Don’t let a mountain get in your way
By Khevin Barnes
Philosophers and poets have often compared our lives to mountain climbing. The best view comes after the hardest climb. Living in Vail we have some stunning mountains surrounding our Rincon Valley and a number of these peaks are accessible with proper preparation. Looking out my office window I have a lovely view of Rincon Peak and Mica Mountain. Rincon is Spanish for “corner”, referring to the shape of the mountain range. The peak is rarely climbed due to the strenuous hike required to reach its summit, but for some Tucsonans this mountain is their favorite local hike, mostly due to the lack of visitors it receives. The route to the summit winds through several distinct ecological zones resulting in sweeping 360 degree views for those who are willing to make the 8.1 mile trek to the summit at 8,482 feet.
I discovered the sport of mountain climbing in my 20’s. Living in the Pacific Northwest I was surrounded by glorious peaks of all kinds and my first memorable trek took me into the “Three Sisters Wilderness “in Eastern Oregon to do a little backpacking with friends.
“The Three Sisters” are a trio of ancient volcanos, each one a little higher and a little more difficult to ascend. The year was 1974 and I was 24 years old. Halfway up the first peak I stopped with my fellow climbing mates to smoke a cigarette. I recall being deeply uncomfortable with that, realizing that I was standing in one of the most beautiful outdoor scenes I had ever experienced, and doing some real damage to my body—the very body that brought me to this place. By the time my backpacking trip was over I was hooked on climbing, and not long after that I gave up smoking forever.
Over the next several years I went on to climb all of the great mountains of Washington, Oregon and Northern California. Mt. Rainier. Mt. Hood. Mt. Adams. Mt. Jefferson. Mt Saint Helens. Mt Shasta. Mt. Whitney. I had them all in my sights, and I wanted to challenge myself by climbing higher and more difficult routes whenever I could.
But it was never just the act of reaching the top that got me caught up in the sport. Mountains offer a lot of quiet time to reflect. A climber is forced to make many decisions and calculations along the path; always aware and always alert. You are presented with a world so vast that it becomes a most extraordinary revelation to actually see yourself as a small human in a very big universe.
But, like any of the many challenges we face in our brief time on the planet, if we choose to climb up and into the experiences that test us it can offer a wider view of our lives and our connections to both Earth and spirit. The power of a mountain may be felt deep within a climber’s soul. You realize that this place could take your life at any moment, or infuse you with the greatest inspiration to live in new and remarkable ways.
After my adventures of climbing on the West coast I wanted to experience the peaks in other states, and then other countries. I solo climbed Mt. Elbert in Colorado, the second highest peak in the contiguous United States (after Whitney) and the memorable mental high and spiritual refreshment that I got from that time alone further infused my mountaineering passion.
Still, I wanted more.
Thorong La in Nepal at 18,000 feet was my first International climb, followed by Cotopaxi in Ecuador at 20,000 feet. And finally, my longtime dream to climb the Matterhorn was within my grasp. Flying to Zermatt, Switzerland, I hired a Swiss guide to accompany me to its summit since the technical challenge is both dangerous and extremely demanding. We were scheduled to climb the peak over two days, spending the night in the Hornli ridge hut, halfway up the mountain.
And then, the unthinkable happened. Another Swiss guide fell to his death near the top of the mountain. The Matterhorn is among the deadliest mountains in the world. By the late 1980s, it was estimated that over 500 people had died while attempting its summit, with an average of about 12 deaths each year. A fatal fall had not happened to one of these professional guides in over a decade. The mountain was “closed down” to all climbing for two weeks to mourn the loss of this man, while waiting for climbing conditions to improve.
I had an airline ticket home and could not afford to wait. Disappointed, I headed back to my home in Oregon. On the flight back I began to think about my motivation for climbing and questioning where it was taking me. I came to understand that the drive to push higher and further was a wake-up call of sorts, inviting me to accept my sport as a wonderful opportunity to know nature more intimately while taking a grand expedition into myself, my passions and my purpose. I realized that there was a small but distinct risk of me dying if I kept pushing. And the choice was mine.
At the age of forty five I gave up climbing as a sport. But the lure of our risk-free Rincon Peak was too much to resist after I moved to Vail. I made my way up the rocky trail along with a climb up Pikachu peak on my 68th Birthday. But now, as I approach my seventy-second year with two full knee replacements, I’ve learned to appreciate Rincon peak from a distance, just outside my office window. Climbing mountains can teach us how to test our resolve and discover our own strengths and limitations, both physical and mental, but just getting older can do that too. Navigating the transformations in our bodies; in our changing capabilities and in our own personal challenges can be as rewarding as setting foot on the many mountaintops that invite us to visit.
Khevin Barnes lives in the Del Webb community in Vail where he eagerly plays Pickleball, actively hikes in the desert and reluctantly affirms a fear of heights.
