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The Mountain Man -
Majka Burhardt
He stood outside the tent door and rubbed
snow on his body until it melted into water
running down his tanned skin.
I was trapped in a tent on a glacier for 2 weeks
with a man I barely knew. We were in Alaska to
climb Mt. Hunter, and an unexpected warm front
melted the ice off the face we had come to climb
and made travel impossible. Our tent was roughly
the size of a twin bed, and as the sun beat down
on us, we were forced to strip off layers until
we were in only our underwear--and that lasted
only until the first afternoon. For 14 days, I
watched the glacier soften and the man harden
and didn't care that the climb was fast becoming
a distant goal. By the time we came home, I was
ready to follow that man anywhere. Maybe this
would have happened with any combination of a
man, a woman, and a very small space. But I
think it had to do with this particular man.
This particular man was a mountain man. I'd met
him 2 months earlier in the Cascade Mountains in
Washington State. I was taking a year off from
college and looking for climbing
partners--especially ones who had been out of
college for more than a decade and had dark
hair, chiseled triceps, and squint lines around
their eyes from too many days in the sun.
I found just this man outside an Italian bakery
in Bellingham. When he said he was looking for a
partner, I said yes without hesitation.
He woke up every morning with a new perspective
on each day, always concocting new adventures.
When I was disappointed that we couldn't make
that climb, he created a new thrill just for me:
Wearing only his mountaineering boots, he'd
stand outside the tent door and rub snow on his
body until it melted into water running down his
tanned skin. Then he'd crawl inside our little
home and not let me touch him until I went
outside and did the same.
We spent our first year together camping out of
his '82 Saab. We've made love at 18,000 feet,
and at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. We've
climbed together in Ecuador, Nepal, and Bolivia.
After 8 years, he still takes the middle seat
and always gives me the first shower.
Now we have a home above 8,000 feet on a granite
hillside in Colorado. Five years of marriage and
a place to hang our ice tools have changed us:
These days our outdoor pursuits are closer to
home, and we use our foam mattress in our
bedroom as often as our air mattress in a tent.
Though I haven't seen a snow strip show in a
while, other things keep me reaching for his
hips. Like the way he waters our aspen trees and
sweeps the deck, the way he hangs the
hummingbird feeder outside 2 months before they
visit--just in case. The way he does all of
these things in an old pair of jeans and a
too-short T-shirt that rises high onto his ribs
as he works. And especially the way he acts
surprised when I meet him outside with an ice
cube in hand and remind him of the way we met.
(Majka Burhardt is a writer and certified
rock-climbing instructor in Estes Park,
Colorado.)
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