THE MOUNTAIN

According to my well thumbed copy of ‘The Oxford Illustrated Dictionary’ (1981 edition), a mountain is a “natural elevation of the earth’s surface of impressive height, especially over one thousand feet”. Mount Everest, for example, is more than twenty-nine thousand feet tall, while Tryfan, in the Snowdonia National Park in Wales, barely tops three thousand, yet both are mountains. Mind you, as the latter happens to make up fifty per cent of the total number of said "natural elevations" I have climbed in my life I consider it to be plenty tall enough. All of the above are facts, pure, simple, hard; unless you think I’m lying about having climbed Tryfan.

There are other facts in this life that are harder to pin down, as well as other definitions of a mountain. It is a fact, for instance, that for much of my life I have climbed a psychological mountain every single day; depression will do that to a person. If you are of a mind to disregard the rest of this narrative as the pathetic “psycho babble” ramblings of some idle waster who needs a bullet up his arse, I would ask only that you bear with me for a while longer. If on the other hand you yourself are one such “idle waster” who has enough on their plate already, I would ask that you too might accompany me a little further on this brief journey. To members of both camps I would say this: this is not a tale about depression but about hope, about the possibility of coping with everything life has to throw at us, be we “idle wasters” or not. It might even be a story about faith.

This tale then is about a mountain, not Everest or Tryfan, but a mountain I call Life. As we’ve already established, Everest is circa twenty-nine thousand feet tall and Tryfan a mere three thousand; the mountain of Life is of a height immeasurable. Its height may well be infinite and we may never reach its summit. On the other hand, that summit may lie just below the gates of heaven itself and reaching it is merely the prelude to another place or another journey. Who is to say that the summit need be our intended target?

The first time I tried to climb Tryfan I was thwarted just short of its summit by a severe snow storm. Along with my two comrades I dug myself into a snowdrift, wrapped resplendently in my bright orange bivi bag; for possibly the only time in my life I ate a bar of Kendal Mint Cake in earnest, rather than as a tasty treat. We never reached the top but we played the best hand we could with the cards we had been dealt, we gave it what we felt was our best shot, measured in our own terms and not those dictated by others. Mayhap that is what life too is about. For all we know the view from the top might not be all its cracked up to be, lost perhaps in blinding clouds, while the view lower down may well be fantastic, sunlit and far ranging.

When we start to climb the mountain we have no way of knowing how high we must climb or how long it will take us. As with the snow storm on Tryfan things may occur to change the height we can attain. Like lowering clouds, illness may force us to abandon the climb, be it temporarily or sadly for good. We may even lose our climbing partner, forcing us to re-evaluate our goal. Furthermore, events may transpire that entail a change in our plans. Falling rocks may knock us back but we need only step aside and try again. Larger falls on the other hand may block our path so that we have to regroup before finding an alternative way up.

I talked earlier of the view from the top, whether it be the actual summit or the lesser height that we ourselves have settled upon; the view upon the way is of equal importance. At every point we will be presented with differing vistas. Some may be beautiful but we cannot take them in for long as they are at a hazardous turn in the path. At times our view may well be hampered by the difficult and rocky gully we are trying hard to negotiate; yet this is only a temporary situation. Occasionally we may reach a plateau, comfortable and safe, where we may choose to linger for a while, dwelling on how far we have come and enjoying the panorama we are thus presented. Sometimes that plateau may be forced upon us but we make the most of the view anyway.

If you are still with me at this point I thank you; so as not to overstay my welcome I will add just this: no day on the mountain is wasted. Every foot we climb is a success; every obstacle we overcome is a success; every moment spent enjoying the view is a success. Even the knock backs, the retraced steps, the adjusted goals, are a success merely by dint of the fact that having come through them, we are still on the mountain. And remember, try if you can to think always of how far you have come and not how far there may yet be to go.

This then is my tale of hope; I hope if I may that, should you need to, you can draw on it to find your own place on the mountain.

COPYRIGHT D M PAMMENT 24th JANUARY 2010