Clinton 1

Defining the Indefinable:

Feeling the Sublime in Nature and History
Stefan helped adjust his climbing harness to my slender frame and tightened the rope. He
was explaining something about how the knot that he tied made it impossible for me to fall, but I
was barely listening. I was staring at Sugarloaf. I was nervous, but wasnt petrifiedIve
climbed before. I kept staring at Sugarloaf because I could not believe that I had lived in
Winona for three years without having climbed Sugarloaf before. Before that moment, I had
never even been to the base of the limestone formation. A smile began to form along the edge of
my lips at the thought of finally scaling this local icon. Now every time I looked at the bluffs
that surround Winona, I would know that I made it to the top of Winonas most famous rock.
Stefan, a stocky twenty-one year old with broad shoulders and a wave of curly blond hair
stood between me and a giant rock protruding from the Earth. We, along with a group of other
local college students had just made the hike to the base of Sugarloaf. Sugarloafnamed for
its resemblance to how 19th century Winonans packaged their sugaris a giant slab of limestone
that looked down on Winona, Minnesota. Winona sat on the border of Minnesota and
Wisconsin, on the western side of the Mississippi River. Stefan quickly struck me on the
shoulder to get my attention.
Yo! Make sure you dont grab the rock with the white chalk mark man, that ones
loose. He pointed a chalk-covered finger at an angular rock about twelve feet off the ground.
Dont look down too much, Itll just make you nervous. Youll be fine man, you got those long
arms, youll be at the top in no time.
He hit me again, gentler this time, and motioned for to start climbing.

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My pulse doubled in speed as I put my hand on to the limestone slab. Beneath the
sweltering summer sun, the rock was surprisingly cool. I found a decent ledge for my left foot
and put my weight on my leg to boost myself up. Stefan cried out.
Yo! Dont forget about the chalk man. And remember, Ive got the rope man, no
worries.
Stefans outburst surprised me and I lost my grip on the first rock, swinging my left hand
a foot above my head to grab a crack in the limestone. The hard stone cut into my fingertips as I
pulled myself up. I had expected this first move to be difficult, but as soon as I had begun to
climb, I felt a tug around my naval. Having little experience climbing with a rope, I was
surprised at first, but quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm. I began to think that this climb
would be easy, when I realized that, even with the rope, I was out of moves. I was not in a
comfortable position eitherthe right side of my body was supported almost entirely by my big
toe, balancing on a small, jagged piece of rock, and my left foot dangled helplessly at my side.
Three fingers on my left hand struggled to maintain grip on to a small indentation into the
rockface. Even though I knew if I fell the rope would catch my fall, my mind began to flash
through a series of increasingly horrific hypotheticals: the rope would tighten up too quick and I
would smash my nose against Sugarloaf, the rope would tighten up too late and I would break
my leg, the rope would get tangled in the harness and invert the lower half of my body, leaving
me hanging onto the rope for dear life. As these frightening (and admittedly, outlandish)
possibilities flashed through my mind, my left hand began to grow more fatigued. I had to make
a move soon if I was going to get to the top without falling. I heard Stefan from below.
Yo! Jimmy! Theres a solid grip above your head! Go for it!

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Looking upward, I doubted it. But I was out of options. I shifted my weight downward
to launch my body upward. I inhaled a lungful of summer air and held my breath. I forcefully
extended my right foot off of the rock and reached as high as I could with my right arm,
expelling the air from my lungs. I felt a sizable rock underneath my right fingertips and clenched
my hand as hard as I could. My left hand was still gingerly grasping the crack with two fingers
for balance, but both of my feet were off of the rock, but my right hand had a steady grip. My
mind was blank, my body in control. I pulled myself up six inches with my right arm, and found
a toehold with my left foot. I had regained my composure, and more importantly, realized that
even with a rope, reaching the top of Sugarloaf required every ounce of concentration I had. I
focused on breathing. I focused on my next move. I didnt focus on reaching the topthat
would take care of itself.
Finally, I pulled myself up and saw over the top of Sugarloaf. I wasnt able to step onto
the top of the rocka serious limitation of using a harness and rope. Despite not being able to
pull myself on top of the rock, I saw clear across Lake Winona and could view the sleepy,
summertime college campus, downtown Winona. The traffic lights, cars, and streetlights in the
downtown area looked so small from my view, so insignificant. Beyond the town I saw the vast
Mississippi River. The orange glow of the setting sun illuminated the river in a gentle and
powerful way. The current of the water flowed through the suns light, creating a blurry
reflection of the summer sky. Beyond the river was another range of bluffs. Down to the left of
the range was a pearl-white limestone formation that protruded from the Wisconsin bluffs. In the
warm glow of the setting sun, the white rock formation seemed to have a gentle face. I grinned
back at the bluff across the river. In that moment, I was completely immersed in the orange
glow, in the gentle wind that danced across my back. Being in the presence of the vast, setting

