Lately, with the snow melting (though now it's back, and with a vengeance it seems) I've been noticing the beauty of the mountains more. I'm putting together this post with things I've written to my parents about it.
I am constantly put in awe by the mountains around here. They are so mysterious and I admit, a little creepy, probably because of how untame they feel. Last Friday I hiked Y Mountain at midnight with a few friends, and as we reached the top and looked out on the valley, we remarked how incredible it would be for Brigham Young or any of the original settlers of the area to look out and see how far their little town has come. The strip of lights along the mountain shimmered and suddenly stopped at the lake, which reflected some of the lights, then there was darkness where civilization ended and the mountains began again. I turned around and saw the stars twinkling over the dark peaks, clouds coming in around the tips. Sheer rock faces dropped into meadow and pine trees. It was amazing to see the mountains so dark and still and close. At one point on the way up we were singing Disney songs and we stopped for a break at a switchback and sang "Colors of the Wind" from Pocahontas and at the part where it's like "something or other makes a circle, makes a hoop that never ends..." and we all held hands in a circle at the circle part and then we sang "How HIGH the sycamore grows! If you cut it down, you will NEver know!" and at "HIGH" we raised our hands up in the air. It was really funny, but weird/cool because the whole Pocahontas thing reminded me of how Native Americans are more in touch with and respectful of the Earth. I thought of the guy in Into the Wild, and I think I can see a small part of why he wanted to be alone in the wilderness, however foolishly he went about it. And I half expected a herd of elk to walk up the path. So often I wish I could go back to a place thousands of years ago and see the world's raw and natural beauty. That's how these mountains make me feel-- like I already have gone back in time. There's another mountain I pass whenever I go to Megan's that I recently found is called Toadhead. Every time I pass by I have to force myself to watch the road, because I always want to stare at it. Adrien and I plan to hike and explore around it once the snow melts again. Last summer Adrien, Eric, and I hiked up to Timpanogos Caves. Going up it was really, really hot and steep and there were like hundreds of people climbing with us. But on the way back down we had waited for everyone else to get ahead of us and we were on the last tour, so there was no one behind us. The rangers even got ahead, and it was just Adrien and Eric and me on the mountain. Rainclouds came in and the sun was starting to set, and I felt humbled by the beauty of everything.
This is the first tree I've seen with spring blossoms, brought on probably by the warmer weather last week.
This is up between Toadhead and Maple Mountain.
This is in the same place. Maple Mountain (the one on the left) has slate slides coming down the side of it. Toadhead (on the right) is usually grassy and rocky. It looks less formidable without snow.
This is a view over snowed-on trees near the entrance to Rock Canyon, which is between Squaw Peak (on the left) and Y Mountain (on the right).
This picture I took up Provo Canyon. I drove up a side road that went up onto the back of Squaw Peak a bit so I could get a better view of it without the road. When I saw it I was literally in awe. The metamorphosed layers remind me again that the mountains dwarf us not only in size but in age. And the way the clouds fall down the peaks into the canyon...well, it speaks for itself. It's even more incredible in person.
The last picture is of Bridal Veil Falls, which incredibly survived the freeze of last night. When I was up there a couple of weeks ago it was almost frozen solid.