Looking Down At The Bottom Looking Up

After three hours of of hiking what felt like a vertical slope, the top of Mount Haystack was right in front of me. I knew that I could keep pushing through because I had suffered so much worse before. I wasn’t about to let this mere incline prevent me from reaching the top. I powered through the aching muscles and throbbing knees, while ignoring the sharp radiating pain in my calves. After what felt like forever, I was standing 5260 ft above the sea and taking in a spectacular view. When I glanced to my left, I realized I wasn’t quite at the top, I still had two more peaks to go before I’d reach the top of Lafayette. So after a few minutes of rest I got started on the rest of the hike.

The mountains are a beautiful adventure. As you walk up the incline, trees overhang, animals run wild, and rivers roar. All of these are things that keep me coming back to hike. On my most recent hike, while it may have been 100 degrees back home, where I was it was a chilling 40 degrees. As we walked around ten miles up and over the mountain, I took many breaks to catch my breath and take in the majestic scenery. There are also the snow skiing vacations. While you can’t see anything besides snow and trees, the adventure of cruising down the slopes is full of adrenalin. The mountains have always signified an adventure for me. Just like the mountains, life is a beautiful adventure. I do not know yet what adventures are in store for my life, but I look forward to them. I strive to see the beauty in everything.

When depicting the tremendous height and abruptness of the mountain he states that “It was like a window ledge on a skyscraper, no more than fourteen or sixteen inches wide”. Bryson’s use of the simile establishes an illustrative image in the reader’s mind and creates a lasting impression of the situation. This improves the author’s tone as it details the uncertainty and discouragement the men were facing during the hike. Furthermore, Bryson advances his narrative and tone with imagery as he adapts to the trail when it becomes hazardous with oncoming snow and freezing temperatures. Bryson describes his surroundings with a bleak and dreary attitude, for example, he states that “the path was broken by steep, thickly bouldered streams, frozen solid and ribbed with blue

An inspirational sight for holiday travelers, they'll be awesomely impressed with the prominent craggy peaks towering like signposts to Heaven far above the immediate surrounding terrain. Open forest areas with wide walking tracks and panoramic views from lookout

We were all encouraged to choke down as much food as possible. Any kind of energy was essential. A melancholy atmosphere hung heavy as the journey progressed. Minutes walking slowly progressed into hours, the sky seemed to darken steadily. All of us were oblivious to the danger shrouded by the dim evening. Only moments after scaling a rather steep ledge did nature dice to turn sour. A deafening rumble made each climber perk up. Snow began to descend at an alarming rate. Thunder began to mic the steady beating of a drum, causing more concern among the ranks of climbers. The powdery snow became more of a risk than ever, climbing under pressure and leaving nothing to stand on. Third base was more than three hours away. Three hours wasn't possible at the rate. Snowfall this bad could be detrimental to the climb’s success. Snow obscured vision and numbed faces. Shouts and orders deemed lost in the screaming wind; people’s figure became shapeless blurs frantically shifting, hoping if they struggled against the wind hard enough, they might find someone. Of course, this was to no avail. Not a single person doubted their demise would come at this point: the stakes were high and no-one could play too well against Mother Nature. The snow crept up to knee-level, making it harder and harder to travel. Death and I were face-to-face. To some, they couldn't bare the idea of dying up here; they had families and friends, children who need parents and

Two men on different mountains, in different decades, sit atop snowy, windy mountains, reflecting on what got them on such a cold, towering mound of rock and snow. Jon Krakauer tells his story of climbing the Devil’s Thumb “a dozen or so years,” ago, whereas Erik Weihenmayer, a blind man, pulls you into the middle of his story of climbing Mt. Everest with a team of nineteen. Krakauer, in an attempt to escape his boring, dead-end job, ventures to climb a mountain in Alaska by himself. Jon did not succeed on the route he had originally planned on taking, but did achieve his goal of reaching the summit of the Devil’s Thumb by going a different course. However; Jon found that climbing the mountain was unsatisfactory. Weihenmayer reached the summit of Everest with few problems. Erik states that some obstacles during climbing were made invalid because of his blindness. Although both men are in similar situations, they both have very differing experiences on these summits.

