Up Timpanogos

UP TIMPANOGOS By Lloyd O. Ivie I have just returned from my climb up Timpanogos; my bones are still aching and my feet are sore. I am one of the thousands or more who have made the trip today. What a wonderful climb it is! The Japanese say, "He who climbs not once Mt. Fuji is a fool; he who climbs it more than once is also a fool." Not so Timpanogos. He who enjoys the open air, the sunshine, the wind — he who delights in strenuous recreation — he who reveres the grandeur of rugged precipices and babbling crystal streams, and whose soul can converse with birds and flowers — he who would study scientifically and extensively the manifold forms of life, or the geological wonders of the earth — he will always climb Timpanogos. It would be impossible for any one individual to point out all the joys and lessons of this climb. Men of a thousand thoughts assemble for recreation. Each sees his own mountain; each returns with the abundance of his own heart to tell. There was a motley crowd assembled at the bonfire festival last evening. Aspen Grove became as alive as the heart of a great city. Men, women and children were there. Not merely those few monied seekers of pleasure who flit here and there in impertinent opulence and ease, but every type and hue, from the pilfering parasite who hoboes his way and prowls the camp at night to steal his food from his sleeping fellow hikers, to the learned and sagacious nobility of mankind, who had come to lead a company of Boy Scouts or a group of Bee-Hive girls, or to join in the throng for the purpose of obtaining inspiration and rejuvenation for his mountain of service ahead. But why do men climb mountains? Why do they do anything which requires effort and endurance? Why do they impose upon themselves tasks which compel themselves to fatigue, or to vie with one another for supremacy? For they seek not alone to do, but to outdo. This is not my first trip up Timpanogos. I have climbed it before, only to be thrilled with the wonders of nature. Not alone with the upheavals in the dim past, which created such high-towering preci- pices, nor with the dying glacier which scalloped those verdure walls. But I have drunk in the mountain air and tasted the trickling rills, fresh from the melting snow. I have also glanced at the myriad forms of life which, in answer to the call of service, had planted themselves even upon the walls of nature. Obnoxious weeds, perhaps, blanketing the cliffs. Potential giants stunted by the adversities of nature. It is well enough for society to congratulate itself upon its own

436 IMPROVEMENT ERA well being. Yet cocksuredness and conceit are just as detestable among men as it is in nature. I have seen the bent and torn guards of the forest, old and scarred, standing at the forest's edge, unsightly and uninviting. Ugly old stumps of trees; trees which even the woodchoppers have passed by and ignored. Those old scamps and blotches of nature whose sacrifices have turned the howling winds and awful snowslides away from the monarchs in the depthg of the forest that men may come and exult the greatness of the tall and stately timber. I have looked upon those bleeding old knots — and gulped to hold back tears. I am not convinced that such was their destiny; though it was their fate. I have seen men hang their laurels of service, and pin their badges of greatness upon the tall trees within the forest, while — if they noticed them at all — they hurled censure and reproach at those outlying scrubs. I have heard them say, in glowing words of tribute, that society — even civilization itself has been built and maintained by tallness and stateliness! Timpanogos has shown me such forests and such trees. But I have brought back with me today another scene. Not that which is of the birds or of the brooks — neither is it one of towering weights and frowning precipices. Not that I enjoyed nature less, but a continual contact with even magnificence sometimes allows the focus of one's attention to dwell for a moment on other things. And what a blessing it is that I may go into the mountains and enjoy more than the mountains. I do not mean that I stopped to count the numbers who climbed nor to take pictures of any of them. Others were officially there for that purpose. I didn't even carry a kodak, nor anticipate an album of pictures to display before friends and visitors at some future date. Machines may exhibit a few facts, but they are not revealers of truths. They are recorders of men's poses and performances; not of their hearts nor their motives. There is no invention of man which can see more in man than that which is upon the surface. Men do speak their hearts, even though some thinkers say that language is for the purpose of hiding thought. But not always do they speak them with their words. As we zig-zagged up the mountain side, higher and higher, new scenes and new thoughts thrilled the climbers: they saw the water- falls, the trees and the rocks. One man said, "How insignificant is man compared with nature. What a little creature he is!" Another re- marked, "How little others look way down there below us!" And as those who had gone ahead reached the summit they looked back upon others yet behind, still struggling up the glacier. There was no laughing or ridiculing at their struggles, for there was a common bond; their own veins were still pulsating from a like struggle. They yet knew sympathy. With some the thought was to get to the top first. How men will strive and strain under the whip of emulation. Their joy was not in

