kyleolson.blog

Author: Kyle

  • Rocher des Chalves

    Rocher des Chalves

    We three hikers set off at an exceptionally early hour considering our employment status. As with any good hike in the French alps the meeting point was given at the bakery. I arrived politely late to our 8:30 rendezvous after weaving through the rest of the world on their way to work. The winter inversion has started to set-in the Grésivaudan, but some hints of sun shone through almost offsetting the sinking cold of the valley.

    A quiche and a coffee for breakfast, and poulet-curry sandwiches to-go for Maxime and I. After many departures into the mountains in the Alps I’ve learned that the typical sugary bakery breakfast of croissants and pain au chocolat only get you the few hundred meters up. I learned to embrace my American roots and have a proper breakfast before these sorties.

    We set off in the always reliable car of the even more so Julien. Having recently broken my phone on a bike packing trip I declared my inutility to the organization of the trip and resigned myself to the backseat of the car and the outing. We arrived at the village of Mont St. Martin in sub-zero temperatures (Centigrade of course) for a not-so-alpine start. The two of them my guides today we started up in the autumnal quietness.

    The three of us had done our master’s together, and Julien and I are longtime paragliding partners. I have, in a way, introduced the two of them to mountain activities, especially ski touring and some easy alpine climbs. Today, the roles were reversed, each of them well equipped for our small outing we walked relaxed.

    We reminisced our way up the old logging roads and reflected on our time together during the master’s. Maxime has just defended his PhD and is enjoying the wait for the start of his new postdoc, while I enjoy the in-between time of submission and defense. We waded through the thick piles of leaves and breathed easily the new winter air. The old Chartreusian forest naked of leaves allowed for us to see deep between the pines, giving us glimpses of where we are going. I will start looking for a postdoc soon, this much is clear to me. The thick blanket of leaves obscured the path, but this particular trail has been here long enough that its path is revealed through the holloway. We take turns throwing out names of our previous classmates and telling stories that we all know we have told before. We don’t mind.

    We see a cabin in the woods, but find no distinct trail to it. Cutting across the gently sloped woods we stumble through the roots and leaves. The small bumps indicating this really is old forest. We find the cabin to be hardly more than three and a half walls with a roof. Initials and dates scratched across the insides tell that people have passed through. I file its existence away for later adventures.

    Coming back to the trail, all of us note that the path is almost impossible to find once lost. I will start looking for a postdoc soon, it’s a way to keep moving forward. But the ancientness of the trail gives it away once close. We move up into the clouds, now only our immediate surroundings remain clear to us. I see Maxime and Julien as they lead me forward. It should be said that Julien is a sailor and is experienced in navigating. His path may seem to wonder to those outside, but he has a map. I always wonder where he got it. We cross paths with a hiker coming down. From his viewpoint above, the trail is obvious, small depressions and bumps in the path are seen for what they are: parts of the path. He warns us of the sun ahead.

    As we exit the forest at the tree line the clouds seem to agree that this is their limit too. We pierce into some clarity and enjoy our private sun above the clouds. But it’s not long until the North wind pushes a wave up from the sea of clouds. We are swallowed whole and have no choice but to appreciate our immediate surroundings.

    Continuing up we decide to aim for the summit. An unknown passage lays ahead, warnings of a technical step to be attacked with crampons and axes make us hesitate. But, for now we move one step at a time along the ridge.

    The strong north wind flows over our ridge and in the lee a depression is formed. The humid air cools and the water condenses to form a Banner cloud. The smooth flow turns turbulent when confronted with the mountain. We see it in the gentle looping of the wisps of condensation. The humid and cold air is further evidenced by the Rime ice formed on the windward sides of the trees and grass. This super-cooled liquid water comes into contact with its host and condenses to spray paint the mountain side a perfect white.

