The King of Dick’s

It was a bleak January, 2020. Our presences weighed heavy as no snow was forecasted and no snow had fallen for at least two weeks. Hoping to spark a desire for adventure I texted my two friends Chris and Morgan with grand plans of traversing the entire Desolation Wilderness.

Morgan knew well that the only exercising I had been doing was that of my own free will -my free will to explore the depths of my alcoholism, that is. It was a dry winter, but only in terms of precipitation. Morgan suggested a different adventure that would simplify things and might be more feasible, after two weeks on the couch. He schemed to ski Dick’s Peak, Jeanie’s, and the South Maggie. A triple bagger. I liked the idea, and Chris was in too.

The night before I slept over at Morgan’s house for a more convenient alpine start. We got our gear and rations ready for the next day’s adventure. I had a box full of expired Patagonia Provisions that they had given me at the office. One of the reps for Provisions told me the expirations are arbitrary, something that the FDA requires but,” they should be good”. We would find out on our Dick’s Journey that expiration dates do, in fact, hold some wisdom.

The alarm clock blared at 3:30 AM, signaling our departure, we picked up Chris at the Tahoe City Transit Center and were on our way. We mused about how many dick jokes could be made or at what point it would get old, to which there is no answer. Dick jokes are still being made, and it still has not gotten old.

We would find out on our Dick’s Journey that expiration dates do, in fact, hold some wisdom.

The skin up to Dick’s began as eventful as one might imagine, with a dead headlamp. Curse Blackdiamond’s lock feature. Being proactive and well organized, I asked Chris, right after we began, if he had ski crampons with him. His simple reply of “you’re an asshole,” indicated a strong “no.”. I took no personal injury to this because I felt that as an adult he was capable of deciding what gear he needed, but in the interest of personal development, I noted that gear checks should be an essential component of any adventure.

Dick jokes are still being made, and it still has not gotten old.

Ski crampons are not useful when they are in your backpack, I soon learned the hard way. I fell at our first incline, straining my wrist, losing my water bottle, and earning a small laceration to my face. I feared that I had quickly derailed our adventure. Fortunately, we had two working headlamps and my companions quickly collected my water bottle while I retrieved my ski crampons and tended to the laceration. Not taking any more chances I also put on my helmet.

The stars slowly disappear and the light reveals the landscape reminding us of our place in the universe. Photo by Chris Segal

My faux pas diminished my status in the group and Morgan led a mutiny. As we skinned up to the shoulder of Maggie’s Chris and Morgan began to find their path. I called out to them and signaled them to follow me but was scorned. My heart was heavy. I was no longer their fearless leader who charged helmet-first blindly into the wilderness with no light to lead the way. I was a pariah. I continued unwaveringly on my path confident in my abilities to navigate this mountainous landscape like the majestic snow leopard.

The skin track I laid was the path to be taken; I arrived at the saddle at the perfect time to watch the moon setting to the west and the sun rising in the east. The alpenglow put on a dazzling display of orange hues that illuminated the granite landscape around me. I stayed present and enjoyed this magic moment by filming the entire thing through my iPhone. As I admired this spectacle my companions took 30+ minutes to slog over boulders to reach me. I was greeted with an apology. Despite our setbacks, we were and are a resilient group. Flooded with excitement about our reunion we journeyed onward making quick work of the mostly flat several-mile traverse to the base of Dick’s.

Approaching Dick’s. Photo by Chris Segal

The side effects of the expired Patagonia Provisions had begun to settle in. It was as if our flatulence was propelling us to the summit. Only a few seconds would pass before one of us would let off an explosive fart. Our colorful journey had become a musical one too. The methane would slowly leak from our bibs, making the smell of fresh air seldom. In the back of my mind, I worried that the three of us were going to create an environmental disaster. Luckily the wind was there to disperse the sulfur laden stink bombs.

