The last month has been full of adventure which is usually what brings me greatest joy in the season of summer. What became clear to me over the course of these adventures, however, is that trying new things often means making mistakes which ideally can lead to a greater understanding of one's self and world. But more commonly, it leads to regret and cursing yourself for making the stupid decision(s) that led to the predicament in the first place. An opportunity may present itself as something sweet and wonderful - like lemonade! -but when you actually take it on, you discover the opportunity tastes more like lemons. And the mis-adventure ensues. I offer a couple examples, both dealing with summer hiking companions:
In July, on a whim, I hiked the second tallest mountain in the continental U.S. I was in Colorado for my dad's 70th birthday, and my sister Monica invited us all on a hike. Since it is one of her life's goals to summit all the 14-ers in CO, she suggested one she had not yet done: Mt. Elbert. She said it was known for being easy. Sounded great! I encouraged my nieces to join us. My 17 year-old nephew was already on board, as well as my dad, brother-in-law, and both sisters. Two nieces were not interested, but the 10 year-old thought about it long and hard, and by the end of the day decided she wanted to join us. Our crew headed out early the next morning to meet at the trail-head. We anticipated it would take us 4 hours up and 2 hours down. In reality, it took us 6 hours to get up, and 5 hours to get down. It was a HUGE mountain (you don't get to be the tallest peak in CO by being puny!).
The thin air presented a major challenge for breathing, especially for the part above the tree line, but overall I was well-suited for the trail's level of difficulty. This was not the same story for my 10 year-old niece who fought back tears for much of the way up. The rest of our crew forged ahead at their own pace; I stayed back with her, feeling responsible for her predicament as I had encouraged her to do this, never having climbed a 14-er myself. I told her we could turn back at anytime, but she wanted to press on. When it became especially difficult to breathe as the oxygen got thinner and the mountain got steeper, I told her to take 30 steps, then sit and take a break for 30 seconds. She did this and the breaks became longer and longer. Finally - after what seemed like eternity - we made it! The view from the top of the world (aka Mt. Elbert) was glorious and we took some fabulous pictures. We also saw a rainbow made of the most vivid colors immediately in front of us on the way down.
It was a joy to hike with my family, and perhaps the joy was felt by no one more than my dad who beamed with pride at the top when surrounded by his family. And it was a huge achievement for us all. But was it worth the tears of a child? I'm not sure. If my niece is willing to go hiking again someday, perhaps. But since Colorado has a lot of other mountains, in the future I will suggest a hike that is more family-friendly.
Mis-adventure #2: Having just experienced the Rocky Mountain high, I returned to the east coast intent on taking more hikes. I booked a couple nights' stay at a campsite at Camp Calumet in New Hampshire. I packed up my dog, backpack, and a change of clothes and headed north with the hope of climbing Mt. Washington - the northeast's highest peak. I had read a few articles and was happy to learn dogs are welcome so in preparation, I had taken Jack, my 5 year-old chocolate lab, on several extra-long hikes in the Glastonbury/Manchester area. Once in New Hampshire, we set out early from our campsite on a Monday morning in early August. I stopped in at the main visitor's center for food, water, and a map. A staff-member recommended a couple specific trails for us to take - advice which we followed, at least for the way up.
All was wonderful for the first mile: there were friendly people, running streams, and a shady path for us to enjoy. Then we hit the beginning of "Lion Head" (name of our trail) which amounted to a pile of rocks stacked directly on top of each other; this rock-pile continued for the remainder of the hike (3 more miles and 3,000+ feet in elevation). The rocks were so big and cliff-like we had to climb a ladder at the beginning of the super steep part. Yes, my fearless dog climbed a ladder. That is what I considered the point of no return as there was no way he was going to climb down it. We now had to get to the top.
The only problem, at least the primary one, was that Lion Head turned out to be an incredibly hostile trail for dogs. It required scaling rock-walls as if you were spider-man, sprawling yourself across the mountain on all fours. And the rocks, being more ancient that granite, were very rough; I later learned they are notorious for ripping paws up. What was Jack supposed to do? He did his best, and then some. At one point, after bounding up the mountain behind a group of teenagers, he found a resting place in the shade of a large rock - one of the only resting places in those entire 3 miles - and he slept for a half hour. When he lay down, he was heaving intensely and for so long, I thought he was going to die. I cursed myself for being foolish enough to bring him up there. I apologized profusely to him and cried. I also prayed and read my Bible. He didn't understand my apologies, but he certainly appreciated the love, water and snacks I provided (carrots, blueberries, and PB&J sandwiches). Several hikers passed by us and some went out of their way to encourage us. We learned we were 2.8 miles into the 4 mile trail (one-way).
Somehow, after his power-nap, we managed to keep going up (though there was no other way to go). Several times, I helped hoist Jack up by supporting his haunches. Other times, I had to look away due to fear and anxiety as he climbed up a steep and dangerous cliff. We ran into three dogs in the last half-mile which helped spur him on and, eventually, we both made it to the top.
A hike that should have taken me 4 hours took us 6 1/2 to get up. Mercifully, a shuttle was available to take us back down. After thanking God that we reached the summit with my dog still in one piece, I booked the next available shuttle. We had two hours to spare until our departure which Jack spent doling out affection to every visitor who crossed his path. He was a big hit! One guy sat with him while I went inside the visitor's center to get food and water. When I returned, the guy said those few minutes sitting with Jack was the highlight of his day.
Lemons or lemonade? Jack's presence made life notably sweeter for all who crossed our path (and there were probably at least a hundred people with whom we interacted during the hike or on top of the mountain), but I don't think the sweetness outweighs the bitter regret I faced during the climb. Lesson learned: next time I go to Mt. Washington, I will bring a human friend, and I'll save my hikes with Jack for a gentler terrain. We both deserve that.
