Thoughts At Sea Level

It's been over six months since I've hiked up a mountain. That statistic probably doesn't mean too much since it's February and worthy mountains are completely snow-covered. I should say instead that it's been over six months since I've seen a mountain. The past half year has contained no hiking, no skiing, no scenic drives with picturesque viewpoints. I've left the west far behind.

I can walk on pleasant beaches, see alligators in the wild and bask in the sun year-round, but nothing compares to the beauty and peace of an alpine hike. Climbing a summit brings a calm feeling of accomplishment along with the fantastic views. The fresh air rejuvinates like nothing else. I miss stepping over roots and rocks, smelling the pines, feeling the spongy moss along the trail, and rounding a bend to discover a beautiful vista.

My photo albums of the past few years are filled with pictures of mountains. I have pictures of nearly every hike, and it's hard to find a bad shot (unless it's of me, dirty and tired and trying to cross a river). What should I photograph now? I can only have so many pictures of my cats (even though they are precious treasures), and I've already snapped plenty of photos of pelicans, lizards and sand.

I like the Spanish moss dripping from the trees and the exotic birds near every stream. I appreciate sunny beaches and lazy rivers. I delight in seeing dolphins and manatees playing in the open water. I enjoy riding my bike for miles without getting winded. But I still miss the mountains.