It wasn’t quite 5 and I was awoken by the alarm on Erik’s watch.
“How’d you sleep?” I eeked out.
“Ughh, I’m beginning to hate that question. Not very well. The wind was blowing dirt in my face all night.”
“Yeah, these little tents are awful.”
We placed and turned on our headlamps so we could put on as much of our gear inside the sorry-excuse-for-a-tent as we could before being forced into the cold of the early morning wilderness. I wasn’t too worried about it, though. My mind was captivated by the plan of the day. “This is going to be awesome.”
We crawled out from under the tarp held up by one little pole and tied down by 4 little stakes and saw our comrades doing the same. Off to my left, Zach was climbing out of his sleeping bag. “That guy has no interest in tents. Man, that’s hardcore.”
“Everyone ready? We’re gonna eat on the trail, so put your foodbars where you can reach ‘em,” said Jordan, our fearless leader for the day, as he was handing out our breakfast. A surge of nervous energy coursed through, if not the team, at least me. This was the first time I’d ever really been out in the wilderness, let alone would climb an actual mountain. Ah yeah.
That early in the morning, the only noise we heard was the rustling of synthetic pants and the stomping of heavy boots. I found myself colder than I had expected 20 minutes in, so when we stopped at a fork in the trail, I took the opportunity to put on the head-wrap I picked up in Jordan. I was probably the only ninja to have taken that trail in some time.
Jordan: “I think it’s this way.”
Fifteen minutes later, “No, it was the other way.” So back we went.
After twisting and curving and climbing and descending (but mostly climbing), we came out in a valley surrounded by mountain peaks. We had turned off our headlamps some time ago and with the position of the sun we could see all around. It was probably the most beautiful open field I had ever seen. We were walking alongside a little brook, there was tall brown grass covering the landscape, along the bed of the brook there were green bushes and around the perimeter of the valley were beautiful large, green trees. It was a good time to take a break and refill our water supply.
“How’s everybody doing?” Jordan asked just before we were to hit the trail again. “That’s our goal over there—Cloud Ripper.” He was pointing at one of the many peaks surrounding us. It wasn’t quite the farthest, but it was definitely the tallest.
Now that we were all wide-awake and back in the groove of trekking, you could hear us a mile away. This trek was a part of our “Intro Trip,” in the first week of our Wild DTS (that is, Discipleship Training School). We were still getting to know each other. Erik, who wound up being my best friend in the school, was from Tennessee, just outside of Nashville. I took to calling him a hippy, although he was really only “Granola.”
The more we walked, the less easily discernable path we had. We came upon mostly rocky ground, with some trees interspersed here and there. Our guide now was simply a path of karyns, little piles of rocks stacked on top of each other, marking out the trail.
We stopped at the base of a mountain made up entirely of, so it seemed, jagged, grey rocks varying in size from 1 foot across to the size of a very large man. “We’re at a saddle, which is the lowest point between two mountain peaks. If we were trying to cross the mountain, this is where we’d do it. We’re going to climb to the top of the saddle then walk along it to get to our peak. We’re going to climb making switch-backs (instead of climbing straight up against the steep grade of the mountain, we make wide zig-zags up the slope). And watch your fall line. Don’t climb directly under someone above you and make sure you aren’t climbing with someone in-line under you. These rocks are very loose and very dangerous. If you happen to kick one loose, yell ‘Rock!’ to let those below you know. We’ll take another break once we’re up the saddle.”
Off we went. Now, I’m pretty good about taking the advice of people who know what they’re talking about. I usually do, just not always. This was definitely one of the “not always” times. After zigging and zagging for a bit, feeling like I was going nowhere, and the appearance of our goal seeming, from my angle, not too far off, I decided to go for it. I threw myself up the slope, clambering for the top of the saddle. It took less than 7 minutes for me to resort to switching back again. Man, that bolt wore me out. I even had to take off my ninja head wrap.
