My friends could hardly find the motivation to return to the ‘Automater’. Our brotherhood that had held us together on the problem so well had crumbled. All of a sudden we weren’t on the same page. Contemplating the events of the day was an awkward experience for all of us now. My friends knew I didn’t mind their recollections but still they kept quiet. This only reinforced my terrible feelings. The torment of having to take another 6 months off of climbing haunted me through the night. My reason for existence felt jeopardized, making me even more isolated from the world. If climbing was all I had then who was I as a person? I could only reflect inwardly and my thoughts were constantly on what to do next. RMNP had practically been the reason for my moving to Boulder in the first place. There was nothing left to do but trek my camera those teasing two and a half miles again and again. Photographing my friends on climbs that I desperately wanted to try would have to suffice.
Eventually the feelings of depression and sadness passed, as I should have known they would. I was left to contemplate all the other aspects of the park that previously, I had missed. The stark mountains looming above, the gnarled tree next to the boulder that had so many stories to tell, they now became the focus of my camera lens. The beauty that I had originally discovered in the park now returned to me. In my frantic rush I had neglected to look deeply once I had found what I needed. A new appreciation dawned. Pushing my friends on these climbs was equally as rewarding as if I were succeeding on them. Our partnership grew because of it.
I knew the magic of the park would not be accessible much longer as winter slowly crept its way in. These boulders would soon be under many feet of snow, the chalk washed off until the next wanderer stumbled upon them in the spring…
