Have you ever had an addiction? For most people the answer would be yes. I know I have.

I’ve been thinking lately on just what it is that drives me to spend so much time, money, and energy exploring the mountains. I’m not sure this is something I’m a good enough writer to put words to, but I feel the need to try.

Why call it an addiction? If I look into some of the terms of addiction the stages are essentially the same. We talk about our tolerance and how it grows so that we need more and more of something to achieve the desired result. Withdrawal happens when that “something” is no longer available and often creates unpleasant reactions that may be directly opposite of how you feel when you are using. We talk about our difficulty cutting down and controlling said behavior. Lastly, we talk about social and recreational activities becoming focused around the addiction, and important social roles being jeopardized. We become preoccupied with the addiction, spending copious amounts of time on planning, engaging in, and recovering from the addictive behavior.

Does this sound anything like mountaineering? I think so.

I started exploring and playing in the mountains at the relatively young age of 5. Kind of like a young child who sneaks a sip of beer from his parents, I don’t know if I could say that at that point I completely enjoyed it. The first time I went to 14,000 feet with my father I spent most of my time on the summit of San Luis Peak tossing my cookies in the talus. I continued doing backpacking trips and climbing peaks with my family and soon it became a habit, though not really an addiction. Around the time I was 9 years old my father decided it was time for the first winter backpacking trip. To this day I’m not even sure where we went or what our goal was but I think this may have been the start of my love for the mountains and the winter.

I climbed sporadically through Jr. and Sr. high school, but I didn’t really find myself motivated during those years. Freshman year of college obviously provided alternative forms of entertainment between skiing and other exciting opportunities. However, towards the spring of my freshman year, I got back into mountaineering again. A serious accident changed my life forever that spring, and since then the drive has been a constant in my life. For a while the loss of my father was a large portion of what drove me to explore the mountains. I believe that it really just made me feel closer to him than I did in my everyday life. In years since that has faded as the primary source and made way for something more simple; a love of the peace, solitude, and sense of adventure.

The next spring I finally decided to combine the two sports I love so much and try my luck at ski mountaineering. May 4th, 2006–This is the day the real addiction began. I was 20 years old. Why had I not discovered this before? You can climb up mountains without having to walk down! Incredible. I was clueless as to what all was involved. I climbed Mount Quandary with my alpine rig strapped to my back along with anything else i thought i might need and skied back down with my dog in tow. I think back to that day in May and think; I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, so I thank God for a spring snowpack.

As soon as I started researching alpine touring setups I came to a realization: This addiction is going to be expensive. Like most backcountry sports the initial purchase gets you going for a while without much expense, but that first one can be a doozy! The sacrifices we make right?

I decided to try a pair of Alpine Trekkers, or Alpine Day Wreckers as they are more accurately called. It was just another mistake in the mountains and I feel like I found myself tipping over and falling down sidehills losing more ground than I had made. I guess it was time to stop taking the easy way out.

My college life was a bit different from the norm. I had a goal. I think my goal started much the way most people who have skied the 14ers did. You start skiing peaks. Often, these are peaks you have already climbed in the summer. Eventually you get to a spot in the list where you realize that you may as well finish.

I’m not dead certain on where in the list that was for me, but I enjoyed the opportunity to ski with Frank and Brittany on many of my first ski descents. By the end of the project, Frank and I had skied more peaks together than I had with anyone else. Joe Brannan and I became very close friends as we finished the project within a month or so of one another. It was nice to share the same habitual addiction with some fellow users. I’m thankful for all of the friends that I gained through the project, but to some extent for what you gain in skiing partners you lose in friends back home, in my case, college.

Skiing the 14ers takes you all over the state of Colorado. From Culebra in the South to Longs Peak in the North and from El Diente in the West to Pikes peak in the East. Joe and I have had many conversations about the side effects of this addiction.

