosing his steps upon a surface that is surely impossible for any human to tread with just their hands and feet. Life upon the mountain is unforgiving. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my years in the wilderness, it’s that nature is unforgiving. It doesn’t care if you’re cold, wet, hurt, or hungry it will continue with or without you. I can’t imagine what that goat has seen weather wise just in the last year. People are soft when you compare them against animals who live in the mountains. Even the chipmunks that are scurrying around my feet hoping that I drop a crumb of my granola bar are hard core. In a month they will begin their six months of living under the snow surviving on dead grass and any insects they can find. It’s truly amazing how God has designed it all. Truly amazing. 

After making a few friends at the chalet, exchanging hiking honey holes, and taking in the sites for a few hours I decided it was time to get a move on. I had eaten more than half of what I had brought food wise and was ready to kick it into high gear. It was 2:30pm and I had a long way to go. A day before I had run into a park ranger off duty hiking and we talked about summiting peaks in the park. It had ignited a need in me to go as high as I could. To stand on the top. I don’t know what God put inside of me to ignite this need but it’s there. It always has been. If there’s a piece of land higher than where I’m standing, I must go up. I must go up until I can’t go higher. It’s a draw, a tug, a voiceless magnetic pull upwards. 

Looking around I saw the highly popular trail leading to The Garden Wall overlooking Grinnell Glacier. Having hiked it four years ago the desire was less intriguing. Scanning left I saw a taller mountain peak with a trail leading away from the handful of people scattered on the Highline trail. Throwing on my pack I took off. Upwards and away from people I went. Passing a sign that said, “High bear activity area, be alert!” I felt my heart quicken with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. I started giving my “Hey Bear!” Shouts as I entered a wooded draw between the peaks. My breath quickened as I ascended the incline of the peak. And now feeling the colder air and more fierce winds strike my face I realized that time was of the essence. Like a punch to the chest it hit me, “No one else is going to climb this peak today. It’s too late in the afternoon for that. And I highly doubt anyone is still up on this peak right now. I am alone summiting this peak and coming back down. If I screw up or something happens, I will be spending the night up here. I don’t have any overnight gear or way to stay warm enough for the oncoming sub 30 degree temps that are on their way. Mason, don’t be an idiot. Hike smart, stay safe, and get down off this thing in the next two hours, on two feet. 

Climbing the last 50 feet of the 1,747 foot elevation gain up from the chalet reveals some of the most amazing views in the park standing at 8,440 feet above sea level. On one side, the cliffs fall away so steep you can’t see the wall dropping away beneath you. The other side, a 1800+ foot granite rock face dropping down to Upper Grinnell Lake welcomed me. The winds are whipping ferociously around me almost enough to lean into them to stay upright. Thank goodness there were no storm clouds close by otherwise I would not have summited due to the risk of lightning. But the temps were dropping as the sun began its downward descent and I was standing 10 miles away from my van. It was breathtaking, but it was time to get my butt in gear and get a move on. “Remember Mason, you’re alone. It’s up to you to get your butt off this mountain, safely. No one’s coming if you get in a tight spot.” I said to myself. I hadn’t done anything too risky or foolish to this point, but, as someone who enjoys pushing the limit, I have to remind myself that there are times when I have the freedom to push and the times I should not. This was a non pushing-the-limit moment. I headed down. 

Back at the chalet I rested easy knowing that the most hairy part of my trip was over and that I would be crossing paths with a few people on the Highline trail over the next 7.5 miles back. But now I was looking at a setting sun, my watch, and thinking about how my legs felt having covered 12 miles and roughly 3,000 feet of elevation gain. The decision needed to be made, hike 4 miles downhill and hitch hike back to Pearl or run / walk to beat the setting sun 7.5 miles back to Pearl. I haven’t tested myself with total number of miles covered in a day since my 14 mile hike in Yellowstone. I felt the need. The need to go the long way. The need to put my body to the test. To have a 20 mile day. That’s what I wanted to cap this hike off with, the ability to say, “I had a 20 mile day yesterday in Glacier.” So off I went jogging into mile 13 and it couldn’t have been a better decision. Sure my knees hurt, my ankle had been bothering me since mile 3, and my legs were tired. But they had more. I finished off my granola bars and everything I had except the last tablespoon of trail mix on the way back. I sure was glad I “overpacked” on food. And I noticed my pack was getting lighter and lighter telling me I was coming towards the last little bit of my 80 ounces of water. “This is why you overpack,” I told myself.

