Hyalite Canyon from the "Unnamed Wall"
I got off of work at 3:00 p.m. on Tuesday and met Jason at Hyalite for some afternoon laps. The sun sets between 4:30 and 5:00 these days, and we had just enough time to hike in and hang the rope before the headlamps came out. We spent the next hour cruising up various lines of WI 3-3+ as a mostly-full moon painted an eerie glow on the mountains across the canyon.
It was completely dark by the time I put Jason on belay for his last turn. I doused my headlamp and took solace in the company of the winter constellations until my eyes adjusted to the dimness of the moonlit night.
As Jason picked his way up the climb, I privately enjoyed one of those priceless liminal moments – suspensions in time when self-awareness is at its most complete. With stars shining above me, the luminous moon hovering just above the canyon, and Jason’s headlamp turning the wall of crystallized water into a monochrome fireworks show, I gave profound and silent thanks for the perfection of the moment. This is precisely the type of experience I was hoping to have when I came out here.
There was nothing exceptional, really, about the climbing that evening. This was not an expedition that we had planned for months. This was not a test-piece project that we had studied and practiced. This was not a day-long, multi-pitch, 10,000 calorie, miles-to-go-before-I-sleep epic. This was a pretty average after-work top-rope session – the kind you’ll have a hundred times in your climbing career — and it’s exactly what I wanted when I left Atlanta in October.
Jason pulls the crux bulge on a nameless, rarely-forming line
There are very few places in the world where I can work an eight-hour day and still have time to run laps on an ice climb before dinner. The fact that this is probably the least exceptional climbing day I’ll have this week is amazing to me. I am happy here.
It’s easy to praise the good fortune that has brought me to this place – to think how lucky I am that I can do these things that I love so much as often as I am able – and, absolutely, good fortune is an ingredient. I’m fortunate that I was born in a country where I can leave my subtropical home and drive to a place where I can climb frozen waterfalls for six months without having to change so much as my phone number, and I’m fortunate that I have friends and family who will support me in this endeavor. Still, good fortune can only account for so much.
Michelle's first day on ice
It’s not a matter of random chance that I landed here in Bozeman. Indeed, I came here precisely because of the outdoor opportunities. I wanted to live in a place where a three-hour break in my day and a little motivation meant that I could go ice climbing. Tuesday night exists as the culmination of that goal, and, for that, it is truly exceptional.
Adventure and recreation are of high priority in my world, and they’re integral in my endless quest for personal balance. If they’re priorities to you (and, if you’re reading this on The Mountain Shop website, chances are good that they are), I encourage you to find a place to be where they can be part of your everyday life. If you love to ski, don’t let skiing become a vacation-only activity; move to Colorado or Idaho and ski 80 days a year. If you love whitewater, go to Asheville or Chattanooga where you could try out a new local creek after every rainy day. If you’re captivated by desert canyons, spend some time in Utah. If you love climbing, your biggest problem will be deciding which world-class destination suits you the best.
A little crossover magic
Adventure is like a friendly little leprechaun: it knows exactly where to find good fortune, but it won’t come looking for you. Go find it.
