MATISSE AND RED BLOOD CELLS may seem like an odd mash up, but I will try to make my point. After a month at sea level in Pasadena and Las Vegas, I found myself growing somewhat ambivalent in my usual passion for being in the mountains. But then finally back in Utah, we started from our familiar staging point at Alta Lodge and began our well-traveled Powerline route to the ridgeline.
High altitude medical studies seem pretty uniform in the idea that red blood cells – the couriers of oxygen – tend to decrease to normal levels after a couple weeks away from high altitude environment. Which means that returning to the mountains after a few weeks means that you have to reboot your red cell build-up from scratch and suffer the effects of acclimatization like regular sea-level folks. However, in my own experience, I have found that after year’s-long exertion at altitude, my ability to function well in thin air seems to rebound pretty quickly. So after an hour or so in the skin track, I realized I was moving well and sustaining a credible cadence. (Brad said we were climbing at about 1,000 feet per hour; not at peak pace, but respectable, given my month-long glut of sea-level oxygen.) |
| [reaping the rewards] |
The air was exceptionally clear. The view from near 11,000 feet was spectral, with infinity only impaired by the natural bend of the earth. The climb to Heart of Darkness pass was burly, especially the last 300 feet of boot-packing to the ridge through 60 degree junk-pile lee deposit. But then, standing at the divide between two vast basins, barely a ski track in sight, that ambivalence vanished. The arctic wind was gusting, turning our exposed skin to crystal; the footing was fractured and unstable and a false step could mean a 500-foot ass luge to the emergency room. What most reasonably minded people would call misery.
But standing atop a summit, every step earned equity, is something I call humble superiority. The ambivalence was supplanted by the kind of exalted tinyness I feel in the mountains. This was a brief layover in Utah and two days later I am in Manhattan, back at sea level, restoring my red blood cell count to consumer level metabolism. But I travel back to the summit for a moment and think of the Matisse caption that accompanies one of his late-in-life construction paper pieces. It goes something like: "Elle vit apparaître le matin. Elle se tut discrètement" . Which I believe crudely translates to: she saw the beauty of the morning; she shut the fuck up.
Day’s Vertical: 4,400. Season to Date: 48,400.
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