When our governor’s Stay at Home order was announced in March, our family cast about a bit for evening entertainment. We were used to evenings filled with board meetings, social engagements, kids’ sports—the stuff that makes up life in a small community. With our evenings now free, Netflix called. But so did the mountains. Lucky for us, we heard them.
Those who love to climb are almost universal in how we articulate its appeal. The singular focus of mind and body a particularly scary sequence demands. Toes burning on tiny crystals, fingers crimping mere suggestions of handholds, calves vibrating. Topping out on a climb, hands gritty, heart pumping, the world spread below and beyond. This is why we do it.

In those days before cell phones there was nothing for our partners to do but wait for us to return safely, which we always did, tired and dirty, with a story to tell. Returning from a hike or climb with Saranne, I’d throw my pack on the floor, take off my boots, and collapse on the couch, sated with the unique exhaustion that comes from a day in the mountains.
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