I can’t tell you how much time it took for us to make it to the top of the saddle, but it definitely took some! As we were climbing, we all looked around, checking each other’s progress, yelling out encouragements as needed and calling out warning due to falling rocks. We slowly made it, one by one, and took a much-needed rest. Despite our weariness, our excitement only grew after the victory of this first leg. And I’ll tell you what, for as cold as it was making our way to the mountain, it was nothing compared to the chill and wind of being on that saddle. The wind was blowing so strongly that, when we jumped straight up, we would land a couple feet back from where we started. It was a little scary being on the top of a steep, rocky slope with powerful wind wanting to blow us back down. And that’s exactly why I was loving it. Well, the danger and the magnificent view. The field in the valley on the side we came up looked so beautiful, with the brook running through it, splitting here and there, coming back together; the giant white and grey rocks strewn about; the patches of green trees. The other side’s view was of grey rocks and brown dirt and 3 or 4 giant blue lakes. The land stretched for miles, as did the mountain range. We could even see trails on the distant mountains.
We took some pictures, I grabbed a rock for my mom (I still haven’t given it to her), I put my Jordanian ninja-wrap back on and off we went. The terrain didn’t change much as we walked across the spine of this mountain, ever nearer its peak. It just got steeper. And steeper.
As we snaked along from peak to peak, on the very ridge of the mountain, I became quite familiar with a mountaineering term that you may not have heard. Do you know what a “false peak” is? A false peak, or false summit, is, while looking up the mountain while hiking, you can’t see any mountain above and beyond a certain peak. You think that the peak you are now climbing towards is the highest point of the mountain, that this is your goal. Well… you’re wrong. Once you painstakingly make it to that point, you see beyond it much more mountain to go. So you go. And you get duped time and time again. I got to the point of not caring. “Whatever. I’m not going to get excited anymore! I’ll climb till I’m done climbing!” So I did. False peak, wrong peak, whatever. Keep moving!
At one point, there was a giant patch of what was once snow, but was now ice in the guise of snow, on the north side of the peak. Because it was out of the sun, it never thoroughly melted. It would just melt enough to be re-frozen during the night, making it densely packed ice. We still tried to scrape it into balls and pelt each other. A couple of us guys even wrote our names, *a-hem*.
Upward and onward we climbed. We came to a small collection of peaks, each within 100 or so feet of each other. We took a second to gauge which was the highest, then found it! The peak of Cloud Ripper! Just over to the west, not 200 feet away! We all made a mad scramble to the peak, throwing caution to the wind! (Not really, we were always very safe). We had newfound energy with the exhilaration coursing through our veins.
At long last, at the very least 4 hours since we left camp, we did it! We stood in triumph! We had bagged the mountain! All 13,501 feet of Cloud Ripper was now under my belt. I had climbed my first mountain!
I even made a point to sit (I dare not stand!) on the pinnacle of the pinnacle! There was also a journal in a watertight container lodged in the rocks at the top. We each joined the list of names of all the people who had come before us. I left a little note, too. I don’t remember exactly what it said, but something about the goodness, glory and beauty of God.
This was the first week I had ever gone backpacking in my life. It was the first time I had done any real physical exertion since junior high. I had smoked my last cigarette only days before this trek. It had only been 7 months since I came back to God, giving up my intentional, out-right rebellion and smoking crystal meth. Despite all of that, God Himself gave me the grace to kick my own ass and know Him, love Him, follow Him, learn from Him and enjoy Him at the peak of this mountain, in the middle of the Eastern Sierra Nevada Mountain Range.
The view before, back on the saddle, was nothing compared to the view atop Cloud Ripper. We could see miles and miles of mountaintops stretching all around us. We could see lake after lake peppering the landscape. And, in the style of our mountain’s namesake, we were enveloped by clouds all around us. I wanted to grab one like Jasmine, in Aladdin, but alas, they weren’t that close. God is beautiful and God is strong. If ever you have doubts, just look at His creation. It’s a reflection of Him, so we can know and love Him better.
After some more pictures, we descended less than 50 feet, so as to get out of the harsh wind, ate an energy packed snack and began our long journey back to camp.
