The Climb

25 years ago, hiking the Cornwall coast

 

At Base Camp he pitched his pillow tent,
drew flags with crayon and hung them on his tricycle.
He loved the stars stuck to his ceiling, and loved the clever,
silver light that came through the window and turned
his room into a starship. He felt sad and misunderstood
when told to pick up his toys; he made up his mind never
to become a grown-up, then one morning he made his bed
and left. Some bruising but full of good training and wearing
white sneakers and a denim jacket, he good as loped
to Camp Two, where he gathered up his spent passions,
his lessons-learned, rehearsed his self-talk and set out
with his trail map of remedial wisdom to reach Camp Three.
Mounting responsibilities, constant equipment checks,
increasing edema and demands for dwindling supplies,
still, he stowed his happy memories, laced up his sorrows,
cares, steadied himself and laboured on. Camp Four.
The summit, now in sight. Breathing comes harder.
No return to Base (amusing that he ever thought there was).
With what strength remains, he climbs higher.
The stars float in the pressing ether, the white peak looms larger,
he drops more and more gear, feels less weight,
there’s more and more light!

 


 

18 Comments

    1. Yes … the self talk… and remedial wisdom…prodding the stumbling journey on…
      And yes… less gear… more light it seems…
      and grateful tears.
      Ever onwards…

  1. May you continue to drop more and more gear and enjoy every breath in the year ahead. Happy Birthday, Stephen!

  2. Your words are a guiding light as I too approach another birthday–77 next month. Another camp, but I hope for more adventures and clearer views as I continue the climb! Birthday blessings to you!

  3. I sometimes think I carry too much gear still
    There’s an expression in mountain climbing called “summit attack.” I think a leisurely saunter will get me there too, with whatever gear I’ve retained….

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