Journal Entry- Cloud Walking
Yesterday I stood on the peak of a mountain in the Olympic National Forest, the cold wind biting fiercely at my sweat-soaked t-shirt. While I had violated Les Stroud’s main invocation for cold weather survival, ‘you sweat you die,’ it was not dangerous as long as I kept moving and the weather didn’t turn. More importantly, I was OUT. There were no walls around me, no screens to stare into, no distractions from the bounty of this beautiful pale blue dot we all live on.
The hike had been difficult in places. Not technical, but the grade exceeded 20% for long stretches and I haven’t been on a proper hike in ages. I am out of shape and my body is currently untrained so a +12.9km/8mi (round trip distance) hike with more than 1km/3,200 ft of elevation gain to the peak was a challenge for me.
I’ve hiked extensively before and love the quiet hours or days spent away from the backdrop noises of ‘civilisation.’ It has therefore been a point of some consternation with me that I haven’t been getting out into the real world beyond the city borders where the paved roads give way to rough hewn tracks and no power lines or cell signals can reach.
I’ve been a rut concerning physical activity for some time. I used to be extremely active and fit but those days seem very distant to every part of me except my ego. I used to race bicycles and was pretty good at it. Yet 15 years after my last race I still can’t get on a bike without expecting to be just as fast as I was then. I feel shame and self-ridicule for not being able to cruise a flat road at 26mph and still be in zone 2 (out of 5) effort like I used to. The same thing happens on hikes or any physical activity, if I’m not the best I shouldn’t even attempt it. And they say the ego is the rational part of our psyche!
Yesterday was different, however. For reasons that will be revealed in several upcoming posts I felt a call to be out in nature. In fact, I had made a promise to be. I woke up Thursday morning, found a random trailhead on the internet that led to a summit, and ventured forth. Looking at the trail stats I knew it was going to be a tough day but I was eager and excited.
I was well prepared save for my cotton t-shirt. I need to get some of those technical materials Les was mentioning. I started at 1015hrs and I consciously suppressed my natural inclination to walk fast. Lessons learned from racing and hiking in the past include knowing how to pace myself so I set out at a reasonable gait. In the past, pacing myself meant weakness. Today it was merely sensible.
Once on the trail, the quiet was exquisite. I stopped time and again to hear silence, to note the absence of the mechanical hum of modern society we come to ignore because it’s always there but that subconsciously grates against our soul. I heard air moving past my eardrum, the far-off chirp of a chipmunk, and nothing else.
I walked and after a while the endorphins kicked in and my pace and breathing evened, my legs felt better and my lungs opened. It took a while before I realised the old monologue was gone: I wasn’t berating myself for human limitations or feeling inadequate because of some imagined goal of physical perfection. I was being kind to myself, not in a condescending way but it a loving and compassionate way. And then I stopped worrying about it altogether and drank in my surroundings.
It was not a day for grand vistas. The clouds shrouded the peaks in grey woollen blankets, the temperature seeming to drop a degree with each switchback. As I entered the grey mist I took a long look back on the valley, feeling grateful to be alive to witness such glory.
Once in the clouds I could only see 200m in any direction so I walked and felt wonder for the treasures close in: scampering chipmunks, sitka spruce reaching regally into the clouds, dried white bones of long dead trees set in gnarled arrangements of elegant artistry. Plants with brilliant red leaves seemed to glow against the green canvas of the mountainside. Many times I put my hands to the side and brushed my fingertips in greeting and communion amongst the leaves and needles of my fellow Earthlings.
The last mile was a slog. My legs had worked harder than they had in a long while but I kept moving. For the first time when pushing myself the voice I heard in my head was not my father’s bitter criticism, it was my own. The voice was acknowledging that it was hard, that the air a mile above where I live and work was thinner, that my legs hurt, and that I was still moving forward and that was all that mattered. It was a voice of encouragement and joy instead of one of ridicule and hatred.
The tree line was sudden, not the gradual shortening of trees I’d seen on other peaks on the East Coast; one moment I was in trees taller than me and the next I was on a rocky slope with a single muddy track through it. I could not see the peak for the clouds but as I whittled away the steps I saw what could be the top.
What I didn’t know yesterday is that this mountain has a long, broad summit. As I approached the top of the slope I had been trudging up I noticed the shadow of a higher mound of rock behind it. I resolved myself to make that and as I got near there was another shadow beyond. This continued for quite some time, each time I said it was ok to turn around once I reached that point but each time I saw another shadow my feet refused to change direction.
With 6 or 7 shadows behind me, there was a longer interval and the trail had not yet turned down. After a bit the next shadow appeared. There seemed to be natural crenelations surrounding what surely had to be the peak. This time, I swore, this was far enough. I knew the way back to the car would be much easier but I had to save something for the 4 mile walk back.
The mist was thicker here, I had to get very close before the rocky outcroppings drew into focus. Suddenly two forms appeared among the rocks, others who had made the long walk. The two gentlemen, also new to this peak, told me they had decided the same thing- no matter if this was the official peak or not, it was far enough for today. We noted that the trail trended down from here and later that evening, with the help of Google Earth, I would verify that we had indeed reached the actual summit.
We chatted about hiking as I put my sweatshirt on and ate my lunch of a small rasher of smoked coho salmon from my knife the way I’d learned from cowboy movies when I was small. After a short while we said goodbye and headed off. The wind was brisk, challenging even my legendary tolerance for a chill.
I walked back down the mountain with a renewed bounce in my step. Not only was I glad to be out in nature, I was proud of myself. Proud that I had kept my promise, proud that I had successfully tackled this challenge, and proud that I have become someone who can now take healthy pride in himself without listening to the bitter stories of the past.
