This Trump Tweet
After 52 years it is time for the United States to fully recognize Israel’s Sovereignty over the Golan Heights, which is of critical strategic and security importance to the State of Israel and Regional Stability!
— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) March 21, 2019
got me wondering whether Mexico has any ski mountains to
conquer annex. The only place with a ski lift that seems to advertise is outside of Monterrey and it looks more like a ramp, perhaps refrigerated, than an actual quasi-natural snow slope.
Mexico has some 12,000 foot peaks in the north, but they are pretty dry. It has some snow covered volcanoes in the center, but the snow lines are awfully high. Here’s an article about hiking to the top of 18,500′ Orizaba, Mexico’s tallest volcano, to ski down to about 16,000 feet where the snow runs out.
In 1977, after we climbed California’s 14,500 foot tall Mt. Whitney, the tallest mountain in the Lower 48, my friend Steve and I talked for awhile about climbing a taller mountain. But neither one of us particularly wanted to die in a blizzard or fall off a cliff, so extreme climbs like 20,300′ Mt. McKinley in Alaska were out. We eventually settled on Ixtaccíhuatl, a 17,000+’ (5230m) volcano east of Mexico City as the safest tall climb in North America.
One interesting memory was how hard it was in pre-Internet 1977 to research esoteric information like the best time of the year to climb a Mexican volcano. (December.) But eventually we never got around to climbing Ixtaccíhuatl. It’s the kind of thing that seems more like a good idea when you are a headstrong 18 year old than when you are an older but wiser 19 year old.
If we are into redrawing national borders, it would seem better just to declare Whistler Mountain in British Columbia to be American territory. On the other hand, I might remind Mr. Trump that Cabo San Lucas at the south end of Baja California has some memorable golf terrain:
Further north in Baja is the Bajamar golf course, between Rosarito Beach and Ensenada. In late December 1996, only a week after I’d been diagnosed with cancer, I played it with Steve, who drove down from L.A. The front nine ran inland through sagebrush and the skies were dark grey; I was feeling doomed and depressed. But the back nine was brand new and ran toward the Pacific. The 14th hole was the first of four on the ocean cliffs:
and just as we got to the tee 40 feet above the surging 20′ foot tall waves, the sun came out.
It dawned on me: I’m going to live.
I then proceeded to hit six 5-woods in a row into the Pacific Ocean, but even that didn’t discourage me.
On the way back to Rosarito Beach, we once again passed James Cameron’s colossal set for Titanic, and, in my new mood, it seemed obvious that if Cameron could rebuild the Titanic on a cliff in Mexico, I could beat cancer.