I had planned to hike Northern Italy’s Dolomites this past August. More specifically, I prepared to use the Alta Via 2 via ferrata course to trek from alpine refugio to refugio. Instead, I ventured to the longest and highest via ferrata course in North America: Mt Nimbus in British Columbia. Part of the Canadian Mountain Holiday 3-day package included climbing the Conrad Glacier valley. That wasn’t just a throw-in. Before my chopper landed at the base of our scramble, I knew this would be an adventure equal to the Mt Nimbus climb. In fact, an Instagram post about this Conrad Glacier day trip is how I first learned of the whole deal.
Highlight videos are an integral part of my travels. I get to relive the experience again and again, rebuilding my seratonin levels and empowering me through the drudgery parts of my work days. Per usual, I hired DreamItReel to edit the hours of footage from my GoPros and iPhone. For the first time, though, I added a voiceover—a monologue. What the DreamItReel team did with it is impressive. Other than the opening caption, I made no changes to their first cut. I think you’ll see why.
The transcript of that monologue can be found beneath this video:
I was made for the Conrad Glacier.
Climbing here was my destiny.
The helicopter rides were just a cherry on top.
I came to Canada with a parched soul.
It had been more than a year since I had taken a vacation.
Ministry, family, and my career had wrung me dry.
I came to the mountains hot.
My hair was on fire, coming off a record volume of work and long days in the office.
I craved cool air in my lungs.
I wanted to see my breath in the air—even though it was still August.
My friends and family relax by baking on a beach,
But I get refilled while running around in the rain.
Where others are calmed by the pattern of waves,
I’m drawn to the wild, irregularity of whitewater.
I refuel with adrenaline rushes, not cruise buffets.
I am restored in remote places and high elevations.
Even as an extrovert, I enjoy the solace of being alone.
The irony is that I came here to feel alive again, to feel fully present,
Because the Conrad Glacier is slowing melting out of existence,
Retreating each year a little more—
Some years: a lot more.
As temperatures rise, it is losing more of itself.
Like the giving tree, it will feed the valleys below until it is no more.
That doesn’t mean it retreats quietly.
With its foaming torrent, the Conrad’s thunder reverberates like constant applause.
Its ice has scraped and smoothed the mountains.
Its weight has moved rocks.
And its meekness has moved me.
The Conrad excursion was not oversold.
Our climb included more adventure than advertised.
On top of that, this alpha group of strangers proved so fast at climbing
That we earned extra time to play,
Exploring ice up close,
Rolling heavy rocks,
Swimming in water so cold it burned.
As we pushed our bodies, my soul struggled to stay inside my ribs.
Even the predictable had restorative power.
The smell of the pristine water,
The almost-tangible breath of the glacier,
The blue gradients of the compressed ice,
Seemingly-fragile flowers growing out of cracks in the rock,
Camaraderie quickly forged with men I had just met,
The whine, whistle, and chop of helicopter rotors coming for me.
There were moments when I thought and probably said,
“This is unreal!”
“Can you believe you’re standing here!?”
“I am alive!”
“God, you are amazing.”
“Wow.”
In the millennia of human history,
I somehow was chosen to live in the first generation to climb next to this glacier.
These cliff faces have only recently seen the sun,
And I’m one of the few to climb their thread of rungs and safety cables,
To cross its unconventional bridges,
To stand under its spray,
To have a helicopter waiting for me at the top.
I don’t know if I’ll ever make it back to the Conrad,
But that’s not for lack of longing.
I already miss a place I didn’t even know existed for my first 38 years.
If I do return, I’ll see more rock and less ice.
There will be less of the glacier.
But the Conrad will see more of me—a better me.
—
Primary photo courtesy of Patch Bennett