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sun, the winding River, the towering presence of Sugarloaf, the pearl-white bluff along the
horizon, I was reminded of my insignificance. All of these things would outlive every person I
had ever come into contact with.
This mighty Nature dates back to the Ordovician period of the Paleozoic Era; it is over
450 million years old. This Earth that I felt beneath my fingertips was older than land-dwelling
animal life. From 500 feet above the Mississippi River, I saw the slow evolution of life
emerging from water and onto land, the ancient glacial floods of Lake Agassiz sculpting the
valley that now separated Minnesota and Wisconsin. This mighty landscape is larger than any
state, any country, any species. In my minds eye, I saw history unfolding before me, and
watched roaring glacial floods carve paths through these ancient bluffs, and mold the earth that I
was holding on to. I felt a sense of amazement and calm, of awe and joy.
Immanuel Kant defines the most intense sublime feeling as enjoyment with horror, an
idea that, while pleasurable, reminds the observer of their mortality. He divides the sublime
from the feeling of beautybeauty creates a pleasant sensation that is joyous and smiling, a
notably different feeling than the sublimeconcluding beauty is a purer, but less intense,
reaction to aesthetics. Because sublime carries with it a slight sense of terror, it heightens the
experience for the observer, and leads to a more meaningful experience. Kant further divides the
sublime into three subcategories: the splendid sublime (sublime pervaded with beauty), the noble
sublime (a sense of quiet wonder), and the terrifying sublime (sublime with a sense of dread or
melancholy).
Im not convinced that the sublime in nature can ever be melancholicto me, the very
essence of the sublime experience demands emotions fiercer than melancholybut the rest of
Kants aesthetic distinctions are surely represented in nature, and help nature observers better

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understand their experience. Sublime nature is complicated, causing simultaneous feelings of
isolation and oneness with nature, realizations of both mortality and empowerment these
feelings culminate in a sense of tumultuous peace.
Looking over the top of Sugarloaf, across the Mississippi River, into the orange glow of
the horizon line, it was a blend of the noble and terrifying sublime I encountered. Although I
was secured to a rope, there was a sense of real dangerit would be nave to believe that a
simple harness was always foolproof. Still, the rope acted as a link between Stefan and I,
between the single sublime moment and the rest of the summer. While I was thankful for the
rope, (I probably would not have made it to the top of Sugarloaf without it) it kept me connected
to everyday life, and did not allow a full terrifying feeling of the sublime. Because I could trust
the rope and did not have to focus on staying balanced on the rock, it was more of a noble sense
of sublime I experienced that day.

****************
Now, as my only formal philosophical training consists of a one semester introductory
course at a community college, I should take a moment and describe my own interpretation of
Kants ideas. To me, these three divisions of the sublimethe splendid, noble, and terrifying
lie on a spectrum, with the splendid on one end, the terrifying on the other, and the noble
somewhere in between.
The noble sublime is experienced when I watch a rainstorm from a safe place, with no
real sense of danger. A pink and orange colored sunset bathing a lush, green valley in warmth,
gusts of wind that pull torrents of water through a suburban street, the soft roar of distant

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thunderthis is the noble sublime. You get a sense of the power of nature but do not confront it
fact-to-face; you are safe. You do not confront your own mortality.
The terrifying sublime is the most intense feelings of the three, and for me, the most rare.
You experience the terrifying sublime when you come face-to-face with your own mortality,
with the true power of the natural world. Graham, a good friend from high schoolwho goes to
school in rural Colorado and is a devoted disciple of John Muirexplains this feeling.
Yeah man, it was crazy. Me and a few guys were camping up on the mountains near
Silverton. (Silverton is an old mining town that now is a rural ski and snowboard area. To get
there, you must take a rickety and wild train through the dense Colorado Mountains. As Graham
describes it, Silverton is a drinking town with a ski problem.) He continued.
We were camping at a couple thousand feet, and getting ready to carve up some fresh
powder in the morningit had been snowin something fierce the last few days. Anyway, we
were in the tent for the night, passing a bottle of peppermint schnapps and a bag of almonds
around when the storm started. At first it was just a little rain, but man, in seconds it got crazy.
Hail started pouring down from the black sky and almost tore through our tent. We had to take
shifts staying awakebut no one really sleptto knock the bigger hail pieces off the tent.
Water and snow started to leak through under the tent, and we knewshit man, we really
knewthat if lightening struck anywhere near the tent wed be fried. I mean, deadno
bullshit. Graham looked away from me for a moment, recalling the vivid experience.
James, I think the only way someone gets through something like that is to just embrace
it. We were staring at the face of our mortality, and we were at the mercy of nature. Still, I
wouldnt take it back. In the morning we stepped out from our tent and the sky looked so
peaceful, so beautiful. Experiences like that color in your life, ya know?

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The terrifying sublime does just that. It forces you so beyond your comfort zone, so
beyond normal reality that you cant help but look at life differentlybut at the same time it
gives you a sense of calm and peace, just knowing how small you are in the grand scheme of
nature. At least, thats my interpretation. And all these examples of the three levels of sublime
have elements of each otherthe most splendid still suggests elements of a larger nature,
suggesting the noble, the most noble may have elements of the splendid or the terrifying, and the
terrifying suggests some piece of nobility and beauty.
These distinctions between the levels of sublime, while useful in reflecting on past
experience, are hardly concrete laws of observation (these characterizations are not as definite
and exclusive as say, Newtons laws of motionpersonal experience is not as empirically
definable as thermodynamics). The neat distinctions words providewords like splendid, noble
and terrifyingseem clear and obvious when reading them on a page. Finding examples of
these words in the natural world is more complexeven the most splendid example of the
sublime may have elements of the noble sublime, or elements of beauty. Nature does not fit into
the neat distinctions language creates. This, I firmly believe, is one of the greatest elements of
the natural world. Try as we might, we cannot easily define nature. But we try, and the attempt
helps describe our rich experiences and encounters with the natural world. So I will attempt to
fit nature into Kants words, blurring neat distinctions into usable combinations.
I would also add another category of the sublime; one based more on knowledge than
aesthetics. This is the historic sublimethe sensation one feels when they can are familiar with
a places past, and can imagine themselves interacting with that history. When I was holding
onto Sugarloaf and could picture the geologic origins of the area, I was immersed in the historic
sublime.

