In late August of 2011 Jake Rigby passed away in Glacier National Park. In March, my good friend Brandon, flew to Portland, OR and we drove to the park. We wanted to take in the beauty and commemorate Jake. We knew that climbing a mountain in the area of the park he passed was the best way to say our thanks and wave our goodbye. The following is what I wrote while reflecting on our trip.:
To The Frontiersman:
There is an overlook thousands of feet high under the vastness of a big sky and a view of endless green firs boarding outcropped windswept cliffs where the beginning thaw of spring melt drips off the trees creating visible trails and audible sounds of pure crystal-like water cutting through the mountain side. The overlook becomes the amalgamation of unconquerable frontier that is nature. We stand as a guest, a casual observer at the mercy of astounding beauty. It is here that we pay our respects with silent thoughts, taking in the view and the memory of a life lost.
I used to think that there were no more frontiers. One could no longer saddle a horse, hitch a wagon and push west. There are roads through the mountains and boats built for the oceans. There are spaceships for the moon and rovers for mars. And I wondered where is left for the adventures? What untapped beauty is there left for those who wish to push past the normal, the mundane? What untold stories are they left to share?
The singing of the wind, howling through the treetops hushing the falling, swirling snow, obstructing the trail and covering the mountaintops alleviated the fear that wilderness could ever be conquered. My friend, Brandon, and I sat on a clearing, looking out at the view, knowing that he had been here before. He had possibly pruned the trees and marked the lost trail. He had likely been on top of this mountain; he could have seen it from the top of his mountain. I wanted to wave and give my thanks.
“Thank you for bringing us here. This beauty is real. You pushed to conquer this frontier.”
The drive toward the pacific is worth the time and even though the roads are smooth and the air travel easy, the wilderness is real and serene and peaceful. The hike is not overly difficult, unless you do it in the snow. If you go, say your thanks because my guess is that you would not have otherwise come. Stand as a guest, a casual observer of the true beauty that lies on the top of the mountains out west.
To The Frontiersman:
There is an overlook thousands of feet high under the vastness of a big sky and a view of endless green firs boarding outcropped windswept cliffs where the beginning thaw of spring melt drips off the trees creating visible trails and audible sounds of pure crystal-like water cutting through the mountain side. The overlook becomes the amalgamation of unconquerable frontier that is nature. We stand as a guest, a casual observer at the mercy of astounding beauty. It is here that we pay our respects with silent thoughts, taking in the view and the memory of a life lost.
I used to think that there were no more frontiers. One could no longer saddle a horse, hitch a wagon and push west. There are roads through the mountains and boats built for the oceans. There are spaceships for the moon and rovers for mars. And I wondered where is left for the adventures? What untapped beauty is there left for those who wish to push past the normal, the mundane? What untold stories are they left to share?
The singing of the wind, howling through the treetops hushing the falling, swirling snow, obstructing the trail and covering the mountaintops alleviated the fear that wilderness could ever be conquered. My friend, Brandon, and I sat on a clearing, looking out at the view, knowing that he had been here before. He had possibly pruned the trees and marked the lost trail. He had likely been on top of this mountain; he could have seen it from the top of his mountain. I wanted to wave and give my thanks.
“Thank you for bringing us here. This beauty is real. You pushed to conquer this frontier.”
The drive toward the pacific is worth the time and even though the roads are smooth and the air travel easy, the wilderness is real and serene and peaceful. The hike is not overly difficult, unless you do it in the snow. If you go, say your thanks because my guess is that you would not have otherwise come. Stand as a guest, a casual observer of the true beauty that lies on the top of the mountains out west.
