Skip to main content

We Remember Moments

Podcast, "We Remember Moments."

"We don't remember days; we remember moments."

Wrapped in the cozy warmth of a down bag, I'm jolted awake from a deep slumber - nature calls. The rustle of my sleeping bag shatters the silence. The sweet aroma of the mountain air fills the senses, and that ever-present biting cool crisp air on your cheeks!

It's day three of my first wilderness-backpacking trip in the High Sierra Mountains (elevation 10,500 feet), 20 miles southwest of Bishop, California, camped at Dingleberry Lake.

The zipper moans as you free yourself, then the struggle to find your wool sweater, pants, and shoes to stumble into the brisk morning air. Another zipper whines as you quietly crawl to escape the protection of your mountain shelter.

Darkness surrounds you. It's early morning, late summer. It's tranquil, except for the soft gurgle of the trout stream that lulled you to sleep last night. Finally - clear weather, the rains have stopped; millions of stars twinkle like tiny sparkling diamonds against a pitch-black sky.

Orion, the hunter, is visible in the eastern sky; careful inspection, you can see the nebula glow.

Will it rain today? We need to break camp. No rush. Time on the mountain passes at a gentle pace. Has it only been three days? The deluge of rain, sleet, and snow on the high peaks is but a memory now. However, this morning, it's cold, crisp, and clear. Ah, a pristine sky, it looks like we can expect another beautiful day in the High Sierra Mountains.

My camping partner emerges from hibernation; his tent covered with a layer of ice, shaking off the cold, he says in a whisper, "Lets' shoot the sunrise on these peaks that surround our campsite."

We make our way to the edge of the lake, set up the tripod and camera, then sit back and experience the “magic of the mountains” as the morning sun caresses the peaks. Softly the blackness fades away, and the very tip of the mountains begin to glow. What a glorious experience!

This morning is the culmination of an adventure that began Friday, September 9, 2011, with an invitation to join Robert and Brendan on a late summer wilderness expedition.

“I know it’s late notice, but we would love to have you go with us on this trip?” Says Robert.

My response was immediate, "Yes, I'm in!" I was ready. Well, I thought so. Just a few months before, I had purchased a backpack with the anticipation of such a trip. As we began to collect our gear for the trip, I proudly pulled my new backpack from the garage; Brendan's response was immediate, "Not with that tiny pack. We need to share food, cooking gear, a tent, and supplies. We'll stop in Bishop; you can rent a pack."

Simultaneous thoughts began to whirl through my mind; anticipation, confusion, apprehension, what will we need to pack, how much will we carry? Three days, will I be able to pack the necessary load and keep up?

With a reassuring pat on the shoulder, Robert says, "No problem, it's easy - you'll see." So, with that assurance, we set off. We packed the truck to the hilt with equipment, food, and supplies for our weekend adventure in the Sierras'.

Yes, this was a glimpse of my first wilderness mountain adventure – upon reflection, I'm filled with inner peace and a feeling of accomplishment—an experience I'll treasure for a lifetime.

My listening friends, the next time you're presented with the opportunity to backpack the Sierra's with seasoned travelers, don't hesitate, say, "Yes, I'm in!" You, too, will be exhilarated by the experience; we remember moments!

"Won't you be my neighbor?" If you enjoy our weekly visits, please share them with a friend.

This is Patrick Ball; thanks so much for listening. I'll see you in the next episode.

Labels:

Comments

Anonymous said…
unfortunate lake name
May 28, 2021 at 11:04 AM
Post a Comment

Most Popular of All Time

The Gopher Problem and the High Powered Solution

Vacationing in Maine this week, just a short drive down the coast from Freeport, it is hard not to think about the outsized impact one frustrated outdoorsman had on the gear we all use today. Bad equipment can ruin a perfectly good day on the water or the trail, but it takes a special kind of vision to turn cold feet into a century-old empire. This is the story of the company we now know as L.L.Bean, but more importantly, it is a masterclass in integrity, learning from failure, and standing behind your work. In 1912, Leon Leonwood Bean faced a persistent problem: returning from expeditions in the Maine woods with cold, wet feet. Instead of complaining, he got creative. He had a local shoemaker stitch waterproof rubber soles onto the flexible leather uppers of a hunting boot. He called it the Maine Hunting Shoe and mailed a flyer promising perfect satisfaction. Then reality arrived. Ninety of his first 100 pairs failed when the rubber separated from the leather. Not an effective product...
Post a Comment
Read more

Beyond Facts-The Deep Dive

✨ In this episode, Beyond Facts: Reimagining School–in the Age of AI . . .   This week's podcast is a bit different; it's another example of how Artificial Intelligence (AI) can offer tools to creatively enhance your analytical presentation of information. We took this week's blog and copied it into Gemini with the question, “If a story is to work, it must, on some level, create an illusion of escape and also achieve a goal simultaneously. Does this apply to my blog post that follows?” What's created is not just an analysis of the writing, but an AI-generated discussion produced “On the Fly” - Enjoy! Did you know that the word "school" comes from the ancient Greek word scholē , which originally meant "leisure"? Not a rigid schedule or droning lectures filled with "facts," but free time for thinking and conversation. To the Greeks, learning happened best when life slowed down—when you had room to reflect, to ask questions, and to wrestle ...
4 comments
Read more

Stamps and Snow

In this episode, Stamps and Snow . . .   You don’t usually walk into the local Post Office expecting a time warp . . . but here we are. All we wanted were stamps for this year's Christmas cards— yes, the old-fashioned paper ones that require licking, sticking, and hoping the Postal Service is feeling ambitious this week. But holiday errands have a talent for slowing you down, almost like the universe whispering, “Relax. You’re not getting out of this line any faster anyway.” So we waited. And while we waited, we talked (Are you surprised?). Because the Post Office is one of the few places where people still look up from their phones long enough to talk . . . Maybe it's because they're holding packages. It’s the modern town square: part civic duty, part free entertainment, part sociology experiment. The discussion began with holiday specials streaming on Netflix, Paramount+, and other services during this time of year. One gentleman who has lived in Vista since 1958 told us,...
3 comments
Read more

On Becoming Real

Some things get better with wear: old shoes, old friendships, and old books. Especially old books. A new volume arrives with crisp corners and a spine that hasn’t yet learned to bend. An old one has been somewhere. It has traveled through time in the hands of people who may no longer be around to tell us what they found inside. The copy of The Velveteen Rabbit (first published in 1922) on my desk is one of those books. My friend Don Hanley gave it to me. This late-1950s Doubleday edition features William Nicholson’s original illustrations and cream paper boards softened by age. Worn corners, a split spine, and colored tabs mark passages worth revisiting. Don didn’t hand me a keepsake. He gave me homework. When we talked about the book recently, he pointed me straight to the nursery conversation between a young rabbit and an old Skin Horse. The rabbit had noticed the mechanical toys around him—the ones with internal gears, bright paint, and stick-out handles that seem terribly impressiv...
Post a Comment
Read more