Superior
Some lines steal your imagination the first time that you see them. That’s what happened to me the first time that I saw Mt. Superior in Little Cottonwood Canyon, UT, three or four years ago. At the time, the South…
Patrick Fink
Born in Chicago, Transplanted to the West, Trained in the Mountains. Author of MountainLessons.com
July, 2004
Often, when I write here, I feel like I’m writing for no one in particular. Sometimes the analytics confirms this. But that’s besides the point. When I built this blog and paid the whopping fifteen dollars to have my own…
On Hucking One’s Carcass
You might thing that jumping off tall rocks on skis is not only dangerous, but stupid as well, given that there’s often other ways to the bottom of the rocks that don’t endanger one’s femurs. I’d have to agree with…
Wild Lust
I have an illness called Wild Lust. When it comes on, I’m debilitated and unable to work effectively. That’s why I call it an illness. To call it such is more a what-other-people-think-about-it thing. Really, it’s more like a vibration…
Forty Inches
I wrote a long post about my friend’s recent and surprising suicide, but technology lost it and I can’t bring myself to write it all again. Just a few days ago, my grandfather also passed peacefully from this world, leaving…
10,000 Hours to Mastery
I’ve heard it said from many sources, all stemming from one study (which I can’t quite track down), that it takes 10,000 hours of practice to master a subject, skill, or discipline. True. And false. These days, if you want…
Baptizing the New Year
At the beginning of last year I wrote about the Year of Resurrection. 2010 was an incredible year– as the economy began to recover, along with the generals sense of world possibility, great things again became possible. In my little…
Mountain Time
I’ve lived in Salt Lake City for about a month now. This stay is the period on the end of a long and rambling sentence that tried to describe what I wanted from my life for the last several months…
Seattle
It’s eleven in the morning and I’m sitting in Seattle’s oldest espresso shop. The americano in front of me is passably rich, though my chocolate croissant is a squishy and typically american treatment of pastry. Dulling my perception of the…
Crystal Mountain
“People may die in spite of me, but they’re sure as hell not going to die because of me. We live in a culture of try, ‘Good job. Good game champ. Great try’. That doesn’t work as a paramedic. You…