Hammock up, laying back under the trees, listening to the gentle wash of Mineral Creek. The cool breeze kissing my burnt skin. My shoes hang on the stumps of once lively aspen branches, the air venting a month of living out of a tent, of crossings streams, of the gentle early morning rains, of this morning’s miles up to Columbine Lake, bringing hopeful life for Kendall Mountain after a lunch of cheap boxed pasta, left behind by previous campers. I sit up and walk to the river. I dig my bare feet into the cold dirt, splashing water on my sore legs. I dip my water bottle in the running stream, the coldness of which pulses through me as I take deep barbaric swigs. I wipe the excess from my growing facial hair, looking across at Bear, Sultan, and V7. I trace them with my eyes, running my fingers in the air as if the symphonic movement would be true to my own as I sit picking routes in the distance. Pulling out my travel copy of Angle of Repose, I rest at the bank, reading, listening to the world go on without me. I am connected to this exact time, this exact place, and nothing more.

I know I have days before the others get here for Hardrock. I have a week or so before the Texas RV’s begin to pull in, running generators through the night, as if all of this was not enough. Laying back, I dip my legs into the creek, my head against the slight rise of the dirt, book on my chest. I know Tim is out in these mountains building his hut, and while it will most likely be by the lake, I’m sure I’ll run into him and Kilian in town. I’ve already run into Courtney along the Ouray Loop. Tomorrow morning I’ll be sure to go into town for some Coffee Bear, and there will be all my heroes, sitting with Dale or Bill. I will pass by, giving a hello, or perhaps a nod, but likely nothing at all.

The miles up Kendall engulf me fully. Once I’ve reached the backside of the mountain I feel the altitude stab with each inhale, and each exhale feels both too shallow and too long. On this day I am in luck. The sheep herders are up with their flocks, amidst the beauty of the landscape. Somehow this high up the land still seems flat, surrounded by peaks and small valleys. I sit on a rock, my back toward town. I look over the sheep, the dogs, the handful of young herders, taking deep drinks from my water bottles, the sun slowly melting into the mountains. I speak with my travel buddy, and best friend Trey. We talk of the freedom the herders must have, of how they must feel the same about us. We talk of the mountains ever rising from the infinite valley ahead, how they must each lead to their own valleys, with never ending peaks, and so on, forever, or so we hope. But mainly we speak of food, of the crisp taste of a nice beer as a treat for ourselves after this. How good the creek will feel as we wash away the dirt and grime of weeks of living without seeing another person. We speak of Silverton as if it were Manhattan. And to us, in this moment, it might as well be.

From the top of Kendall the shine of a few lights, people readying for the upcoming darkness of night. We know that to get down, to get back to the tents and return to town, we need to focus on this long downhill. But for now, at the peak, we simply overlook the town, it’s lights dimming as they reach the wilderness beyond it’s borders. So close, yet so distant.

As the wind catches my hair, the cool air stinging my eyes, freezing the water they produce, I feel it, what the herders must always feel; complete freedom. The dirt below me slips and slides, as I trust my body to make the exact right movement, in the exact right time. I think back to the last line I read before leaving for the long run “No life goes past so swiftly as an eventless one, no clock spins like a clock whose days are all alike.” And I smile, a crazed smile of true uniqueness. It is in this moment, with these two legs, and these old shoes, I find myself. Build myself. Perhaps this will not be forever, and this freedom, and this lifestyle, will dwindle. We’ll overcrowd. We’ll follow watch results. We’ll take this so seriously that there will be no wilderness left to conquer. No adventure in the journey. Just bragging points on a phone screen. But in this moment. In this space. I will remain free. With the taste of fridged air burning my lungs, the sound of heavy breathing and heavier footfalls, the clatter of rocks sliding. I will remain here.