“How’d you sleep?” I eeked out.
“Ughh, I’m beginning to hate that question. Not very well. The wind was blowing dirt in my face all night.”
“Yeah, these little tents are awful.”
We placed and turned on our headlamps so we could put on as much of our gear inside the sorry-excuse-for-a-tent as we could before being forced into the cold of the early morning wilderness. I wasn’t too worried about it, though. My mind was captivated by the plan of the day. “This is going to be awesome.”
We crawled out from under the tarp held up by one little pole and tied down by 4 little stakes and saw our comrades doing the same. Off to my left, Zach was climbing out of his sleeping bag. “That guy has no interest in tents. Man, that’s hardcore.”
“Everyone ready? We’re gonna eat on the trail, so put your foodbars where you can reach ‘em,” said Jordan, our fearless leader for the day, as he was handing out our breakfast. A surge of nervous energy coursed through, if not the team, at least me. This was the first time I’d ever really been out in the wilderness, let alone would climb an actual mountain. Ah yeah.
That early in the morning, the only noise we heard was the rustling of synthetic pants and the stomping of heavy boots. I found myself colder than I had expected 20 minutes in, so when we stopped at a fork in the trail, I took the opportunity to put on the head-wrap I picked up in Jordan. I was probably the only ninja to have taken that trail in some time.
Jordan: “I think it’s this way.”
Fifteen minutes later, “No, it was the other way.” So back we went.
After twisting and curving and climbing and descending (but mostly climbing), we came out in a valley surrounded by mountain peaks. We had turned off our headlamps some time ago and with the position of the sun we could see all around. It was probably the most beautiful open field I had ever seen. We were walking alongside a little brook, there was tall brown grass covering the landscape, along the bed of the brook there were green bushes and around the perimeter of the valley were beautiful large, green trees. It was a good time to take a break and refill our water supply.
“How’s everybody doing?” Jordan asked just before we were to hit the trail again. “That’s our goal over there—Cloud Ripper.” He was pointing at one of the many peaks surrounding us. It wasn’t quite the farthest, but it was definitely the tallest.
Now that we were all wide-awake and back in the groove of trekking, you could hear us a mile away. This trek was a part of our “Intro Trip,” in the first week of our Wild DTS (that is, Discipleship Training School). We were still getting to know each other. Erik, who wound up being my best friend in the school, was from Tennessee, just outside of Nashville. I took to calling him a hippy, although he was really only “Granola.”
The more we walked, the less easily discernable path we had. We came upon mostly rocky ground, with some trees interspersed here and there. Our guide now was simply a path of karyns, little piles of rocks stacked on top of each other, marking out the trail.
We stopped at the base of a mountain made up entirely of, so it seemed, jagged, grey rocks varying in size from 1 foot across to the size of a very large man. “We’re at a saddle, which is the lowest point between two mountain peaks. If we were trying to cross the mountain, this is where we’d do it. We’re going to climb to the top of the saddle then walk along it to get to our peak. We’re going to climb making switch-backs (instead of climbing straight up against the steep grade of the mountain, we make wide zig-zags up the slope). And watch your fall line. Don’t climb directly under someone above you and make sure you aren’t climbing with someone in-line under you. These rocks are very loose and very dangerous. If you happen to kick one loose, yell ‘Rock!’ to let those below you know. We’ll take another break once we’re up the saddle.”
Off we went. Now, I’m pretty good about taking the advice of people who know what they’re talking about. I usually do, just not always. This was definitely one of the “not always” times. After zigging and zagging for a bit, feeling like I was going nowhere, and the appearance of our goal seeming, from my angle, not too far off, I decided to go for it. I threw myself up the slope, clambering for the top of the saddle. It took less than 7 minutes for me to resort to switching back again. Man, that bolt wore me out. I even had to take off my ninja head wrap.
