Man on a mission

June 5, 2007

WASILLA - It was the end of March when he looked into the bathroom mirror and groaned. Six months of sitting and soda pop had taken their toll.

A winter's worth of sedentary living had left him with a layer of blubber around the midsection that was impossible to ignore. His cheeks were bulging like those of a greedy squirrel, his chin threatening to become one with his neck.

Something had to be done.

Soon.

Two days later, he stood at the base of Bodenburg Butte and stared up at the top, marveling at the enormity of the task in front of him.

How would he survive the uphill trek to the peak, towering nearly 900 feet above?

He started up the hill and grimaced as the first twinge of pain ran up his right leg, then his left. It was going to be a long trip.

He made it a third of the way up before he had to stop and catch his breath. Gasping for air, he tried to put on a good face for the two fit young women who went bouncing past, not even a glimmer of sweat on their foreheads. He knew he looked pathetic.

Halfway to the top he stopped again and wondered if maybe he'd come far enough for one day. But the sight of the summit above him mocked his efforts, and he vowed gamely to continue. His legs were already putty, his lungs a wildfire.

Twenty minutes later, he slowly shuffled his way over the last few rocky yards to the top. A stiff wind off Knik Glacier struck him square in the face. But instead of the pain he'd felt on his slow march up the hill, he was suddenly struck with a feeling he'd not known in months. The rush of endorphins to his brain, coupled with the stunning view of the Matanuska Valley below, combined to fill him with a rush of energy he'd not felt since the previous summer.

He'd made it to the top.

His long journey had begun.

The next morning, he barely made it out of bed. Filled with lactic acid, his legs shouted and screamed for mercy. But the pain was encouraging, the kind that lets you know you've accomplished something worthwhile.

The bathroom mirror was still unkind. One day's exercise had yet to chisel his doughy physique.

Over the next couple weeks, he continued to return to the Butte, turning the drive out of town into a nightly ritual. After a dozen or so summits, he no longer had much trouble making it to the top without stopping. In fact, the trip was becoming a bit stagnant for his tastes.

He longed for a new challenge.

One sunny Sunday afternoon in May, he stared up at Lazy Mountain near Palmer and decided it was time to test himself. He packed a light lunch, plenty of water and a digital camera into his backpack and hit the trail in earnest.

The sweat poured off him in buckets as he got into the rhythm of the climb. A half hour in he stopped and downed half a liter of water. Minutes later he watched in half-shame as three young boys came running down the trail. They looked as if they had enough energy to climb the mountain twice. He sighed and continued up.

Halfway to the top, he reached a picnic table and pulled out his lunch. Exhausted, he wondered if he should call it a day. After all, he'd already made if higher than he'd yet climbed all spring. What would be the harm in heading back down, leaving the summit for another day?

But the looming peak again taunted him, and again he decided he'd put the mountain to the test.

Lazy Mountain is a cruel adversary. Hikers testing themselves on the peak often fall victim to its several false summits, which serve to demoralize those hiking the trail for the first time. His experience was no different. As he reached each successive false peak, his energy level dropped, as did his enthusiasm for the climb.

Finally, only one last rocky outcropping remained. As the sun began to set over the Talkeetna Mountains, he drug his body up the final slope and climbed to the peak. It had taken nearly three hours, but he'd done it.

On his drive home, he couldn't help but look in the rearview mirror and smile at the mountain behind him. He kept glancing at the summit, thinking to himself how amazing it was that only an hour before he'd been up there, looking down at the entire valley below.

From that point on, he became a fanatic. The Butte became a daily routine, and he also returned to Lazy Mountain. He began asking questions about other local peaks, and started to dream about making it to the tops of the area's most notorious peaks, Matanuska and Pioneer.

Last weekend, he ventured to tackle a new challenge, a mountain in Hatcher Pass known as Government Peak.

On his first attempt, he only planned to go up part of the way. But the night was so beautiful, with the sunset reflecting off low-hanging clouds, that he pushed on to the top.

Unfortunately, he neglected to tell the bed-and-breakfast owner at the base of the mountain that he planned to go all the way.

On his way down, he heard someone yelling his name. It was the lodge owner, who, worried the intrepid hiker had been eaten by a bear, decided to come looking.

When they finally met at the bottom, the hiker apologized profusely for his ignorance, and thanked the man for his trouble.

&#8220Don't worry about it,” the man told him. &#8220I've done the same thing myself.”

On Saturday, he again headed up the mountain, this time in order to watch as members of the state's mountain running elite raced up the slope.

In order to make sure he'd beat the winner to the top, he started a good two hours ahead of the race. A half hour after he reached the top, the first finisher, a tall, lean specimen of an athlete came ambling up the slope.

The hiker watched in awe as the athlete gobbled up huge distances with his long strides. It amazed him that anyone could climb so fast. He couldn't help but marvel at the man's incredible endurance. His own accomplishments over the past month seemed small by comparison.

The next morning, he looked in the mirror again. The gut was still there, but not quite as noticeable. The cheeks were less chipmunk-like. And something else was different, too.

Instead of thinking of his next hike and wincing at the pain it would bring, he yearned for the next ascent. He was on a mission to climb.

I'll see you on the slopes.

Contact Matt Tunseth at 352-2265 or matt.tunseth@frontiersman.com