At the base of Dick’s we were greeted by a heinous looking north face, the snow was rotten and would break under your feet, revealing ice and rock. We managed to climb upward, each member of the party charting their separate course. Finally, we reached the ridge and were presented with a short boot pack to the top. My heart palpated with excitement as I admired the summit of Dick’s our first peak of the day.

Slightly ahead of my party, I foresaw an opportunity. I quickly transitioned and began my final attack on the summit, one step at a time, leaving the boys trailing behind. Sometimes your dreams are not fully realized until they are at your fingertips. As I reached the pinnacle, my visions came to fruition; I had become, the King of Dick’s. This was it. The sum of the entirety of my experiences had converged to bring me to this point. The perfect chaos of the universe, all of the things that came before me, had gifted me this opportunity. A metaphorical crown levitated to my head and I had become the King of Dick’s.

Morgan and Chris joined me at the summit where I proudly announced that they were now in the presence of royalty. Both accepted my title reluctantly, wishing that they had known that only a few seconds before the crown had laid idly for the taking.

At this point we would consume more calories before skiing down but the thought of more Patagonia Provisions was repulsive. All of us were in a considerable amount of discomfort with the gas build up in our big colons. We also had more pressing matters at hand. Morgan had discovered that both of his split board binding base plates had split in half. Luckily the crafty, forward thinking son of a gun had a large number of zip ties in his bag and he did his best to jerry rig it together. His best attempt seemed like it would hold but it did give him about two inches of play on his toe side edge. The wind that was whisking our foul vapors to a safe distance was also making the snow stay very firm. The snow was icy and there were rocks everywhere, both Chris and I were more nervous than Morgan about the descent, because as soon as the snow began to soften, Morgan tried to encourage us to take the run all the way down, rather than traverse out like we had previously agreed. We both questioned his sanity and felt that maybe he wanted to turn our day trip into an overnighter. We were a democratic monarchy and majority ruled, we continued as planned.

Surprisingly enough the tale becomes less eventful from here. We climbed seamlessly to our next peak, Jeanie’s, and found a beautiful descent. We were inspired to come back one day with a rope and rappel down the face of Jeanie’s. In between bouts of flatulence we admired the breathtaking landscape and discussed our shared sense of gratitude for mother nature and for each other and our shared interests that brought us there that day.

As we winded our way to the top of Maggies the King of Dick’s lagged behind. Thinking to myself, I considered the previous shared adventures of the same nature. It seemed clear to me that many a party had taken the same steps, rattled off many of the same dick jokes, and even proclaimed themselves to be the King of Dick’s. Maybe we followed the footsteps of Twain or Steinbeck. I felt that we had taken part in a right of passage and would emerge from the wilderness different men, and me as the King of Dick’s.

At the top of Maggies the emotions welled up from within. The car was only a short distance away and we felt that we had shared something truly special. Desolation Wilderness is the most visited wilderness area in the United States yet we had not seen another soul. We took in the glory of Lake Tahoe. Gawking at the lake’s blue glory will never lose its luster, especially after a rewarding day of playing in its mountainous surroundings.

Back at the car, and to our distress, we all let out our final flatulence. Despite our feelings of accomplishment we were dejected resigning ourselves to conclude that this gaseous state would be our new normal. We put Dick’s in our review mirror and I got to catch one final glimpse as we departed. I thought to myself about what new responsibilities would come with being the King of Dick’s and what would I need to change to do justice to the crown. The King of Dick’s breaks their own trail, they move lightly through life, does not take it too seriously, they are kind, they leave things better than they found them or just the same, and they know that they cannot control what happens to them but they can control how they react. We agreed that one day we would return and the boys would once again have a shot at being the king, but until then I am the undisputed, reigning King, of Dick’s.

The King of Dick’s breaks their own trail, they move lightly through life, does not take it too seriously, they are kind, they leave things better than they found them or just the same, and they know that they cannot control what happens to them but they can control how they react.

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