Little lights shine their way down the rugged winding path. Foot steps trudge in front and behind staying close together. Dodging thorns and burs left and right. Ouch!—Every time. Quiet laughs fill the silence as we continue on. Our trek takes us up a slippery slope and through a cow pasture and under a barbed wire fence and down a long tractor path all with the weight of our bags and rifles. Finally, we make it to where we head separate ways. As goodbyes and good lucks are exchanged, nerves set in. I brush them off as I head to my sixteen feet high tower hidden among the trees. I can’t see it in the darkness, but I know the location by memory. Soon, light catches orange tape constricted around cold steel—Found it. But I still have to climb all sixteen feet. I attach my lifeline to the stand as I

Driving down the Franconia Notch Parkway, the mountain walls rise up around me and consume me. On one side, the guardrail separates me from the cars speeding past in the opposite direction. On the other side, nothing is separating me from the slopes. My eyes slowly follow the smooth curvature of the faces of the mountains. Wind, rain, snow, and ice have shaped the rock in such a way that the rock looks like silk sheets. As my eyes take in more, they come across the sharp jagged edges and ridges where rocks have recently fallen and taken parts of the mountain as their casualties. The sun peeks from behind the summit and causes the great mountains to cast shadows on their smaller counterparts. Crimson, goldenrod, bronze, and saffron leaves dance across the air as the cool gusts of wind blow them along. Soon the trees will become bare and blend with the barren slopes above the treeline, but for now the contrast between the two is unmistakably noticeable.

From the valley, the trail is the going to follow a gentle grade, as it passes through the meadows, trees, and willow thickets. The trail then takes you to a steep rockslide climb, and then spills over to the eastern side of the Maroon Peak. Once you reach the top of the slide, turn around, and enjoy some spectacular views of the valley beneath.

After waking up at site 18, having breakfast and cleaning up, we started up the trail. In retrospect, I would have gotten ready a bit quicker, as it was getting pretty warm as we approached the peak. However, the first three quarters to one mile offered a gradual assent, mostly in the shade and along the side of a creek for a time. We paused to enjoy a small waterfall along the trail. Then it started to climb a bit steeply, and the shade became occasional places where we looked forward to stopping to relax.

Just this past summer, under the hot, and sticky sun, we pushed our car to the limit, on our 1,000 mile journey to the Rocky Mountains in Colorado, although in actuality we might have pushed our fears to the absolute limit. Flipping through the Colorado vacation brochure proved to have posed some interesting vacation destinations, such as "Big Bear Lake" and Trail Ridge Road. With the intent to get high in the sky, our family headed out the next morning to Trail Ridge Road, which is a road that takes you up to a staggering height of 12,000 feet. Although optimistic, we imagined of the vast fields of green, the glacier-topped mountains, and the valleys that undertake the them. As we climbed up to the peak, it seemed apparent that there

First, going into the trail of Chain Rock, there is an outstanding amount of stairs that seem to never end. Then at the end of the stairs starts the trail of the dusty, dirty and slippery rocks. The trail had bumpy, hills; long, stairs; and treacherous, slopes. About every five feet there is a chance of almost falling, because of all the dangerously large obstacles there is to overcome. Along the way, there is a tree with an enormous buzzing bee. People who are highly allergic to bees would probably scream and

From the trail’s official terminus, the ridge flattened out before rising sharply. This repeated several times, each time stretching higher and steeper, before finally flattening out a thousand feet above our position. On this final shelf sat the summit, hidden from view by thick clouds.

The author uses a unique way to open the story by describing detailed setting around him. Beginning at the top is like an overview—just as he can see a vast expanse from the peak of Everest, the reader can see the breadth and enormity of the situation by beginning at that same place. The author gives the

Through intricate construction the poem, Moffett’s form and tone reveals the timeless nature of the power of Earth and its elements. “Route 62” is a free verse poem, reflecting how nature is free from any patterns mankind may want to impose on it. Moreover, the first few lines of the poem establishes a tranquil tone as the mountains are “lying slumbering,” evoking a peaceful image (2). As the mountains sleep, little action occurs, allowing them to match the static image many people would contemporarily associate mountains with. Furthermore, the heat of the landscape drapes its own “spines and ribs” (5). The metaphor of a skeleton reflects how the mountains are merely a shell of what they once were, as described in their formation. Nevertheless, this is not to say they are invariable nor no longer powerful. In a line that transitions between the mountains being described in the present with a serene tone, and the fierce tone that follows, the author says, “history has folded these ranges” (6). The personification of a powerful force like