UP TIMPANOGOS 43 7 the climb but in the outstripping. They saw not the cliffs nor the trees, but they arrived at the summit first. Others found a richer social life. They were helpful and sociable. They had come to the mountains to learn that their friends were their neighbors. They enjoyed the climb in the little helpful acts they performed and in the pleasant words they spoke to those with whom they journeyed. I heard no quarrelling nor complaining up that wonderful mountain side. Such is what the people told me as they ascended the trail. I was not among the first to reach the summit. By the time I arrived at the top of the glacier, others had been around to the summit and a few had already begun the slide over the snow. Only three or four were there, however. My attention was attracted to a lady who seemed unable to gather courage enough to make the plunge. She walked to the edge of the almost perpendicular incline and then finally turned away. She dared not. It was too steep. She went to the side and prepared to climb laboriously down the trail where others were coming up. There she met an experienced mountaineer. "You're not going down this way, are you?" he asked in a semi- reproachful tone. "You surely wouldn't climb all the way up here and then miss the slide over the glacier, would you?" "I'm afraid — ■" "There's nothing to be afraid of. Just lay your head and shoulders well back, keep your feet up, take a deep breath, and let go." And his assuring look told her more than his words). Determination set itself upon her countenance. She walked again, but without faltering, to the edge of the glacier; adjusted herself ac- cording to directions and — her fear was conquered. She, too, had now experienced the thrill of the wonderful glacier. She had played and was young again. By the time I had made the trip to the summit and returned, hundreds were assembled at the top of the glacier. The psychology of the crowd was different, no one seemed to dare to express fear. Those who cling to the crowd must follow the crowd. Pioneers had already broken the trail. Now it was easy; now the fear of the dis- approval of others was stronger than the fear of plunging off, even cowardice was brave. I looked out over two marvelous valleys blooming with roses, checkered with radiant fields. Mother earth was indeed yielding her bounties to the toil of industrious hands. Here too the psychology of the masses now prevails. It is easy to work when thousands around you work. It is a blessing to dwell in the midst of industry and achievement. Yet hands now cold — hands which made those fields when the soil was dry and parched, when there were no canals, no railroads, no cement high- ways; hands which made what we preserve, — bequeathed to us this

43 8 IMPROVEMENT ERA heritage of industry and service. They came to this garden before us. It was not then a garden, but a desert. There indeed was heroism. For they toiled when none was here to applaud. They achieved, even in the face of taunts and ridicule. An expanse of grasses and rolling hills was behind them; a land of gold and opportunity was ahead of them. But a spirit of struggle and in- dustry was with them. God had found willingness among men; he gave them that task which is our heritage. It is easy to stand with the masses, and watch for their signs of approval, or quail under their taunts and frowns. That is no task. It is not bravery to climb to dizzy heights when the masses are around you applauding; it may be but the fear of scorn. It is wrong to stand with the crowd today and belittle the deeds of our fathers because they are perhaps no bigger than ours geo- metrically. She who hesitated while alone might have been far braver than many who followed the crowd. Greatness is not always in position, but in direction. Mortals are puny. Those who we think are small in the distance are oftimes bigger than ourselves. We marvel at the great achievements of today. We wonder why our fathers did not produce the many inventions we have now. They did more, — far more; they produced today. I have just returned from Timpanogos, my bones are still aching and my feet are sore. But I look with greater reverence upon those sacred pioneers, who accomplished, by dint of their own faith and determination, that service which many fear not to give lest the world might frown upon them. Provo, Utah Answered By Ora Haven Barlow It was September, in the leper receiving station at Kalihi. The algaroba trees were clustered with long, yellow pods that dropped intermittently to the sparse grass below. Lahala had been sitting on the hospital veranda watching the soft evening glow through the fleecy trees at the west. Gradually the whole sky became golden, interspersed with long lines of flaming purple. The open Bible lay in the girl's lap. It had seemed ages since she had come here. But it had been only four short years — years filled with joy and with anguish. Joy had come to her when she had realized the little good she had been able to accomplish, but anguish had^been hers when she viewed the slow suf- fering of these afflicted ones of her race. She turned her eyes from the glorious sunset to meet a group of leper boys who came into the yard with buckets and began picking up

ANSWERED 439 the kcawc beans from under the algaroba trees. The beans were fed to the swine of the settlement. Each boy hastened to fill his bucket, for a bucket full meant five cents for him from the head "kokua." They were laughing and romping as they worked. Lahala wondered if they ever realized what dread malady was upon them and how it would probably consume them bit by bit. She recalled the story that in Biblical days the death ceremony had been said over such boys as these. They, then, would have been considered officially dead — dead but living. But now, here it was nineteen hundred and eighteen years after the Christ. He had cast out this dread disease from among those who had faith. Why tcould it not be done today? The leper children quickly filled their buckets. Each nickle brought a thing to them which made life a little more enjoyable, a sack of candy, a story book, a funny paper. They lugged their loads past the porch. Then Kala, the little lame one, saw Lahala, their adored kokua sitting in the evening air. "Hey, fellas!" he shouted. "Here's Lahala. Come back, maybe she tell us a story." She smiled down upon them as the group returned. They stood a little way off and begged for a Bible story, "Sure, you tell, eh?" "Tell us about the ten lepers again," asked Wilama. "Yes, about the lepers that were healed," they called. And again the wonderful story was told. As she finished the tale of how the nine forgot to return and thank the Master, and of how the one was told it was his faith that had healed him, Kala, look- ing down at his ulcered hands, said, "I would be thankful, you bet, if God cured me." "Why doesn't God send someone to heal us?" asked Paulo. They were interrupted in their story by Professor Dean passing by on his way out of the hospital. Lahala leaped to her feet. The noted chemist and president of the University of Hawaii saw her and recognized her in the fading light. He stopped. Her question was unspoken for he answered her thought. "Lahala, we have succeeded. Milo's case has been completely arrested through injection of the ethyl esters of the chaulmoogra oil. The other cases under treatment have all shown miraculous improve- ment." "And you, Professor, have done this!" "No, not I, Lahala. I am merely one of the servants of him who has caused it to be done." And as the noted, but humble professor went his way, Lahala, the Hawaiian nurse, answered the leper boy: "God does send someone to heal us today, Paulo." Preston, Idaho