Wind.

[April 20, 2010. This is old but in the interest of blog consolidation I'm posting it again here.]

I love mountains. I always have. And I’m certain I always will.

As a girl from the west I always had a hard time considering the Appalachians real mountains. With their highest peak only 6,684 ft above sea level and no glaciers or eternal snowcaps I generally disregarded them as merely a long set of large hills. But this weekend the Blue Ridge Mountains earned a bit of respect from me, and a place in my heart. I learned a lot up there and had easily one of the best nights of my life. Needless to say, I’m beginning to reconsider.

Friday night around 9 we all piled into the car and set of for Old Rag Mt.. After a few u-turns, and near death experiences we arrived at its base. Around 1 we began our ascent. Up and up and up, with a break now and then to climb a tree, scramble up an inviting boulder, stare into a seemingly endless abyss of black darkness, or up at the beckoning brightness of the stars. We climbed through silence and conversation. Sneezing, coughing, singing, laughing.

After a few hours of climbing and searching for blue markers like pastel colored eggs on Easter we reached the top. It was magnificent. The stars forcefully pierced the thick carpet of black that was the sky. Dark peaked silhouettes rose up around us as we stood atop the boulders. And then the wind. Being all well experienced, brilliant climbers we decided it would be wise to make camp on the top of the mountain to await the sun. The wind blew with ceaseless fury as we tumbled into a crevice of rock and huddled into a singular mass of rapidly dissipating body heat. And there, together. We waited. We talked and sang. Cried and laughed. Complained about knees and temperature and lemmings. And screamed. A blissful insanity engulfed us with the wind and liberated us just to be alive and to embrace all that was life in those hours. Even the merciless wind itself. At one point I was sure the sun would never break the peaked horizon and illuminate the cold dark night, but somehow even that didn’t bother me. That night we all lived life as it was meant to be lived. With one another, and to the absolute fullest. Something about suffering together does that. There is always profound beauty in the pain; if you look for it. That is something I forget far too often. I forget what it’s like to abandon inhibitions and live life wildly and fully with those I have the pleasure of sharing it with. Funny how mountaintops and being immersed in raw, rugged nature can bring that all back.

Here’s to the new perspective that climbing unfailingly brings and to living life daily screaming at the top of my lungs in the face of the fierce wind and in concert with beloved friends.