But I digress. Back to the story of the quest for my own personal Karma on Matterhorn Peak.
The first time I went was in 1985. I headed up the wrong canyon, hardly even near Kerouac's hike,
the mosquitoes ate me alive, and one of those obnoxious Yosemite bears kept me awake all night
traipsing around my tent.
The second time was in the late nineteen-nineties. There were actually three of us, we found the route, camped by the big rock, and went up to the little lake at the foot of Matterhorn Peak the next morning. It wasn't until then that we found out that firstly, there are a lot of peaks up there, which all look somewhat similar to the untrained eye, and secondly, nobody had bothered to bring a map, so there was no way for us to know which one was Matterhorn Peak.
If you were standing at the little lake and had to guess which one of the peaks and pinnacles up there was Matterhorn Peak, you would probably pick Whorl Mountain, in the center left of the photograph above. That's what we did, anyway. We made a halfhearted, lame attempt to get up there, but Whorl Mountain being harder to climb than Matterhorn Peak, we soon gave up. So not only did our attempt end in ignominious defeat; moreover, we returned with the depressing feeling that the whole thing was just to hard for us and we would never make it.
But I was not that easily discouraged. Studying a map at home, I soon understood that we had attempted Whorl and not Matterhorn. Now there was hope again.