“Dammit
all the world is real and everybody carries on like it is a dream, like they
were themselves dreams…pain or love or danger makes you real again.”
Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac
What is a
real mountain person? This is essentially the question John Fayhee, the editor
of the Mountain Gazette, posed to me
in an email. Since then it’s been lots of thinking, writing, throwing away
(recycling), thinking, and here I am again, writing.
I’ve come to
the conclusion I am both unable and unwilling to define what a real mountain
person is. The main reason is that if I wrote about what a real mountain person
is, I’d be saying that certain people who live in the mountains aren’t
authentic. Who am I to judge who belongs in a mountain town?
I am a
typical example of a mountain town resident. I moved to Colorado from the
Midwest and I’ve been here for most of the last seven years. Maybe if I was
born and raised in the mountains, I could qualify to write about real mountain
people. If I was a miner who lost his job and watched Crested Butte, where I’m
writing from, turn from a mining based economy to a tourist based one. If I was
a cowboy who suffers through the seasons year after year, through all the
trials and hardships the mountains invite. Or if I was a Ute who lived off the
land in the mountains only to have it developed by the white person,
descendants who later put “native” stickers on their cars.
I am just
another white guy who moved to the mountains with little, except hopes of
finding something to live for, which the flatlands didn’t seem to have for me. The
search was for real mountain experiences, something I found through the
enthusiasm and wonder of youth, the luck of being in the right place at the
right time, and the often underrated advantage of having relatively little
money.
Here is a
little more about the message from Fahyee. In the email, he mentioned that he
was moving from his home in the High Country of Colorado to New Mexico. One of
his reasons, he stated, was people moving to the High Country didn’t seem like
real mountain people.
Now I think
I know the kind of people he’s talking about. Here’s a semi-reasonable
stereotype: they drive shiny vehicles, they are interested in real estate, and
they usually come to the mountains with capital. These folks are flocking to
Crested Butte, too.
In the last
couple years, I’ve witnessed real estate prices skyrocket, and more flashy
vehicles driving around. I could go off on the capitalists ruining mountain
towns, but again who am I to judge? Have you ever heard the phrase, “Don’t hate
the player, hate the game?”
Besides,
this game doesn’t interest me. I feel the true wealth of mountain living lies
in getting out there, in the hills and growing spiritually from these
experiences. Out there, in my little campsite a couple miles out of town, where
I’d easily surpassed the fourteen day limit. This was mountain living: a fire
pit, a tent, boulders all around, the sweet smell of sage, birds a chirpin’ and
bunnies a hoppin’. I felt richer than any man in a mansion. No rent, no TV, no
sofa, just a man and his thoughts. The plan went well till my car broke down. But
what did I care? I had a bike, and two feet. During this experience, I found a
peace of mind I hadn’t experienced since I was a child at camp, in the woods. It
was also a blessing as a young writer to have the stillness of silence every
night, with the fire as my only entertainment. I experienced a magical moment,
I can still vividly recall years later, sitting by the fire, a poem inspired by
my surroundings, actually writing itself.
My friend Brent
Armstrong is a little more out there than I am. He was a guru to all us
youngsters interested in the simple character building endeavor of rock
climbing. He had his eyes on a prime piece of real estate down in the Black
Canyon, an unclimbed big wall route. He spent nine days alone on the wall. I’d
discovered living simply in the wilderness brought great thoughts and
meditations, but living on a wall, what would that be like?
I never had
the nerve to do a big wall climb alone, but I did get stuck on a wall overnight
down in The Black. Dave Marcinowski and I didn’t intend to spend the night on a
cramped ledge, with barely enough room for the two of us to sit, a thousand
feet above the Gunnison River, but I’m glad we did. We were essentially naked
to the night, to nature. Having everything removed from your life makes one
appreciate even the most basic things we many times take for granted. We asked
each other questions like, “If you could have anything in the world what would
it be?”
“Water, some
food and a woman,” was the answer.
Another
buddy, Zach Alberts, is a simple cat, an inspiration to mountain town bums. The
guy hasn’t paid rent in like seven years, and he’s one of the most pleasant
individuals you’ll ever come across. One summer, he set up camp amongst the
local boulders, ones that happen to be in close proximity to a country club
with multi-million dollar homes. If the owners only knew, there was this
climbing bum living in the same setting, with the same mountains to view, with
nothing but his tent and some food, content as could be. I wonder if the
millionaires, burdened by their worldly possessions, are truly as happy as he
is.
Tom Mally is
another local I admire. I could camp out for six months in the warm seasons,
but he camped out for two winters, this in a place that gets so cold many
residents can barely afford their heating bill. I told him recently I admired
him for his winter camping skills. He told me it wasn’t so bad, and once he
figured out how to stay warm, he really enjoyed the experience.
I think in
America there is an illusion that having a lot of money will certainly provide
one with a rich life. There is a freedom, a feeling, a lifestyle out there that
can be lived without a lot of money. There are many ways to find this freedom,
but, personally, I found this lifestyle by moving to a mountain town and
learning from the people here.
After all
these years, I still get this blissful feeling when I’m out there on a rock, in
my tent, or with my friends, a feeling that is real, the thought that I should
try to live more simply in order to find more happiness.
Out there, I
also have this feeling deep inside in some way I owe the Natives who lived here
before me, the miners who saw their way of life give way to the easier, but
more complicated tourist based way of life, and the cowboys who still ranch on
land that was once worth little and now is worth millions; the real mountain
people who led the way for us living here now.
photo by Braden Gunem www.bradengunem.com
