Scramble

This afternoon I got off work a little early and headed into the mountains with my buddy Eric, formerly of Bass Couch fame. He is an avid scrambler, and not of the egg variety.

All scrambling is hiking, but not all hiking is scrambling. The big difference is, to borrow Eric’s academic vernacular, the degrees of freedom allowed. In hiking, most of the time you walk from point A to point B, usually following a path or trail. In scrambling, you get out of your car, head into the wilderness, and hope that in a few hours you will find your way back.

It was great fun. Part of it was scaling rocks and uneven terrain, dodging poison ivy and prickly cacti. Part of the fun was all the finds along the way; I came home with two souvenirs, a deer leg and a small antler. Occi was understandably thrilled with the finds. But most of the fun was talking smack with my buddy. There wasn’t much chatting for the first hour as it was essentially all uphill, with limited oxygen to go around. But the next two hours exploring the ridge and hacking our way down was far less respiratorily demanding, and we were able to chat about everything from free markets in Nicaragua to time-boxing one’s life throughout their 20s and 30s.

I came back to Denver with a few scrapes, a few stings, a touch of sunburn, some bones, and a heart full of joy. I’ll be up there again.