The sun was sinking lower towards its dusk finish line and I was covering ground moving my butt back towards Pearl. Rounding a corner I ran right up to a mountain goat and her kid standing square in the middle of the path. After they about scared the pee out of me by surprise I backed off and found a way around. As I backed up, momma mountain goat visibly relaxed and brought her lowered “ramming ready” head back up to a natural height. It was just a few more miles down the trail when I ran into two big horn rams blocking my path on a section of trail I couldn’t go around. So, talking to them as I pressed in on them, they turned around and began to mosey back from the way they came. 

The golden hour on the Highline trail is a magical thing. One of those, “you need to be there” moments in time. If you are reading this and trying to decide on something to chase, something to go after, a part of God’s creation that is special in time and place...this is a worthy aim, watching the golden hour from while hiking the last three miles of the Highline Trail back towards Logan Pass. Pictures can give a sense of it, but as I’ve said many times before, “Go live it.” 

Pearl never looked so beautiful as she did that evening in the waning final minutes of light after sunset. Walking up to her and just laying my forehead against the side of her in exhaustion, I was happy. Pulling my phone up it read 19.4 miles. “You’ve got to be kidding me...” I whispered within an exhale. “Mason, you can say 20 miles.” My body tried to convince my conscience. Before I knew it I had thrown my bag in Pearl and took off half limping half walking up the hill. I had to see 20 miles on my tracker, otherwise, I hadn’t done it. I couldn’t say it, not to myself nor to anyone else. So, when I made it back to the van and my phone said 20.1 miles, I smiled a smile of content exhaustion. 

“That...was...a good day...” even my thoughts were tired and processing slowly. But the next thought was loud and clear, “I’m going to go demolish the biggest bison burger I can find and ask for the coldest beer they have.” And so I did.

35. Glacier

Mile: 4,828

How do you describe Glacier National Park to someone using words? I’ve been sitting here for ten minutes trying to puzzle piece together the right sequence of adjectives to elicit a similar response that is drawn out while driving from West Glacier to Logan Pass. I can’t seem to locate even one corner piece of this puzzle. 

I don’t believe there is any combination of words that can produce the same internal feelings and external reactions that one experiences driving the Going-To-The-Sun Road. One of the things I love about writing is to be able to give someone who has never had a certain experience the ability to enter into a new world. They can experience new emotions, mindsets, understandings and so much more that they never would have known before. Language can be such a beautiful tool. How could I ever understand what it would feel like to sit behind the wheel of a $10.5 million Formula One race car exploding out 760 hp careening around hairpin turns? Or how could I feel the excitement level of holding onto a boat skipping 50 mph through waves trying to make weigh in, believing that I have the winning stringer weight to take home first place of the Bass Masters Classic? Or how could I know the amount of pain in my knees, thighs, or my entire body, that it would take to finish the Leadville 100 ultramarathon? I have two choices, to do it or if someone uses language to share such experiences. If I have a choice, I will choose to experience it every time. But when that is not realistic - language, that’s how I’ll experience it. 

But there’s something different about a response that’s derived from something that you had no part in creating. It is something so incredible that happened without a human hand involved, it brings about a sense of humility like none other. When you look up and see something so much bigger than you, your bubble, your routine, your existence, it draws you into a right sense of self. Too often I see the world revolving around me, my issues, my troubles, my joys, my successes or failures. But to turn a corner and through your front windshield you lean forward to be able to see high enough and there in a break in the clouds is a granite mountain peak rising thousands of feet above you - that is humbling. That is the most vividly sobering experience I have had that reminds me that this world does not revolve around me. This world was here millions of years before me and it will be here until the good Lord decides otherwise.

It’s impossible to drive through Glacier National Park and not verbally release exclamations of awe. The magnitude of the peaks stretching as far as the eyes can see is unlike any other. I most likely will never have the opportunity to race a Formula One race care. I will most likely will never have the experience of winning the Bass Masters Classic. I most likely will never have the experience of finishing the Leadville 100. But one thing I have lived the experience of that will forever be seared into my memory is standing alone on the Highline Trail looking out at the golden setting sun as it lays down between peaks of glory known as Glacier National Park. 

But don’t take my word for it. Go live it.