Mountain Man

by Jeff Maybacker

He's a Mountain Man and my can he climb
Can you imagine the old man in his prime?
Tall, lanky and thin, with an old sailor suit
And a pair of black glasses he climbed with to boot.

He has knowledge abounding, experience to share
And the grace of his climbing is a walk in thin air.
He carries himself as I'm sure did John Muir
But his wilderness does not provide quite the stir.

He taught me to climb but I climb awkwardly
Compared to this man named Carl van Herreweghe.
Perhaps I've misspelled it or maybe I'm wrong,
Now I'm aged thirty-two; almost all as a bong.

In the fifth grade I climbed chimneys and more.
What was I, age ten, or perhaps one year more?
Why just Saturday I climbed with my own two boys,
Sean and Chase pierced the quiet with cacophanous noise.

But Sean is four and Chase is but three, still they climb pretty good.
Perhaps not as safe as one might think they should.
But we're careful and train hard to keep up our sport
And I hope Carl would be proud to climb with my sort
Of arrangement I deal with most times I go out.
He'd be quite amused and of this there's no doubt.

I thank him quite often when my mind can ponder
And it's always good feelings that let my mind wander to him.

When I wrote him age fifteen, Switzerland.
I'm certain he thought the Alps truly grand.
He'd probably stand there had I him, face to face.
He'd squint, shake his head and then quicken his pace
Up the mountain he'd climb, his heart large as the sun
And I'd muse, oh my goodness, why we've just begun.

The summit to me would seem so far away,
Yet Carl would be certain it takes less than a day.

"On belay" came the answer, "climbing" I'd shout.
"Climb away" came the answer that made me feel stout.
He belayed like a fisherman with one quarter pound test,
He gave me the incentive to be one of the best

I climbed for a while, and on for more years,
No reply to my post cards could bring me to tears.
But maybe I'm wrong, I mean maybe there's hope,
Again one day we'll meet and bond friendship and rope.

I'll find his address that I never got right
And find out twenty years he's been ready to fight
This young upstart who thought he was tough on five-eights.
Why that scrawny young pip-squeak should pound out more weights!

Hey Carl, I did write and you never did answer,
But boy, can I tell you what's happened since then, sir?
I've started up climbing and I'm better
Than I ever expected I'd be since last letter
Or postcard I wrote you. It's hard to remember
The point is I thank you again and again, sir.

I'd like to share more times, as in the past
For I'm sure that this time our meeting would last
'Til we both drop dead tired, on our hardest of climbs.
We could rest together, on your cloud or mine.

And perhaps stare up farther to heights not imagined
Let's plan for the future. Had you looked, you'd have grinned
For I really do mean it, and I must really thank you
For my family sure loves it, and you taught me ... it takes two.