Convention has it's rewards: a well-defined path of formulas and cumulative experience. However, I could never feel comfortable walking another person's pathway, although their knowledge defines what can be done and copied. I explore instead, filled with weaknesses, lacking in conventional thought and technique; but still, the thrill of being alive seems to negate these weaknesses, and I continue on my way. Today I traveled up into Falls Creek Valley, a long narrow valley, sloping steeply upwards where a small valley levels off, dividing into two upper hanging valleys beyond. Several remnants of snow slides fill in the narrow neck where the lower area transitions into the first valley. When I came through here a couple weeks back I saw a possible ascent route up one of the slides. This would take me to the rocky areas and meadows above. Here, a panoramic view of Turnagan Arm below, with the bay and valleys beyond, would be best seen. However, the snow bridge across the cascading waters has vanished. The idea does not die, but a new approach is considered. Further up the trail, a large patch of snow, the remains at the bottom of a long avalanche chute, will be my jumping off point. Now, instead of snow, only a bare slope of old grasses and new plants inhabit the forty-five degree hill above the snow patch. Along both sides of the chute are lines of alder, thick and solid from bottom to top. But higher up, the alder vanishes where talus and outcrops overlook the valley. But first I have to get across the creek. Since the terrain is more level here, I am able to find a fording location across the gushing creek. The two dogs, Sheba and Pancho are my companions. As we get across and to the patch of snow, I look back at the trail, beaten into the earth by countless people, easy to follow, gentle to the feet, but conventional to the mind. I can't wait to plant my feet in untrodden ground.
Convention has it's rewards: a well-defined path of formulas and cumulative experience. However, I could never feel comfortable walking another person's pathway, although their knowledge defines what can be done and copied. I explore instead, filled with weaknesses, lacking in conventional thought and technique; but still, the thrill of being alive seems to negate these weaknesses, and I continue on my way. Today I traveled up into Falls Creek Valley, a long narrow valley, sloping steeply upwards where a small valley levels off, dividing into two upper hanging valleys beyond. Several remnants of snow slides fill in the narrow neck where the lower area transitions into the first valley. When I came through here a couple weeks back I saw a possible ascent route up one of the slides. This would take me to the rocky areas and meadows above. Here, a panoramic view of Turnagan Arm below, with the bay and valleys beyond, would be best seen. However, the snow bridge across the cascading waters has vanished. The idea does not die, but a new approach is considered. Further up the trail, a large patch of snow, the remains at the bottom of a long avalanche chute, will be my jumping off point. Now, instead of snow, only a bare slope of old grasses and new plants inhabit the forty-five degree hill above the snow patch. Along both sides of the chute are lines of alder, thick and solid from bottom to top. But higher up, the alder vanishes where talus and outcrops overlook the valley. But first I have to get across the creek. Since the terrain is more level here, I am able to find a fording location across the gushing creek. The two dogs, Sheba and Pancho are my companions. As we get across and to the patch of snow, I look back at the trail, beaten into the earth by countless people, easy to follow, gentle to the feet, but conventional to the mind. I can't wait to plant my feet in untrodden ground.
Great post, nice picture of the sheep!
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