Category Archives: Life

With Father’s Day just around the corner and my upcoming trip to climb Mount Ritter in the Sierras, I thought it a fitting time to share something I wrote a few years ago for my Dad on father’s day. I am privileged to have grown up in a great home with an amazing family. My Dad is one of the most influential people in my life and I am proud to be his son. So, here is my story once again… Happy Father’s day Dad!

. . .

“In My Father’s Steps”

by Taylor Abeel
April 3, 2004

The snow is deep in the Sierra’s in mid-January. I am alone, miles into the wilderness, miles away from any sign of the outside world. I concentrate on the silence of my surroundings,the stillness of the crisp, cool air, the constant “crunch – swish – crunch” of my snowshoes as I make my way deeper into the backcountry and up toward the summit of the lonesome and forbidding “Alta” peak. The snow is so deep that even with snowshoes I sometimes sink up to my knees. As long as I keep moving I am able to keep warm. I have not seen any sign of another human being since I started out into the mountains 3 days ago. As far as I know, I am the only one crazy, or stupid enough to be climbing this peak this time of year. I am 21.

. . .

“Dad, my shoulders hurt!”, I complain. It is the summer of 1993, I am 11. My dad is leading me and my two younger brothers on a 6 day trek through the wilderness of the high sierras; our first backpacking trip. “Okay, lets take a break,” he says as he removes the burden from my back. While my brothers and I soak our blistering feet in the cold stream by the trailside and munch on some trial-mix and beef jerky, My dad takes a few of the heavier items out of each of our packs and puts them into his own. He hopes to make this as enjoyable an experience as possible for me and my brothers. This trip is something that he has dreamed of for a long time. He has always loved backpacking, and he hopes to pass his appreciation for the outdoors on to us. He used to go every chance he could when he was young and single, but the responsibilities of providing for a wife and three growing boys does not leave much time for leisure. My brothers and I are finally old enough to take on the demanding challenges of backpacking. My dad is loving every moment of it. So are we – when we don’t have those awkward, lifeless burdens strapped onto our small frames that is.

. . .

It is starting to snow hard now. I can hardly see 50 feet in any direction. Were it not for the occasional dark shape of a rock protruding from the snow pack every so often, I would have no concept of distance or perception of depth. The blinding snow covered mountainside often appears featureless, as if I were traveling into a formless void. I have a general idea of where my chosen route to the summit continues. I am just hoping and praying that I have not fallen off course. I am forced to stop and make a ledge in the steep, snowy slope to sit in while I switch from my snowshoes to crampons. The snow has turned to ice and the mountainside is getting steeper and steeper as I climb closer to the top.  The threat of a possible avalanche is becoming far too real. I continue climbing. I feel nothing. The 70 pounds of gear and food on my back has become a part of me. My ice axe is an extension of my hand. My feet and hands are numb, but I have stopped caring. “Chink, crunch, crunch”, I keep moving. It is all that I can do or think about.

. . .

“Come on Jordan, just wait five more minutes. . . Dad has to be close”, I reason with my brother. It is the summer of 1999. My family and I are deep in the backcountry of Glacier National Park. My brothers are growing impatient waiting for my mom and  dad to catch up. I am realizing for the first time in my young life that my dad is getting old. “Dad,” I offer, “ let me take some of your weight, I really don’t mind, I can handle it.” I am 17. I have come to hold a deep love for the wilderness. I feel so at peace out here away from all the busyness and stress of life. I just wish that I could go by myself so I would not have to stop every 20 minutes to wait for my mom and dad to catch up. I cannot wait to go backpacking without my family.

. . .

I have exhausted every ounce of strength now. I feel like dropping this very instant and sinking into a deep sleep. My willpower alone causes me to continue on now. I look up – the evasive summit is still out of sight. I have got to get back up and keep moving. Everything is sore now. I am getting frustrated as I am forced to continually switch from snow shoes to crampons and then back to snow shoes again because of the ever-changing density and grade of the snow-pack. Steep ice, soft powder, steep ice again, now it’s powder. I can’t feel my fingers anymore. Every labored breath of cold dry air feels razor-sharp. It seems that I slide down two steps for every one step up. All I can think about is food and rest. My dad’s parting words play over and over again in my mind. “Be careful son”, he warns as I sling my pack into the back of my truck, “your life is precious. Don’t take any unnecessary risks”. “I love you!”, he says as I turn back to wave goodbye.

…

“Come on Taylor, I have to take a break, I am dying.”, my friend Mike petitions as he collapses on a nearby rock. The year is 2000. I am 18 now. I am leading 3 of my best friends on a weeklong trek through the wilderness of the Sierras. This is their first backpacking trip. It is a beautiful summer day, the air is crisp and refreshing. The forest is alive with the sounds of life  and nature. The sun is beating down on my bare chest as I down half my canteen of ice-cold mountain water, just filtered from a nearby stream. “You guys are doing great” , I say hopping to encourage them. It feels so good to share my love for the outdoors with others, to pass on to my friends bits of all that I have learned from my dad. I have complete confidence in my skills as an outdoorsman now. My dad has taught me well. I am doing all that I can to make this an enjoyable experience for my friends.

…

It doesn’t seem possible but there is nowhere left to go now but down; I have reached the summit. The view is breathtaking; a sea of jagged, snow covered peaks rising up from a blanket of towering redwood trees, as far as I can see in every direction. The bitter cold wind cuts across my face as I gaze out over the valley where a dense fog is beginning to creep out across the valley floor. The golden light of the setting sun illuminates the mountaintops, rising up through the clouds. I just wish I had someone else here to share this moment with. I wish my dad could be here. His body isn’t as willing these days as his heart and mind are though. He is not much of a winter backpacker anyway. He always preferred to enjoy his surroundings rather than conquer them. He is at home right now, probably worrying about me. I know that deep inside he is very proud though. It is getting cold. The light is fading fast. It is time to start down the mountain.

…

It is 2003. I am 21 now. I am single. I go backpacking every chance I get. Even though my dad has not been able to go with me lately, I think of him every time I hit the trail. I know that no matter what, I will always feel close to my dad when I am out there. It seems that I am becoming more like him every day. I look forward to the day when I too will have a family, when I will be able to pass on to my children all that my dad has instilled in me. I dream of the day when I will take my own kids on their first backpacking trip. My dad has been such an example to me throughout my life. I hope and pray that I will be half the man and father that my dad is.

…

I awoke this morning from a deep and restful sleep to the faint sound of snow, gently falling on my tent. It is very quiet. The snow continues to cover the sleeping landscape. The only sound is the “crunch, swish, crunch” of my snowshoes. The towering redwoods rise up from valley floor. I am in the mountains, I am in the wilderness.  I am at home. Thanks Dad.