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****************
The Driftless region of the American Midwest is an area not flattened by the advancing
and retreating glaciers during the last ice age, which ended approximately 10,000 years ago.
During this period, massive glacial sheets dumped huge amounts of driftamounts of silt,
clay, gravel and boulderson most the Midwest. Much of the Midwests landscape then, dates
back 10,000 years. This Drift virtually covered up previous geologic formations in most areas,
causing the uniform flat plains that stretch through the majority of Midwestern miles. The
Driftless region consists of southwestern Wisconsin, northeastern Iowa, and southeastern
Minnesota, including Winona. These bluffs were not covered up by Driftthey are much older
than 10,000 years old. The Driftless bluffs of Winona date back to the Ordovician period of the
Paleozoic era, approximately 485 million years ago. The dolomite and limestone I climbed to
get to the base of Sugarloaf and the stone I clutched while atop the bluff is hundreds of millions
All of the bluffs then, can be considered sublime because of their historic longevity.
Because they have been here before humans came to dominate the Earth, they are a constant
reminder of our relative insignificance. Yet, when we climb, hike, and experience the bluffs, we
engage in that rich history, and become a part of it: while reminding us of our insignificance, the
bluffs offer an opportunity to participate in something infinitely larger than ourselvesthe bluffs
offer not only the noble or terrifying sublime, but the historic sublime as well.
Sugarloaf is unquestionably, one of Winonas most defining natural features, a tall bluff
made of limestone and dolomite, the icon stands tall as one enters Winona, and watches over all
as they live and interact in the city. While the geologic history of Sugarloaf provides some of the
historic sublime, by understanding the bluffs more recent history one can take the feeling of the
historic sublime much farther. After learning of this rich history, I encounter the historic sublime

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whenever I gaze up at SugarloafI see a story unfold before my eyes, and I see myself as part of
the next historical chapter for Winonas famous bluff.
The Mdewankaton, the easternmost band of Dakota Native Americans, called Sugarloaf
Wapashas Cap, a tribute to their leader, and to their folklore regarding the geologic anomaly.
In the 18th century, a disagreement had broken out between the factions of Red Wings tribe of
Mdewankaton located near present day Red Wing, Minnesota. Wapasha and his followers were
furious that other members of the tribethose loyal to Red Winghad turned back during an
expedition to a British settlement. This caused the Red Wing band to fracture, and a war was
brewing between Wapashas followers and Red Wings loyalists. Before combat began,
Wapasha threw up his red cap (given to him by the British for bravery, this cap held
extraordinary significance to the tribe) in a last effort to bring peace. As soon as the cap hit the
sky, a strong breeze howled off the river and swept the cap south. At the same time, a huge bluff
in Red Wing broke in half, carrying some of Wapashas people down the river. Once Wapasha
had caught up to his trapped followers, he noticed a mighty bluff with a prominent stone top.
The bluff was believed to be Wapashas red cap, whisked down the river and turned to stone, and
came to be known as Wapashas Cap. War was averted but Wapashas people relocated to the
Winona area and formed their own distinct tribe: the bluff came to be a symbol of who they were
as a community, and as a people.
The Caps transformation into the present day Sugarloaf would occur after Keoxa became
Winona, and after eager Euro-Americans replaced (and displaced) the Mdewankaton. During
the 1870s through the 1880s, Winona was quickly becoming a bona fide American city. The
lumber industry was booming, and the citys riverside location made it a prime trading and
commercial area. After a brutal fire burned down most of the downtown area however, the city

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realized a different resource than wood must be utilized to construct the infrastructure of the
downtown area. That resource was limestone.
Two Irish Catholic immigrants, John and Stephen ODea, were eager to make their mark
in the States, and eager to make some money. They devised a mining and quarrying operation
around Wapashas Cap and began to steadily supply the city with limestonemuch of which
still exists today in areas of Second and Third Streets, downtown Winona. Before long,
Wapashas Cap had been reduced to a single column of rock, still overlooking all of Winona and
somewhat smaller. Citizens of Winona called for the mining to cease, for fear that they may
forever lose the majestic bluff. Once operations stopped, the people of Winona noticed the bluff
resembled a loaf of sugar and the name stuck: Wapashas Cap was now Sugarloaf.
When I gaze up at Sugarloaf, these are the stories that unfoldtales of Dakota wars,
devastating fires, quarrying projects. These all happened after prehistoric glaciers missed this
entire Driftless regionbut the region was still morphed by raging torrents of glacial floods for
incomprehensible lengths of time. After climbing Sugarloaf and encountering the noble sublime
along with the historic, I feel a stronger connection to Sugarloaf, and the entire Winona region.

