Why Do We Love the Mountains?
Recently, I took a short trip, surrounded by towering mountains. Each one inspired me, tracing the lines running down its face or simply sitting back to appreciate its mass. I pondered the same question throughout.
Certainly, Everest is not the ultimate dream for me. Is climbing Everest a common goal for rock climbers? In my experience, even the average hiker rarely thinks about Everest. Climbers consider it a complete joke. Therefore, I hold a different opinion. Everest is not the ultimate goal, and in my view, it should never be.
I think of myself as a mountaineer, but my ambitions are based on the routes I enjoy most, those that seem the most fun. To be honest, I’m captivated by the 11,000-foot peaks of the Canadian Rockies, but for the most part, they offer incredible climbs worth it for their beauty alone.
Why do mountains fascinate us? I believe it’s their immensity. It’s rare to see such diverse landscapes. Like fire or waterfalls, they never show the same face. The vast expanse of mountains reveals much to us. And I believe it’s their size that makes such a powerful impression. Just as we respect and are fascinated by grand buildings, large vehicles, and all kinds of structures, mountains surpass them all.
We also have an inherent curiosity. The desire to look down from a mountain’s summit, the urge to explore, soon follows.
Finally, one of my favorite quotes from Reinhold Messner:
“I have been accused of going to the mountains to show what a great man I am. The truth is, I go to the mountains to remind myself of how small and insignificant I am.”
Specifically, let me share some feelings from my 2015 trip to Mount Joffre in Alberta.
Passing through Foch Lake, heading to the campsite with stunning alpine views. Seeing such beautiful landscapes fills me with deep joy.
The first sight of the destination. The large white rock face behind the dark spire on the left is Mount Joffre. Looking up at its face always makes me anxious. I often think, “Do I really have to do this?” It’s certainly scary. This is one of the things I love about mountaineering: challenging myself to new levels of potential. There is something special about finding and testing your limits. It takes human experience to places we rarely go voluntarily.
Another favorite thing: base camp time. Relaxing in a beautiful place, surrounded by inspiration. While relaxing, there’s a small stress in the back of my mind knowing I need to push myself tomorrow.
At this point, we’ve already been walking through fields of rocks for 1.5 hours and are on the glacier. As the sun starts to rise, the whole sky turns red, purple, and orange. It’s spectacular. Your whole body feels euphoric. At that moment, you’re in the most incredible place on Earth. You feel luckier than anyone else. You feel very small but also very privileged. It’s overwhelming and extremely powerful. And it never gets old.
We’ve just cleared the crux and are taking a short break. This is a photo of my partner walking along the summit ridge. From here, it’s a relatively easy walk to the summit. We feel very high here. The wind can reach speeds of 50 km/h, which is quite uncomfortable. We just want to get back to the tent and have some tea, but we know there’s something magical waiting at the summit. The turnaround point is within reach.
We did it! We reached the summit! Staying calm, one more chunk still needs clearing. The actual summit is behind us. It’s a short series of narrow blocks, and we took turns walking over them.
The feeling of standing on the summit is incredible. It’s like achieving any major goal. I’ve run a 10k before, and it’s comparable to finishing with a good time, but better.
The view is always incredibly overwhelming. It’s a wonderful reward for a job well done.
Here’s on our way back to the crux. It starts where the path disappears around a corner. There’s a hard-frozen gully of snow at 60-75 degrees, a short section of ice, and a precarious traverse across almost frozen loose rock. The angle was relatively easy (45-55 degrees), but the frozen snow was only 15-25 cm deep, with exposed, loose rock (like loose gravel). Footing was unstable, with no ideal places. Careful movement was necessary. There were also snow slabs with avalanche risk when the sun hit them. Each step was tested while cautiously moving. The snow was too shallow, the rock too loose, for protective gear (to prevent falls). 15 meters below was a 60-meter cliff. On this loose rock, there was little chance to stop a slip. Failure was not an option. It was indeed terrifying.
This photo shows my partner returning to the crux. It was the best way down. The other option was unknown. In glacial areas, “better the devil you know than the devil you don’t” applied. We stressed about the lack of protective equipment to rappel down this section. Another problem was the sun moving to this side, making the gully hazardous with falling rocks and ice. We had to move quickly but safely.
At this moment, I felt two things. Wanting to be elsewhere and the feeling of controlling my fate in the mountain’s challenge. I wouldn’t say I enjoy these moments, but I still seek them.
Why?
For this moment. Having descended the glacier, all real danger is past. You can relax, have a drink or snack. Everything tastes better. There’s a sense of accomplishment, completion.
In this moment, it feels like the world melts away. You feel so free, transcending everything. When I started climbing, these moments made me feel invincible. Now, I just feel elated. A floating sensation of being alive and safe. It’s a vivid feeling ordinary people rarely experience.
Danger makes the feeling of safety powerful again. Everything is relative, and the chance to experience that is rare.
Here’s a photo on the return journey at sunset. By this point, we had been moving for almost 15 hours straight. Our feet were sore, shoulders tired, knees strained, but looking over the calm lake reminded us of the journey’s beauty once more.
Here are the day’s stats:
[http://www.movescount.com/moves/move77584930](The lines near the summit are not accurate.)
