Michal Reed
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High Altitude Interiors is a personal account of one woman’s goal to climb all of California’s mountains over fourteen thousand feet before she turned fifty. It conveys the physical and emotional risks of an older woman committing to such a project; the development of skills and confidence; the intimacy of sharing such adventures with others, as well as exploring vast amounts of time alone; the physical and emotional barriers that must be recognized and overcome or accepted; and lots of quirky self-deprecation. Each of the disappointments, setbacks, and failures are used as opportunities for new explorations. Though set within the specific context of mountaineering, Reed’s process of setting goals as guidelines to encourage exploration and growth can also be applied to other areas as well. Working through fear, the value of goals (and abandoning them), planning, fitness, limitations and creating reasonable expectations, are all illustrated in ways that are easy to assimilate.
This book has several different strands: the articulation and execution of goals; physical descriptions of the climbs; the evolution of the skills and confidence of the narrator; the relationship of the narrator to self and others; and the social reading of age and gender. Readers may not feel inspired to literally repeat the author’s exploration of climbing the 14er’s, but they may translate the process into a particular goal of their own. Experienced hikers might appreciate the insights expressed that they have felt, but not put into words. Hikers interested in the Sierras might find the specifics of the descriptions useful in planning their own trips. Readers who have anticipated mountaineering as a prohibitively daunting endeavor, might feel inspired to try a small trip of their own after reading these accounts.
Michal Reed has backpacked for over thirty years, beginning
alone at seventeen, and then continuing with her ex-husband
and her two sons. She learned to climb in her mid-thirties,
though with young children she couldn’t spend a lot of time
developing her skills. She has an MFA in art and critical
writing from California Institute of the Arts, has published
art criticism and personal essays, and has shown her artist’s
books internationally. Michal lives in Springville, CA where
she turned her family home in to a Bed and Breakfast.
Artists, writers, and people wanting a retreat form the city
compliment her experience of teaching at the local high school.
Introduction
Why do people climb mountains? I don’t think there is a universal answer. I mountaineer because on a long hike, without multi-tasking and care-taking and trying to get a million assignments done, ideas surface that would otherwise be buried in the business of daily life. Hiking gives me time to indulge in the delight of mulling over my thoughts. When I walk with another, communication becomes elliptical rather than linear. We have the luxury of exchanging ideas, of quietly thinking on our own about what we have both said, then returning to the conversation so that we can build and move forward again. Without diversions, this development of ideas and interpersonal feelings is allowed to deepen. That's one part of it.
When the climb becomes more difficult, forcing me to focus directly on my hands and feet, I experience a meditative pleasure that comes from being in the moment. When the panic or focus is relaxed, the peace and clarity that remain are gratifying to experience on my own and intimate to share with another. I enjoy exploring the introspective balance between the external and the internal experience. The specific details of the terrain are less important than the effect those details provoke. And, of course, there is always the perk of burning all of those calories.
My mountaineering experiences have not been sensational like those recounted by Jon Krakauer or Joe Simpson. Nor am I attempting any first ascents. By world standards, the mountains and the routes I take are neither challenging to get to nor technically difficult. Even my "high altitude" is only half of Everest. But when I was in Patagonia a few years ago, hiking around Torres del Paine and Fitz Roy, I realized that although the landscape was spectacular, and the glaciers and icebergs significantly different than the terrain of “my” Sierras, still, much of the hiking itself was not so unique. Much of what I enjoy about hiking is movement within so much open space; in many ways the desert is just as satisfying.
After Patagonia, I hiked through the Jungfrau region of Switzerland which was remarkably grand and complex. Then I explored the magical expanses of moss to glacier in Iceland. But still I thought, why put up with the cold weather (as a Californian I am so spoiled), with the long flights, with the expense? Why not spend time focusing on that which I have right at home?
Though I live on the west side of the Sierras, all of California’s fourteeners are within a few hours drive. These local, personal mountains are perfectly suited to me. As any individual challenge should be, my mountains are difficult enough to push personal boundaries, but not so difficult as to be out of the range of possibility--whether through skills or strength or logistics. One person's Everest is another's Denali, is another's Whitney, is another's walk to the neighborhood park. . . .