****************
Throughout my time in Winona, I have been intrigued by the outdoors and try to
experience as much as I can, as well as understand the history of the area, so that I can truly
appreciate my experiences. In nature you can slow down, and savor the ephemeral moments
without the nag to move ona nag that is ever present in modern life. I have not always pursued
these experiences. Like the prisoners in Platos Cave, I did not yearn for what I did not know
existedI was content to remain in the dark. It took a specific place in my hometown of Crystal

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Lake, Illinois to trigger my love of the natural world: a relatively small natural preserve, Sternes
Woods and Fen.
When I was growing up in Crystal Lake, I never bothered to learn the history of the town,
so could never experience any sense of the historical sublime within the community. I thought
Crystal Lake was without history, without depth, without any sense of the sublime at all. To me,
it was the mundane suburb of a vibrant citya kind of cultural purgatory separating the electric
nightlife of Chicago and the acres of cornfields in the rest of the state. My friends and I would
frequently complain that Crystal Lake had no sense of nature, and I failed to appreciate the irony
that a town named after a piece of nature had little remaining nature to offer.
Now when I return to Crystal Lake, I realize that I was unfair to my hometown. My
attitude was a product of boredom and immaturity. There is a rich history to this Midwestern
suburb. It was in 1835 that the name of the town was first introduced. Ziba Beardsley, an early
settler who traveled to Illinois from New York, noted that the water in a nearby lake was as
clear as crystal. Soon afterward, the emerging town became known as Crystal Ville, and
sometime before 1840, the town had begun to be called Crystal Lake. Crystal Lake annexed
another nearby settlement, Nunda, and by 1874, the increasingly large area became incorporated
as Crystal Lake.
One of the most fascinating stories along Crystal Lakealong the actual lakeis the
story of the Dole Mansion. Charles S. Dole, an early member of the Chicago Board of Trade and
a wildly successful businessman in the emerging Chicago grain market, wanted to show his
success and status to the rest of the young Crystal Lake. Dole purchased 1,000 acres of land off
of the lake, and began construction on his materialistic dream: a three story mansion, complete
with stables and gardens, that would dwarf all other structures in the town. Concerned more with

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status than hording wealth, Dole spared no expense. He hired Italian artists to build flawless
marble fireplaces and used wood from black walnut trees grown on the property to for the
interiors stunning design. Dole frequently held parties and entertained at his mansion, even
hosting the mayor of Chicago in the 1880s.
The mansion, was finished in the 1860s, and remains a historic location in Crystal Lake
today. There is a Fourth of July celebration held there every year, called the Lakeside Festival. I
would go this festival every year with my friends when we were in high school, but we had no
idea that the festival stemmed back to the Doles tradition of entertaining; we had no connection
to the areas past and so, could not appreciate it. Now when I travel back to Crystal Lake, I see
the emergence of the areafrom the first white settlers in the 1830s, the rise of the Doles as the
first elite family, the rapid expansion the town experienced once rails connected the town to
Chicago. It gives me a better sense of where I grew up, and what history I interacted withthe
true realization of the past is the only way to experience the historical sublime. Fortunately,
when I travel back to my hometown I see the towns vibrant historyfrom the flattening and
metamorphosis of the land from the mighty glaciers, to the rise of the Dole Mansion and the
expansion of the town as a satellite of Chicago.
Unfortunately, I see the town gradually lose touch with its natural roots. The historic
sublime is present in Crystal Lake, but the natural sublime is becoming harder to find. While the
Lakeside Festival acknowledges this history, the lake itself has been polluted and darkenedI
have never seen the crystal waters Ziba Beardsley encountered. Instead of cleaning up the lake
that gave the town its name, Crystal Lake used a reclaimed quarrying plant to create a new
lakeone that would mimic the authentic nature that Crystal Lake once had.

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Earlier in the 20th century, mining companies and pro-industry government officials had
pressed for the quarrying of a huge amount of land to obtain the limestone and dolomite that
glaciers had deposited thousands of years agothe same glaciers that missed Winona laid the
foundation for the quarrying project in Crystal Lakeand beginning in the 1950s, the mining
projects carved deep craters into the area. Starting in the late 1980s, proposals sprang up to
convert the huge quarried areas into a usable recreation area, and in 2010 the area was
completed. Now there are crystal waters once again in Crystal Lakebut they are the product of
human intervention, not authentically natural. The recreation area does not hide this fact; there is
a Culvers restaurant fifty feet from the beach that the Recreation area boasts about. It is hard
to get a feeling of the sublimehistoric or naturalwhen the air is thick with the greasy smell
of fryers and Butterburgers.
The one area in Crystal Lake that has retained its natural character is Sternes Woods and
Fen, a 185-acre natural preserve located within the dense suburban labyrinth that makes up
modern Crystal Lake. Dr. Ted Sterne originally owned the land, and planted pine trees along the
border of the current natural preserve. In 1986after Sternes deaththe Crystal Lake Park
District purchased the area, and in 1994, the area was designated a Nature Preserve by the state
of Illinois. The preserve contains 145 acres of woodland, but more remarkably, has 40 acres of
wetlandsa very rare occurrence for Northwestern Illinois. This is the fen in the title of the
preserve, and again the glaciers of 10,000 years ago played a key role in the land formation.
Fens require water that has percolated through calcium-rich sand and gravelsuch as the sand
and gravel that the glaciers deposited throughout northwestern Illinois and throughout the
Midwest.