    As we approach the difficulty the path forward becomes unclear. Looking ahead it seems impassible. But, the next step seems obvious. All I really have to do is the next step. Actually, that’s the only thing I can do. I can’t already start climbing the path ahead of me. I examine in the steps in front of me. They are there, but I can’t see around the corner. But, there is a path. Too big for just Chamois to have come through here. Sure, I can ponder what’s around the corner, but it won’t move me along the next step. Many people have finished their 20s before, and finishing a PhD is no unique path either.

    Before we know it we have passed the hard part and the crisp air rewards us with a perfect view stretching all the way to Mont Blanc. The difficulties and anxiety of the passage immediately forgotten. We nestle in below the summit for lunch sheltered by the random limestone extrusions. The cold North wind pushes the tides of clouds onto the mountain islands, while the shallow South sun tells us to remain still.

  • Start

    Sculpting, Pottery, & Expression

    “He doesn’t know the world at all, who stays in his nest and doesn’t go out.“

    The first step in writing anything of note is to have something to say.

    Our observations of the world can be split into a few categories. When we are young they are need-based. We exclaim our physical needs of warmth and food. We exclaim in simple ways these basic feelings. This is followed shortly by our emotional needs, that can be seen as a reflection or more complex physical needs.

    Our first opinions we express by parroting those around us. We latch unconsciously onto the ideas that touch our needs. These are reflected in our exclamations.

    When we are young we live through stories and our view of the world is shaped by them. As we grow we live our own stories and our view on the world further evolves. How we live these stories is so impacted by the stories we have already heard that as kids we can hardly disentangle the two. This remains true throughout our lives, we see the world through our needs and past. As we get older we can hope to start to recognize the biases.

    We can say that each person comes into this world as a marble block to be sculpted by each passage with life. Stories we are told and those that we live can be seen as discovering the person within this marble block. But, this view of our shaping neglects the additive nature of our many encounters. The growth of a person implies inherently the process to be more than whittling. So with each encounter with life we are molded and chipped.

    The underlying structure of the marble influences its interaction with the environment. Certain blows of the chisel are reflected off leaving only faint impressions, while others will resonate and strike to the core. Certain additions will not stick, whether from the mismatch of surfaces or the lack of a bond. Some additions we carry with us throughout life without noticing, their weight only seen by others. While some additions fit us so well that they become indistinguishable from the native form. The underlying form of each marble is unique and different to each.

    Our shape, in-turn, determines our interaction with the world. Depending on our current form new changes suit us better than others, blindly self-reinforcing our struction.

    The stories we live are just as much as determined by us, as the world we live them in. Disentangling the observer from the world is an important exercise to better understand the world and importantly our own shape, less we get lost in the convolution. But, too much and the observer will start to see themselves as separate. This is where the analogy breaks, and we must be careful. The observer must recognize that they are apart of Nature. Observation and thinking are not necessary for being. Though the former is said to prove the latter, necessity is not implied. Our act of observing and analyzing puts us in no-way above or outside of the world, but only in a different state within that world, and hardly a desirable one.

    We are then provided with the conclusion to dive in and live. Sometimes this seems to be missed by the over analytical mind. But, for me, the answer is to do both. We must live and examine for a life worth living. The two were always impossible to separate. We should follow our classical reasoning and observe the world around us. But, we can not forget that we are living all of it, whether we engage or not.

    Interestingly enough, I believe that the classical mind can arrive at the conclusion of a romantic life, in a way that suggests that both are seemingly arbitrary distinctions between a higher symmetry. In function, doors left unopen are no different from a door shut with purpose. The universe, ambivalent to our motives, only listens to our decisions.

    It is with these views that I hope to tell stories from both perspectives.
    I bring my own shape and the tales could only ever be told from my view. They will, unknowingly, tell just as much of my encounters as they will of me and all that has shaped me.
    Though I can only claim to less than thirty years of living, I consider these years to have been filled with increasingly more life. I strive to say what I am thinking and feeling, and if I seem to stray it will only be more obvious.