Disclaimer: I'm broke, and was moved from Colorado to Alaska, so writing about it is one of the few ways I can keep in touch with reality.  Owning Stargate would be too much of a hassle.

The Needles Point

The stillness of it all, that's what he loved most about it. The stillness – and the silence.  Nothing but him and the rocks.  It was almost like fishing.  Although casting out a line and sitting was a way to think and relax, this was different in that there was no time to think, just pure action, no inhibition.  A few struggling grasses and evergreens greeted him from various heights as they attempted to gain a foothold along the vertical stone face.  The golden leafed aspens below chattered in the fall breeze, telling him of their soft and supple beings, they would catch him if needed.  Above was a sky so blue that touching it seemed an unreachable reality. 

He stretched his fingers, white with chalk, to their limit.  The tips grasping firmly to the small purchase of a crack in the wall.  There were no overhanging shelves to worry about on Crestone Needle, just the high ridge that loomed out of site.  Three points.  It was so ingrained in his mind…Always have at least three points touching the rock.  The crispness of the air seared his lungs as they attempted to fill themselves with the thin air.  By now he was well over the 14,000 foot mark.  Another couple hundred and he would be sitting on the top of the world, or close to it at least.  Closer would have meant climbing Mt. Elbert, which was a major tourist trap.  Only the locals knew of the few 4x4 trails that went so far back into the high country.  A five plus mile hike in, and then you were at the base ready to begin ascending – the next morning.

The clattering of rocks caught his attention first.  His left foot slipping a hair was next.  The calluses on his finger tips grew more as they dug in deeper to the chipped rock.  Once he obtained the balance he was looking for, his left foot moved quickly and close to one of his hands.  Catching himself from looking down, he took a moment for some steady breathing; in through the nose, out through the mouth.  He opened his eyes and looked up, finding the next eye hook above him.  Nimbly he clipped onto it, when he was assured of his safety, he continued on. 

His arms were crossed over his knees, his head hanging in the circle they formed with his body.  Deep inhalations calmed his nerves after the treacherous climb.  Below, and to the south he looked out over the sand dunes.  It still unnerved him to see the sand that had blown from an ocean thousands of years before to end up among the Colorado sage brush.  Not a drop of salt-water for a few hundred miles.  It reminded him of his own life at times. Steadily moving onward, mountains and canyons in its path, it all stayed together, loosing bit here and there, but gaining more back as it swept across the land. 

From the 14er he saw all the way to New Mexico, Kansas, and even a bit of Oklahoma.  Though there were no clearly marked borders like on maps, he still new the areas where one state ended and another began.  Kind of like his life once more.  From the peak he could see each place in his years where turning points, borders if you will, were reached.  He loosened the strap that held his safety helmet in place, took it off and laid it on the small pack he used for his emergency supplies.  He planned on being back down before night fall, but at this high altitude – in Colorado – the weather could change quicker than a woman's mind.

The wind started to pick up as he sat there, taking the temperature from 90 to around 70. He felt the chill as his body also cooled from the exertion.  As quickly as the wind gust came it tapered back off to the slight chinook it had been all day.   He looked up to the sky, not even a jet trail marred to pristine azure of the heavens. 

Like the breeze, his thoughts began to filter back into his mind and his body started to feel the all-to-familiar aching of age.  It had begun to become a constant companion these days.   He pushed the pain to the back and let other thoughts surface.  The evil and pain he caused others in his life, most he could barely think about now.  The faces of children he'd killed. Sure, those kids were pointing guns at him, all they understood was that their fathers said God and government told them to do it. Just as those two seemed to dictate his own life.  Most of that time would stay within him, the only ones who knew were dead or didn't give a damn, save for the fact it was 'Classified'.

She didn't even know, and she couldn't deal with it…among other things.  His family was all but gone from him.  All that was left was his work.  The prospect of beginning anew terrorized him.  Although the new she didn't, well, not too much.  It was his whole life that scared him, and scarred him against looking too deeply into his own soul.  All in the name of the higher powers that controlled his life.  He sold his body to the whim of politics, and his soul to the highest bidder on e-bay.  Yeah, he knew e-bay wasn't around back then, but the analogy worked for him. All that was left was his heart, a few higher brain functions, and his rank.  Check that, he thought, only the latter two.  The other I lost a while back somewhere too.  Back when I fucked up.

At least that's how it appeared, until recently, when a damn scientist entered the picture.  She couldn't know about him, about who he really felt like he was.  He couldn't let her become involved in the gambit he constantly played with fate. Hell, she didn't even know what his real MOS was.  Perhaps two of those he worked with knew… the rest didn't need to know that he could build a nuclear bomb from virtually scratch, and take it apart just as easy.  He was a weapons specialist.  His current duty didn't require it, at least not in any active roll.  He didn't mind, it helped too keep him mind from wondering just how many lives he destroyed with his knowledge.