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****************
Sternes Woods and Fenor simply, Sternes as my friends and I referred to it
throughout high schoolprovided an escape, and laid the foundation for our attitudes of nature
for the future. We would walk the hiking trails and in the summer, breath in the sweet smells of
Lady Slipper Orchids and the American Bellflower and see the bright yellow blooms of the
cinquefoil; in the spring we glanced a swallowtail butterfly landing softly on the blue cohosh
plant to lay its eggs. In the fall, the leaves on the oak and hickory trees would slowly turn shades
of burnt orange, deep red, and golden yellowgiving a sense warmth to the increasingly cool
autumn air.
There was one spot we would always find ourselves after venturing into Sternes. A
small ledge sparsely populated with oak trees and shrubby cinquefoil plants, overlooking a small
drop-off (cliff is too strong of a word) that provided a rather beautiful view of the rest of the
woods. We called it High Point,while it was a not a particularly poetic or creative title, it
had stuck since we were in ninth gradeand every member of our group of friends could locate
the area in Sternes with their eyes closed. Even I could do it, and my sense of direction was so
terrible I habitually got lost while navigating the town I had spent my entire life in. Sitting at
High Point after hiking through Sternes, when I was seventeen, was the first time I truly
encountered the sublimeI would call this a combination of the splendid and nobleand the
experience made a lasting impression on my teenage years and helped define who I would
become.
I had arrived at Sternes with three of my friendsGraham, Kelsey, and Matt. Graham
had electric blue eyes that lit up when was excitedwhich was oftenand nearly shoulder
length dark brown, straight hair. He was very athletic, but lacked the discipline for team sport;

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instead he was an avid snowboarder. While Graham was fiercely creative (he consistently wrote
structure-less poems and essays throughout high school) he never bothered to do any homework
or study for tests. Graham would rather discuss weekend plans, go mountain biking, or escape
into Sternes. When I discuss Sternes with Graham now (who goes to school at a tiny liberal
arts college, Fort Lewis, in Colorado) he quickly points to the nature preserve as the only reason
he remained moderately sane during high school.
Kelsey relied on Sternes as well, but in a very different way. A short blonde girl with
piercing, analytical eyes, Kelsey took school very seriously. She studied for every quiz, for
every test, for everything possible. It takes a while for Kelsey to consider someone a close
friendshe never seeks out relationships for mere company, and only remains in touch with an
intimate group. She reads constantly, and not popular fictionover winter break freshman year
of college she read, for fun, The Brothers Karamazovbut a wide variety of literature. She puts
immense pressure on herself academically, and Sternes provided her with a much-needed
release. She frequently would run miles through the hiking trails, and spend hours alone in the
comforting woods.
Matt was always the leader of our group of friends. His basement was a meeting space
for us; his car was our usual mode of transportation. Matt had calm brown eyes, with a wave of
curly brown hair to match. He stands only about 5-foot 5-inches tall and has a smaller frame, but
his charisma made up for his slight physical standing. Matt always enjoyed adventures, whether
they were an urban journey through downtown Chicago or a weekend camping trip in Kettle
Moraine Park in central Illinois. For him Sternes offered a sense of adventure that was easily
accessible, and readily available.

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We had started off walking on a familiar paththere are really only two ways to begin a
journey through Sternes, and we almost always began by going leftbut quickly diverted off
onto a lesser-known hiking trail. Matt was in the lead, and climbed up a steep, grassy wall of
earth to his left. Graham followed, nearly vaulting himself over the hedge, and I was next,
carefully lifting my body on top of the earth. We followed Matt along the path, and quickly the
green branches of the hickory trees formed thick walls along each side of us, and their leaves
formed a green, patchwork ceiling above our heads. I inhaled deeply; the sweet smell emanating
from the purple buds of the American bellflower filled my nostrils. The dirt was moist beneath
my navy-blue Colombia shoes, and I sunk lightly into the earth with each step.
After a few minutes traveling deeper into the woods, we arrived at High Point. The
relatively open space at High Point allowed a light, warm summer breeze to graze the surface of
my face. The sunlight, previously blocked by the hickory canopy, beamed down into my eyes,
causing fleeting blindness. I blinked quickly and looked down at the rest of Sternes. It seemed
endless. An hour ago, I was driving past Wendys and McDonalds, a Shell gas station and a 7Eleven convenient store, a Wal-Mart and a Target. Now, I felt completely immersed in this oasis
of oak trees, sunlight, chirping sparrows, and blooming lady slipper orchids. In the distance, I
could hear the light rap-rap-rap of a woodpecker rummaging for food.
None of us said anything for a moment, a moment that while fleeting seemed eternal. I
reached out and put my hand on the trunk of a nearby oak tree, and realized the delicate balance
of life all around methe insects benignly buzzing near my ear, the fragile flowers looking up at
the sun, the once strong roots of a hickory tree erupting from the ledge of High Point, the tree
itself in a slow process of falling down the ledge to the ground forty feel below. Even a tree that
lives through multiple generations of humans dies, keeping a delicate and inevitable balance of

Clinton 17
life on Earth. It was sublimea powerful combination of noble and splendidbut I didnt know
that word at the time. I was overwhelmed by the moment. As usual Graham was the first to
speak. With high school eloquence he said, This place is fucking beautiful. It was, and it was
the first time I experienced the sublime in natureit was an experience Ill never forget.
During our senior year, we still visited Sternes frequently. The last time we visited
Sternes in 2009 as a group was in mid-October, and there was a sense among us that this was
one of the last fall trips into Sternes as high school peers. Like the autumn that was, day by day,
falling into winter, our high school lives were steadily winding to an end. With each step we
tasted the autumn oxygen, and savored the brief escape from suburbia that, for four years,
Sternes Woods had offered us. Matt led the way up to the trail to one of our common sites, a
small, rocky edge that overlooked most of the Woods. Even though it was not much past 5pm,
the sun had already begun to set. A deep orange and red glow hit the oak trees and brought our
attention to the ones that still retained the golden leaves of autumn. After arriving, Matt was the
first to speak.
You can smell fall ending. He shivered slightly. Its about to get so damn cold.
Matt, who was seemingly acclimated to a California climate despite being born and living in
Illinois, never appreciated the cold Midwestern months. Personally, I think the winter drags on
in March and February, but I always enjoy the early winterwhen the change is still fresh, when
its still a thrill to deeply inhale the cold winter wind, until it lightly stings your lungs, and you
feel the icy air race out of your chest. Its a liberating feeling.
Looking back on that day in Sternes, I wish I had appreciated it more fully. Not that I
wish I was back in high schoolI have no glory days to relive. But I wish I had appreciated

