ChillyChugach

   It's been nine weeks.  Nine weeks since I lay staring at the ground, struggling for breath, hearing my own strangled sounds of pain.  I knew I would be OK.  I just needed to breath, and everything would be OK.  I didn't realize that my past and future had just been in a violent physical collision.    I breathed.  I managed to sit up.  The world got brighter.      I lay daydreaming in the hospital.  My narcotic haze was pierced by words I heard in the hallway.    "Fractured."    "Pneumo."    The doctor stepped in.  He looked right at me.      "You have two fractures in your neck.  You have a fracture in your back.  You have multiple rib fractures and a pneumothorax in your right lung.  You must be a very tough guy."    I didn't feel tough.  Fear welled up in a way I'd never felt before.  Breaking your neck isn't something that happens to me - that's for other people.  People who know how to live in wheelchairs, people who know how

Skybuster/Ice Cream Cone seen from Mt. Significant, January 2019.  LONG lens!    I remember the first time I saw it. Eastbound on the Glenn, just before passing Kings Mountain and Chickaloon, on a clear, flat section of road, I happened to glance south, and there it was, standing tall in the distance. I couldn't take my eyes off, and couldn't help but wonder: did that insane tower of rock have a name, and what would it be like to stand on its incredible, precipitous summit? Since I wasn't driving, I easily answered the first question with Google.    That inspirational behemoth was named Skybuster.    Answering the second question, however, would have to wait.    Several years and lots of beta gathering later, it was time to try. Since the peak is so remote, it seemed a good idea to make this our first fly in approach. With excitement and some apprehension, we loaded up at Merrill field and flew (choppered!) out. WOCKA WOCKA WOCKA Sitting in the chopper at Merrill field. Fue