The Beauty of Simplicity - Kari Cholnoky
What the mountains helped me to discover
 At the age of thirteen, in the summer after 7th grade, I went on a trip that would change my life forever. This happened to be my first time backpacking. For twenty one days I had no contact with family or friends, no showers, no concept of time or date, no music or TV; just three other girls, five boys, three leaders, and the bare necessities: our packs, and the most backcountry I had ever seen. Throughout my life, I have never been a person who was into the glitz and glam of the materialistic world, so when I first read a description of the trip I jumped at the opportunity, knowing that this outlet from reality would be the perfect experience for me. Little did I know just how much those twenty one days would mean to me.
The group arrived in Colorado on a wonderfully crisp June afternoon; our watches and candy were promptly removed, to be returned on the last day of the trip, the Bunsen burner finally whipped out for some epicurean fajitas. The food was always respectable; however keep in mind that while you are backpacking everything tastes better, no matter what you eat.
On our first day backpacking, I cannot even express how elated I felt. I can honestly say I had never felt so alive. Every morning in the backcountry we woke up when the sun rose, scarfed some oatmeal, and started to walk. At night we would stop walking when the sun began to set, and fall asleep when we got tired. The next morning the cycle continued through everything Mother Nature could throw at us. The concept of such a daily routine, such a schedule to follow each day, to me at least, is incredibly powerful. Life during those three weeks was so simple. Nobody in our group complained or was overly vociferous; everyday we just woke up and did what we had to do, and I was in complete awe of every second of it. I loved being dirty, and most of all, being with people that were just as dirty as I, who couldn't care less about what they looked like. I loved not caring about putting on makeup in the morning, or fixing my hair. I loved being 100% raw; sleeping on the ground, eating out of the same bowl without washing it, and having a layer of dirt seemingly coating my skin. I loved it.
We walked all day, with just the essentials needed to survive on our backs. We were literally carrying each others' lives on our backs. If you gave up, there was no one there to do the job for you, no bus to catch. We had zero contact with the outside world, zero concept of time or location, and it was spectacular.
 This form of ultimate simplicity in life had a profound impact on me. I realized on that trip all of the luxuries surrounding me in my normal, pampered life, and how ridiculous aspects of our modern life are. Most people in New England have never been in a situation where they have considered going to sleep at night without a bed to sleep in. None of those people have turned on their shower and thought to themselves, "Thank God for running water." That trip made me see these small, but remarkably important aspects of our daily lives so much more clear.
At the end of the trip as I sat in a plane waiting to take off out of Colorado Springs, leaving the eleven most awesome people I had ever known, I was suddenly overcome with utter sadness. I wasn't sad because I would never see any of those people again, not because I was going to miss the companionship our group possessed; I was sad because that night I was going to arrive in Wyoming and sleep in a house, eat at a restaurant, use a toilet, and fall asleep at eleven o'clock in a bed. That thought, alone, killed me. I was terrified at that moment of the fact that I might one day forget the experiences I had in the backcountry. The fact that for an entire year I would not be able to lie down at night under a massive Colorado sky, and watch dozens of shooting stars glaze the firmament while knowing that when I would wake in the morning all that lay ahead of me was endless beauty, was one of the most difficult aspects of re-entry for me. Alas, during the school year I sometimes lose sight of my real priorities in this mixed up life, but every summer a flame lights in my soul, begging me to set it free.
In the steadily approaching summer, I will finally be able to go back out West to feed this hunger for the mountains. This time I am heading into the Cascades, in Washington State for packing, ice climbing and crevasse rescue, and an ultimate three day summit bid on Mount Adams. I can't even contain myself. The fact that I know that I will be able to do this, but that I have to wait until June 15 is progressively driving me ballistic. What I am most excited for, however, is that every morning I will wake up with the sun, and walk or climb. My only commitment for those three weeks will be to eat, sleep, walk, and climb. Ultimate simplicity, once more. Absolute perfection.
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