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the changes going on around me, in nature and in our lives, and to appreciate Sternes Woods
once more. We would never return to Sternes that autumn.
Even though Sternes ceased to be a part of our daily lives, the experiences we had there
would stay with us during the upcoming years. I became much more interested in exploring and
experiencing the outdoors. Graham, always a snowboarding enthusiast, began to embrace other
outdoor sports like rock-climbing and kayaking. He even spent one summer living in a tent in a
wooded area near Durango, CO, writing about nature. An English writing major at Fort Lewis
College, Graham focuses on environmental protection issues and has even been published in a
few local magazines.
Kelsey studies journalism, but has poured her efforts into Drake Universitys
Environmental Club (she has been the President for the past two years), even spearheading a
campaign to ban all plastic bottles on Drakes campus. When I asked her about it, she laughed,
and responded in her characteristic rapid-fire way of speaking.
Well James, you know I knew it wasnt going to work. But if you ask for something
small they ignore you. Ask for something ridiculous and they mightthey might give you
something small. So, we went with something ridiculous. They didnt change anything but we
got a lot of publicity on campus and a few more students joined the E-club. It got people talking,
soI mean, thats something.
When I ask her why she feels the need to protect the environment, the conversation
eventually finds its way back to Sternes, and how Crystal Lakes lack of nature besides those
Woods got her thinking about preservation.
It just makes me nervous that future high schoolers like us wont have the opportunity to
get enjoy nature like we did. I mean, I couldve run around my blockand I did many times

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but there is something soso much more peaceful about running in a place like Sternes. You
can justjust completely relax. Plus, the air tastes betterif that makes any sense.
Matt, who went to school in California (he finally found a climate he enjoys), began
focusing all of his adventures on the outdoors. He joined a club at the University of Redlands
that focused on weekend adventures to different places: the Pacific Ocean, the nearby mountains,
even Joshua Tree State Park. In December 2011, when we were both back in Crystal Lake for
the holidays, we discussed Sternes.
Jimmy, thats one thing I really like about San Franciscoand why you should visit
there are so many places where you can just be. Matt was referring to the points along
Highway 1 in Big Sur, where travelers can park their cars and look out at the stunning view of
the Pacific Ocean.
Theres a real value in that. Too many places are focused on accomplishing things and
being efficientand, dont get me wrong, that stuffs important too He smiled.
I suppose. But there needs to be more places where you can go just to experience a
moment. Thats why I really love Sternes. Sure, its nothing like the Pacific Ocean, but its
beautiful in its own way. Without Sternes, Crystal Lake wouldve been a much shittier place to
grow up.
Sternes had a profound impact on all of us growing upit gave us an introduction to the
sublime in nature, an escape from the stress of suburban high school, something to protect. It
gave us a place to focus on the small moments of life, and to learn to appreciate those
momentsan appreciation that would never leave us.

****************

Clinton 20
Well, are you coming or what? Matt was looking at me intently. We had driven his
mint-green, lightly faded Toyota to the top of Mount Diablo, right outside of San Francisco. It
was the summer of 2012, and I had finally saved enough money for a cheap flight to California
to visit Matt. True to his nature, Matt had set up a few outdoor adventures for us during the trip.
The previous several nights, we had camped out at Point Reyes on the coast of the Pacific.
While there, we had a clear view of the sparkling ocean from a huge Bishop Pine tree, whose
low-lying branches made for a perfect place to sit as we watched the sunset. The orange and
yellow rays of the sun reflected off of the crashing Pacific waves to create a splendidly sublime
view of kaleidoscopic colorsreds, oranges, yellowsall melting into the darkening blue of the
late evening sky.
It was breathtakingly beautiful, causing a sense splendid sublime, but the infinite horizon
of the oceanand the knowledge that the supremely vast body of water contained immeasurable
power and mysteryhinted at the terrifying sublime. Still, because I safely observed the ocean
from the branch of the Bishop Pine, I had not been fully immersed in the terrifying sublime.
After packing up from Point Reyes, Matt and I made the three-mile hike out of the Point
Reyes National Seashore, and climbed back into his green Toyota. After reaching the highway,
it was only ninety minutes until we reached our next destination: Mount Diablo State Park. After
driving to the highest accessible point of Mount Diablo by vehicle, Matt and I stepped out of his
parked car, and walked to the edge of the mountain, and placed our hands on the slightly rusted,
steel guardrail. The copper-red mountain pierced the top of the clouds; it was a strange sensation
to look down and see wisps of cumulus clouds obscuring the view of the desert-like ground
below. Still, with the guardrailand the informational hut with bathroom amenities thirty yards
away from usit was clear that this was a family-friendly experience with nature. Matt was