I can’t tell you how much time it took for us to make it to the top of the saddle, but it definitely took some! As we were climbing, we all looked around, checking each other’s progress, yelling out encouragements as needed and calling out warning due to falling rocks. We slowly made it, one by one, and took a much-needed rest. Despite our weariness, our excitement only grew after the victory of this first leg. And I’ll tell you what, for as cold as it was making our way to the mountain, it was nothing compared to the chill and wind of being on that saddle. The wind was blowing so strongly that, when we jumped straight up, we would land a couple feet back from where we started. It was a little scary being on the top of a steep, rocky slope with powerful wind wanting to blow us back down. And that’s exactly why I was loving it. Well, the danger and the magnificent view. The field in the valley on the side we came up looked so beautiful, with the brook running through it, splitting here and there, coming back together; the giant white and grey rocks strewn about; the patches of green trees. The other side’s view was of grey rocks and brown dirt and 3 or 4 giant blue lakes. The land stretched for miles, as did the mountain range. We could even see trails on the distant mountains.
We took some pictures, I grabbed a rock for my mom (I still haven’t given it to her), I put my Jordanian ninja-wrap back on and off we went. The terrain didn’t change much as we walked across the spine of this mountain, ever nearer its peak. It just got steeper. And steeper.
As we snaked along from peak to peak, on the very ridge of the mountain, I became quite familiar with a mountaineering term that you may not have heard. Do you know what a “false peak” is? A false peak, or false summit, is, while looking up the mountain while hiking, you can’t see any mountain above and beyond a certain peak. You think that the peak you are now climbing towards is the highest point of the mountain, that this is your goal. Well… you’re wrong. Once you painstakingly make it to that point, you see beyond it much more mountain to go. So you go. And you get duped time and time again. I got to the point of not caring. “Whatever. I’m not going to get excited anymore! I’ll climb till I’m done climbing!” So I did. False peak, wrong peak, whatever. Keep moving!
At one point, there was a giant patch of what was once snow, but was now ice in the guise of snow, on the north side of the peak. Because it was out of the sun, it never thoroughly melted. It would just melt enough to be re-frozen during the night, making it densely packed ice. We still tried to scrape it into balls and pelt each other. A couple of us guys even wrote our names, *a-hem*.
Upward and onward we climbed. We came to a small collection of peaks, each within 100 or so feet of each other. We took a second to gauge which was the highest, then found it! The peak of Cloud Ripper! Just over to the west, not 200 feet away! We all made a mad scramble to the peak, throwing caution to the wind! (Not really, we were always very safe). We had newfound energy with the exhilaration coursing through our veins.
At long last, at the very least 4 hours since we left camp, we did it! We stood in triumph! We had bagged the mountain! All 13,501 feet of Cloud Ripper was now under my belt. I had climbed my first mountain!
I even made a point to sit (I dare not stand!) on the pinnacle of the pinnacle! There was also a journal in a watertight container lodged in the rocks at the top. We each joined the list of names of all the people who had come before us. I left a little note, too. I don’t remember exactly what it said, but something about the goodness, glory and beauty of God.
This was the first week I had ever gone backpacking in my life. It was the first time I had done any real physical exertion since junior high. I had smoked my last cigarette only days before this trek. It had only been 7 months since I came back to God, giving up my intentional, out-right rebellion and smoking crystal meth. Despite all of that, God Himself gave me the grace to kick my own ass and know Him, love Him, follow Him, learn from Him and enjoy Him at the peak of this mountain, in the middle of the Eastern Sierra Nevada Mountain Range.
The view before, back on the saddle, was nothing compared to the view atop Cloud Ripper. We could see miles and miles of mountaintops stretching all around us. We could see lake after lake peppering the landscape. And, in the style of our mountain’s namesake, we were enveloped by clouds all around us. I wanted to grab one like Jasmine, in Aladdin, but alas, they weren’t that close. God is beautiful and God is strong. If ever you have doubts, just look at His creation. It’s a reflection of Him, so we can know and love Him better.
After some more pictures, we descended less than 50 feet, so as to get out of the harsh wind, ate an energy packed snack and began our long journey back to camp.