Another blast of air caught him from the back, for a moment he thought he might loose his precarious balance atop the high ridge.  The wind tried to swirl his hair, only to realize that it was too short, and it calmed again.  Maybe one of these days he'd ask if anyone he knew cared to join him and scale cliffs in the high country.  Years ago, back in his academy days, the drive wasn't as long to reach good technical climbing, now so many tourists filtered through the Garden of the Gods everyday, that he'd be made a spectacle.  Who knew, it might even be illegal to climb by ropes and hooks and claws to the top of the Camel's Eye. 

He could spend two more days climbing the various peaks in the area.  Or he could spend the night up high, feeling like he was almost a god, counted among the heavens.  Nowadays, the word 'god' took on a whole new meaning, usually accompanied by the word 'false'.  He sat contemplating this for a while, finally giving in to the rational, that it just didn't make rational sense, so why worry about.  Yep, that was definitely the lucid thing to do.  The clarity in his mind began to mimic that of the undisturbed sky.  He found that the bombardment of thoughts assaulting his mind, were running out of ammo.  Yet, he knew from experience there was still plenty more left. 

The curse came next, the Colorado curse, more urban legend than anything it always seemed to effect people deny it as they may.  The story told of an Indian Chief Niwot, or Nitwit as some of the Front Range locals called the small town named after the old Indian. When the white man came to this land and became captivated by the beauty usurping the natives, he laid the curse 'all who came to this place and left, would always come back.  Nearly the whole state was above 5,000 feet, the John Denver song 'Rocky Mountain High' held true.  It was a rush living in a place where there was no moisture to clog the air with its humidity, the only liquid that formed on your body was from sweat, or a dip in one of the high lakes or rivers.  Sure there was some rain, in late August the sky could split open without a thought, bringing hail, and drops of water so thick, that they stung the skin and sometimes left bruises, and the rain was always cold. 

In the winter piles of snow could melt away in less than a day.  And ninety-degrees, could turn to thirties in the space of an hour.  The unpredictability accompanied by the lack of oxygen gave you a rush unlike anything else.  Perhaps it was that, or just plain coincidence that brought him back here time and again.  First on a family vacation when he was twelve, then when he was eighteen and joined the Air Force.  Twice he was stationed at one base or another here.  After retiring, he, his ex-wife, and son moved into the outskirts of Denver.  Not too long after, was where the last remnants of his heart disappeared.

They were thinking about moving, the house was already on the market when two men showed up at his door.  Recalling him.  Somewhere in his mind, at that point, he wished to be rid of Colorado once and for all.  And he was, well sort of, via the Springs, he went off to another world.  Now almost eight years later, he was still here.  The curse worked, he was probably going to retire here again, and live out the rest of  his life scaling the peaks, or driving east to fish, and then coming home.

He stood up, feeling as the wind battered his back again.   It was interesting feeling he got standing up with the wind, like it was whispering to him that it could make him fly, the breeze would carry him.  Something always held his firmly in place, the earth, like it gently took hold of his feet, reminding him that he was meant to be on land.  The gentle reprimand of a mother.  He pondered the idea of repelling down to steep side, then climbing back up tomorrow to gather his rope and hooks.  He shook his head at himself, and began a slow descent to his camp, un-attaching his gear from the face as he went.

It was slow and tedious going, and the bright pinks, purples, reds, and golds of the desert mountain sunset were beginning to fade when he reached his camp.  One night here, and he would head back to his truck in the morning, or climb again.  He'd decide that tomorrow, for now his exhaustion kicked in, and after a small meal, he sank into his sleeping bag, and slept.

A/N: This might be a two-part story.  I'm still deciding that.

I have never done any technical climbing, just acted like a mountain goat at times, so if I screwed up in any of my descriptions of the actual climbing please let me know so I can fix it.

(terminology):  '14er': Yes this is an actual Coloradoan word (and this is the correct spelling) referring to the mountain peaks rising over 14,000 feet sea level.  From www.14ers.com : * Note: To be ranked, a peak must rise at least 300 feet above the saddle that connects it to the nearest 14er peak (if another exists nearby). This guideline has been in use in Colorado for some time.   Crestone Needle (14,197) fits this rule since it is linked to Crestone Peak (14, 294), Challenger Point (14,081), and Kit Carson Peak (14,165).  The web site has some beautiful pics of the area. This area is about a three-four hour drive from Colorado Springs.

Chinook: in CO this is a warm southern breeze coming up from the Gulf of Mexico, not to be confused with a fish of the same name.

MOS is Mission Operative Statement er something like it meaning the specialized training Armed Service men and women choose… the exact anagram is different for each service.  Lemme know if I need to change it for this story.

I would really enjoy it if you would review this story. Thanks.