A comment from Joe on one of my trip reports said it rather well, “Anyone who goes through this project has more than the mountains to deal with. Personal lives suffer for sure, friends get sore, family feels second best. It will be so nice to mend those fences. I am guessing you agree.” I do agree. It has been fun to mend those fences. It has also been challenging in some situations; impossible in others. I have lost friends, at least one girlfriend, and many opportunities because I was putting some arbitrary goal ahead of them. This is something that I’ve become better at managing, but it certainly isn’t totally fixed.

While I still spend a huge amount of my time on skis, it doesn’t involve driving hours across the state to do it. It doesn’t involve getting up at midnight to be on a summit before the sun hits it. I still do these things. But not every single weekend. It’s fun to look back on the project, think about all the time, energy, money, and lost sleep I put into it, and to realize that, for now, it is over.

So what continues to drive the addiction? Is it the quest for summits? Is it nature’s beauty? Is it the camaraderie? Is it the adrenaline rush? Is it the solitude?

I can only say what may drive my own self to continue going after bigger and more difficult objectives. It really comes down to a combination of everything. For me, I feel as though the quest for a long list of summits has gone by the wayside. I think what keeps me coming back, often to the same summit, is being surrounded by things so far from being man made. I don’t think the thrill of an adrenaline rush on a steep face or couloir will ever get old to me. Though my long time mentor Lou Dawson may disagree with me there. I think back to some of my fathers lyrics about the mountains:

I climb these mountains to find my way, but I fear I’ll lose myself if I stay. The wind so clean, the air so clear. As though no breath has claimed it for a billion years. High places. Senses quickened, as thinking slows. Oxygen deprived, but the soul knows. Vision enhanced by crystal light. These colors screaming at my sight. High Places. This realm of beauty sucks me in. But this savage power spits me out again. The danger here, it sleeps with peace. And I confess, it’s better than a drug to me. High Places.

I think my father hit the nail on the head. There really is a certain addiction to being up high. You feel different. You are surrounded by some of the most beautiful things you have ever seen in your life, yet some of the most dangerous things you have ever been exposed to. There are few things in the mountains that can’t kill you. They demand an awesome amount of respect, and even those who show that respect don’t always make it out alive. The addiction to the beauty is so worth sneaking a hit from time to time.

Riding the chairlift is as close as many people ever get to seeing nature in its true form. For me that just isn’t good enough. I need to get out there. I need to feel like I got myself there. I need to feel like the only reason I am here is because I got myself out of bed that morning and decided to walk into the woods. This addiction has to be quelled before it drives me mad. The only way to do this is to give in to it and go for another adventure.

Recently I’ve become interested in traveling and skiing on a more international basis. Of all the types of climbing, I think this is the easiest to understand. Not only do we travel to climb or ski a peak, but we are blessed with the opportunity to see new places, visit new cultures, experience new customs, and travel to places that we would never see otherwise.

A few weeks ago I took trip to Mexico to ski volcanoes with a few friends. We took a road trip through the country and shared experiences (some good, some bad) that few Americans will ever know. We drove the back roads through a rather poor farming village, got lost, and floored it through 4×4 roads while getting chased by banditos. I’ve taken a road trip from Carbondale, Colorado all the way to Talkeetna, Alaska, skiing what I could with my group along the way, and passing through the Yukon, one of this continents most unpopulated areas.

The mountains really can be compared to a drug in many ways. Perhaps you start using Tobacco, soon you move on to smoking the reefer, and before you know it you are in college snorting lines off the beer pong table, or worse.

In just about every way the mountains are my church. I go there when I feel a need to be closer to our creator, and I go there when I need the fellowship of friends. They provide such an outlet from everyday life, that in my opinion is only found there.

My life has taken a different direction; I started out hiking and backpacking, soon I was finding summits on the weekends, and now I find myself using almost every day of the week. It feels healthy. It feels beneficial. It’s an addiction that I am just not willing to flush out. The withdrawal would be too much. I’m looking forward to the next fix with a desire that is only cured by one thing. I think you know what it is.