A photographer I am not.
A mountain climber I am.
In my defense, it was cloudy all day and the 5 minutes it was semi-clear, I took this picture.
I called Dad yesterday and said, "Let's go hiking."
Dad said, "Okay, but let's eat first."
We met at Subway and we contemplated where we would hike.
"We need to climb a peak," Dad said.
And we looked out the window and sighed. The peaks were covered with snow.
The peak in the picture: not so much snow, as you can clearly see.
"Want to climb to the top?" Dad asked.
"Okay, is there a trail?"
"Nope, we go up. Straight up."
"Okay," I said, "let's go."
And we did.
Straight up, and up, and up, and up.
The picture doesn't do the words 'straight up' any justice.
You know in The Man From Snowy River when Daniel Craig rides his horse down the mountain, the very steep mountain, and his uncle says, "He's not a boy brother, he's a man. The man from Snowy River?" It was that kind of steep.
There was a deer trail. My brother pointed out that Dad and I are not deer.
I said things like, "dangerous, steep, we're never going to get there, if I fall I'll try to not break my neck, if you fall Mom is going to kill me, ouch, I'm stuck, let's turn back for self-preservation, where do I put my foot now? How the HECK are we going to get back down?..."
Dad said things like, "what's the name of this plant? What's the scientific name of this plant? Did you see that deer? Did you see that little animal that just ran by? Be careful, it's muddy here, we can't back down on a challenge, watch out for that patch of snow, we'll worry about getting down once we get to the top..."
Dad climbed that mountain like maybe he was a deer.
The mountain and I became one as I had to sometimes use my hands and knees to pull myself up.
Climbing the rock slides was fun.
The top, which actually wasn't the top, go figure, was beautiful and surprisingly meadowish. We hung out there for a while and enjoyed the view.
And then we went back down - trying to follow the deer trails.
Sometimes we just slid with the mud and rocks. Sometimes we slid on our backsides, (okay I did, Dad never did), and one time I said, "Where do we go now?" and Dad said, "I just saw a deer go this way, it must be okay."
After an eternity of going straight down I looked at the path in front of me and sat down and said, "Oh my H - E." (I try not to swear, but when there is a really strong need, and sometimes there just is, I spell the word instead of say it. And I usually leave out a letter, because if you don't spell the whole word it's not as bad.)
So...I said "Oh my H - E" and then I said, "Sorry Dad." (He is the bishop after all.)
He said, "Why are you sorry?"
And I said, "Because you just heard me spell half a swear word."
And he laughed and said, "At least it was only half."
We made it down the mountain.
I had blisters.
But you know what?
I can't even complain about the blisters I have because you should see the blisters the Dentist has.
He and his friend ran a 50 mile race yesterday.
I'll take my mountain any day.