I drove four hours to a different country.  At least that was what my eyes were telling me as I looked at a towering wall of granite with long endless couloirs piercing threw them.
The night before doubt was was running thick threw my mind as I searched for a place to camp around 11 at night.  The doubt actually entered my brain much earlier in the day.  The wind had been blowing hard for a few days and the comforts of my house and company of my wife and kids were pulling at me to stay home.  Throw in a brutal cold into the mix and I had all the reason in the world to pull the plug on this trip.
“Push through” I kept telling myself as a I hauled myself and 50 pound pack  up the dark mountain.  Getting camp set up was a small victory that was short lived with the realization that I would be sharing my sleeping bag with a some wet boots and a frozen water bottle.
The 5 AM alarm was too early and ignored for a half hour as I half slept and half figured out my game plan for stepping into the single digit temps.  A skipped breakfast and a slow walk toward the objective was the call.
It was an hour up this walk that everything made sense.  The dark rocky mountain slowly revealed itself as a natural masterpiece.  “Who design’s these things?”  I half joked to myself .  The mountain made sure not to skip a single shade of color as it transitioned from grey, to pink, to yellow.  Right in front of me was one of the best mountains I had ever seen on any scale and it was in my backyard.  The overwhelming thing is that this mountain is one of a thousand that call the high sierra home.  I would learn through the trip that as I crested ridges or went around corners that this is by know means the crown jewel of the range.

The Chuting Gallery