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.

Comments

Anonymous said…
unfortunate lake name

Most Popular of All Time

That Fateful Four-Letter Word

In this episode, A Masterclass in Efficiency. For nearly four months, the western border of our property has stood as a living monument to determination, dubious planning, and forensic-level lumber acquisition. Since February, our neighbor Steve has been conducting what can only be described as a masterclass in deliberate calculation. This was never going to be one of those slick home-improvement shows where a cheerful pair of men installs a fence between commercial breaks, sipping lemonade. No. This was real life in retirement. We scaled the vertical wilderness of our hillside. We mixed concrete with the precision of medieval alchemists. We bled, we sweated, and we fought hand-to-hand with a buried tree stump that had the structural integrity of a Cold War bunker. By this week—May 16th, for those keeping score—the glorious end was finally within reach. The fence stood proudly, the line was straight, and victory practically hummed in the air. Only one major task remained: installing t...

Truth for Sale

This episode is inspired  by Elton John & Bernie Taupin On Memorial Day, I took my first bike ride  since the accident , seeking proof that my legs, lungs, and nerves still remembered the road. The morning air carried that familiar Southern California mix of ocean haze, exhaust, eucalyptus, and sun-baked asphalt. My tires hummed across pavement I’ve ridden for years. Somewhere between the steady click of the chain and the rhythm of my breathing, Elton John and Bernie Taupin’s The Captain and the Kid found its way into my ears. There’s a strange kind of magic when the cadence of a ride syncs perfectly with a song you know by heart. Suddenly, the music and lyrics stop being background noise and become a lens. And through that lens, the road started talking. I've been cycling on this road some, Can't help feeling I've been showing my friends around. I've seen it grow from next to nothing, To a giant eatin’ up our town. Called up the tealeaves and the tarots, Asked the...

When Nature Comes to You

Sometimes the best way to experience the world isn’t to go searching for it, but to sit still and let it come to you. Lately, the view from my reading chair has become a vibrant little stage. Our backyard feeder has drawn a steady parade of wildlife—bold flashes of blue from the Western Scrub Jays, brilliant bursts of color from the Hooded Orioles, and Purple Finches—transforming quiet afternoons into a chorus of motion and song. But the most captivating performance unfolds just inches beyond my window. For the past couple of weeks, a young hummingbird mother has been perched on her tiny, beautifully woven nest. Hummingbirds usually seem made of pure nervous energy, yet here she is: perfectly still, patient, and devoted. Watching her quiet vigil - day after day - has felt almost magical. Life seems to be blooming in every direction right now, renewing itself in real time. It’s a gentle reminder to slow down, look outside, and notice the quiet miracles surrounding us. John Muir once wro...

The Eighth Wonder of the Suburban World

Mark your calendars, folks. Update the history books. Notify the Smithsonian. Move over, Pyramids of Egypt. Step aside, Hoover Dam.  Future civilizations will speak of this day in hushed, reverent tones. May 22, 2026, will forever be remembered as the moment humanity reached the pinnacle of suburban engineering excellence. Earlier today, my neighbor Steve and I drove the final screw into what can only be described as the most overbuilt property divider in North County. The Fence! And then there’s the gate. Good grief, the gate. Calling it just a gate is almost disrespectful. It looks like the entrance to a medieval fortress or to Hogwarts Castle. It swings open with the heft of a bank vault and closes with the wave of a magic wand. At this point, we’re considering applying for FAA clearance to install a helicopter pad on top of it. This glorious odyssey began in early February, the primitive era. From the start, we made a sacred pact: we would not become one of those people. You ...