Clinton 21
pointing to another rock formation that ruptured from the side of the summit; it reached upward
to the clear sky like a birch tree seeking out the sun.
Well, are you coming or what? Matt repeated. I blinked. I had never climbed
something that high before. Actually, by that time in 2012, I had not climbed much of anything.
Yeah, I began, I mean, if you think we wont die. I let out a nervous laugh. Matt
smiled.
You cant think like that. Do what you wanna do. Im heading over there. Not really
being left with a choice, I followed him, passed the paved road we had drove, past Matts
Toyota, past the information kiosk.
Mount Diablo sits 3,860 feet above sea level along the California coast, watching the
nearby metropolisspecifically San Franciscobreathe, grow, and thrive. The cities have
sprawled out towards the geologic anomaly of Diablo, but never touched its earth. The cities
have marched steadily through mountains, under rivers, and over nature, but have paused at the
boundary of the blood red mountain.
Bathed in the cool, western sunlight, Diablo stands tall, proud, spiritual, magnificent.
With a clear sky a modern day explorer can see the looming Sierra Nevada, the historic Golden
Gate Bridge, and the far-off Mount Lassen. All landmarks of the California coast, and all
dwarfed by Diablos height.
Positioned at the center of the state park, the copper peak erupts from acres of publically
controlled land. Nearly 90,000 acres of preserved land stretch out all directions from Diablos
peak, and the 20,000 acres closest to the peak are considered the Mount Diablo state park.

Clinton 22
After several minutes, we were walking through thorny brush and over small boulders,
trying to get to the base of the rock formation. I felt a quick, sharp sting on my shoulder. Two
thorns had pierced my skin.
Without saying a word, Matt placed his hands on the jagged overhang above, and pulled
himself uphe disappeared from sight. Not wanting to lose my nervewhich was evaporating
as the seconds passedI quickly followed.
I forcefully expelled a gust of air from my lungs as I pulled myself eighteen inches
higher. My left hand had found a tiny groove to sink two fingers into, and I had just brought my
right foot off of the safety of a comfortable (and wide) ledge to a narrow strip of earth where I
balanced the tip of my big toe. In order to advance higher, my left foot would have to leave the
rock for a moment and lodge itself next to my waist, where it could then supply the necessary
force to propel my body to a dark gray stone above my right shoulder. I hesitated. I trusted my
left foot, but I was an inexperienced climber, and I was nervous about the next move. My heart
pounded against my ribcage, and I could feel warm blood rush to the back of my bead. I was
overthinking the next step. If I waited in this uncomfortable position any longer, I was only
going to tire my body. I closed my eyes. It was as if my body was acting on autopilot and my
brainat least the conscious part of my brainwas frantically trying to catch up. My left foot
carefully kicked out from underneath me, and I felt the pressure of my weight shift to my other
limbs. Quickly and with precision, my left foot found the toe holds I was looking for. My other
limbs relaxed slightly as I grew comfortable with shifting more of my weight to my left foot.
Now it was on to the next stepMatt was already reaching the top.
My trembling fingers grasped at the dark gray stone a foot away from my right shoulder.
I needed to grab that stone if I was going to get any higher, and Matt was already reaching the

Clinton 23
top of the rock formation. I reached out for the stone, feeling my tendons and muscles in my
shoulder tighten with exertion. First my middle finger, then my index, then finally, my thumb
grasps the edges of the gray rock that promises to bring me higher up on the climb. As my hand
slowly squeezes the rock, beginning to put pressure on it, the edge of the rock moves slightly.
My heart stops. I was caught in rock climbing purgatory. As anyone who climbs will tell you, a
loose rock is a climbers worst enemy. Usually, you can spot the loose stones: they give
themselves away with the way theyre positioned into the earth. But sometimes, the loose stones
are positioned in such a way that it becomes nearly impossible to detect them; until youve
already made the mistake that I was in the process of making.
I was caught between moves. My right hand gingerly grasped the loose stone, while my
weight was still being supported by two fingers of my left hand and the big toe on each of my
feet. I couldnt put any more weight on the deceitful stone, I knew that, but I didnt know how to
proceed. My eyes quickly scanned the layout of the rocks around me: sharp, jagged rocks the
size of thimbles poked out at the rock, occasionally accented by a smooth stone, that provided
me without any grip. A more experienced climber would have undoubtedly flown up the route
that I was locked into (Matt, who is by no means a professional, was already at the top) and my
mind began to wander.
What tricks do other climbers have? I thought to myself.
Why did I even think I could get up this rock? It was a stupid idea.
This was a bad idea.
I caught myself. Not from falling, I was still locked in a balancing positionshifting my weight
from toe to toe, trying to keep weight off of my two fingers that were now growing numb with
pain. I caught myself mentally. Thinking anything is a bad idea when youre already past the

Clinton 24
point of no return will never do any good to anybody. I closed my eyes again, took a deep
breath, and took my right hand off of the loose, gray stone. I pressed the rest of my body against
the rock, compensating for the lack of stability without my fourth limb. I felt the wind howl at
the back of my neck (it was not a particularly windy day, but with each inch higher, the wind
grew exponentially more fierce.) My right hand found a rock with grip, and my fingers quickly
scanned and tested the rock to make sure it could hold weight. It was sound. I glanced down
and memorized where I was about to put my left foot as I reached upward and grabbed the rock
above my right hand. As soon as I did, I shifted the weight onto my right hand and off the
crippled fingers of my left hand.
Few sensations can compare to shifting ones body weight from a few fingers on the nondominant side of the body to a comfortable grip on the dominant side. I felt the tendons in my
left hand relax and took a brief moment to flex my fingers and bring my hand to a fist. I was so
much more comfortable in this new position that I repeated this motion several times, allowing
my hand to rest and allowing my lungs to refill with the thinning, high-altitude air.
After I pulled myself up with my right hand, I was only a yard away from the top.
Emboldened by my recent success in climbing, I quickly released my left hand to reach for the
ledge that would bring me to the top. I grabbed at the ledge, but my hand slipped, and the
resulting shock caused my right toe to lose its footing. Seconds earlier, I was basking in the
comfort of a strong position with good balance. Now I flailed, thousands of feet above the
ground, relying on my right hands grip. Luckily, my foot found another rock a bit closer to the
edge, and I was able to propel myself up a few crucial inches higher to better reach the ledge
with my left hand. Cautiously this time, I raised my body over the copper-red ledge and

Clinton 25
wriggled my body up onto the peak. I saw Matt sitting next to the edge, his feet lazily dangling
off the side, suspended over Mount Diablo State Park.
After reaching the top, I tried to stand up. Quickly, a howling gust of wind whirled
around my body, making balance impossible. I decided against standing up completely, and
stayed close to the hard, rock surface, leaving at least three limbs touching the copper-red slab at
all times. Matt was looking east, away from where I had climbed. I was about to call for him, to
let him know that I had joined him, that I had successfully climbed the red, rocky spire. But my
voice got caught in my throatnot because I was scared, or because I lost my footing, but
because I had just caught a glimpse over the edge and was speechless. There was no longer
anything to say; it wasnt important to have a conversation right now.
I slowly made my way closer to the edge, against the wind that only high-altitudes can
produce rushing past my face, and as I looked over the edge, to the rocky desert earth over 3,500
feet below, I felt an overwhelming sensation start at the back of my neck and flood throughout
the rest of my body. It felt like adrenaline at first, but did not excited meinstead it had a
calmed my entire body and mind in a profound way. All that separated the rocky edge and me
was six inchessix inches farther, and I would plummet to certain death. This was the terrifying
sublimea combination of real terror and intense awe.
To my right, was a small, stunted foothill pine (pinus sabiniana)the only tree species in
Mount Diablo that can grow at such a high altitude. It was very small, it resembled more shrub
than tree, but I was amazed that the tiny plant was surviving in such a harsh environment. Its
roots had planted themselves to a small ledge six feet below where I was sitting. To my right,
the view was spectacular. Miles of golden desert land stretched out into the horizon line,
occasionally accented by a smaller mountain or large oak tree. I dont know how long I stared

Clinton 26
out at the view. The wind continued to rush around me, but it no longer felt aggressive. It was
profoundly peaceful.

****************

Fire! Fire on the Mountain!

A few months and a year since returning from that trip, Mount Diablo was on fire. While
hurrying in between classes at Winona State University, I received a brief text message from
Matt:
Hey man. Idk if you heard about the wildfires in Cali, but Diablo is on fire. Its really bad, and
there probably wont be any hiking in that area for a while. Good thing we saw it when we did.
Much love man, see you soon
I had heard about the wildfires, but didnt realize how close they were to Mount Diablo.
I tried to imagine the rocky ledge Matt and I had scaled on firebut I couldnt. It was forever
ingrained in my memory as I had experienced it. If I ever get the chance to go to Mount Diablo
again, it will be different, the fire altering its landscape. Now the Mount Diablo I climbed only
exists in my recollections and stories that Matt and I share when we return home to Crystal Lake
during holiday breaks. It was a strange, melancholic feeling. Everything is in a perpetual state
of change, either through a rapid, violent mechanism like a wildfire, or by slow processes. The
slow changes are less noticeable, but just as effective.
When I go back to Crystal Lake I still enjoy Sternes, and the Woods arent much
different. But I am, and that seems to change the scenery: the trees dont reach quite as high, the
trails dont wind quite as fierce, the grounds arent quite as vast. I still feel a deep connection to

Clinton 27
the place, and when I return I am reminded of the times I spent and the memories I formed
hiking the small natural sanctuary. But it no longer feels like a place in my present, it is a part of
my pastwhere I grew up, but not where I live. Places like that, places that erect permanent
fortresses in memory, never seem the same upon a return visit.
This disparity between our memory and present experience certainly brings a sense of
melancholy, but it also causes me to appreciate how great an impact a place has had on me,
that the impact was so defined it immortalized itself within my mind. Places shape our
experiences, and in doing so, shape our memory and our identity. Maybe this is the
melancholic sublime Kant describesthe feeling of slight sadness at never being able to
experience a something in our past again, but a concurrent feeling of gratitude for having the
experience to remember at all. When we experience the melancholic sublime then, we are
recognizing the passage of timeand thus recognizing our mortalitywhile also feeling
grateful for moments that we experienced.
When I contemplate this simultaneous recognition of the joy of an experience and the
reality of mortality, the feeling gains emotional momentum. It has elements of the terrifying
sublimeone must confront the reality of their inevitable death and I suddenly recognize
the ephemeral nature of my own life. Suddenly, I realize that this not just a melancholic and
terrifying feeling of the sublime, but of the historic sublime as wellmy life will end just as
billions others have, but we have all interacted with and contributed to the infinite fabric of
time. All lives leaves a tiny imprint onto this fabric, and while no life will dominate it, no life
goes unnoticed and ends without some sort of effect. This is a true sublime feeling
combining elements of the melancholic, historic, and terrifyinga profound feeling that is at
once both humbling and empowering.

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