The Climb
By: Kevin Strong
I’m gonna do it.
I know it’s crazy, but I’m gonna climb that mountain.
It’s not a real “mountain” with glaciers and a tree line. I won’t need climbing gear or a Sherpa to reach
the top, but it’s still a mountain. Even
compared to the mountains that surround it, it seems more of a big hill, but
it’s big enough for me. I come from the Canadian
Prairies, where a garbage heap with grass growing on top is a mountain to us. I’ve flown south across the border on a
business trip and I want a little adventure.
Yes, this is a mountain perfect for someone like me; someone who is middle-aged
and out of shape.
Am I really middle-aged? Already?
I always thought middle-age started in your late-thirties and I’m
closing in on 40.
I’m always trying to prove something to myself, but constantly
overestimating my abilities and limitations.
Even finding the path entrance is difficult as I troll around in my
rental car. I pull over to ask some skateboarding teenagers for directions and they tell me that I can probably find the trail up
a nondescript residential street. Since they live here, I wonder why they don’t
know for sure because this mountain is staring every resident in the face every
day. They are kind of laughing as they tell me and I’m not sure if it’s because
they think I’m stupid to climb the mountain at this time of day or at my age or
in my physical condition. Maybe it’s
because they are giving me the wrong directions on purpose.
I drive until I see the side of the mountain and I park my temporary
white gas-guzzler on the side of the street close to a path into the
bushes. I pause before getting out to
consider whether I am really prepared for this or not. I’m wearing jeans, a sweatshirt and runners
meant for fashion (not for running). I’m alone and I don’t really know what to expect. No one even knows I am here.
Who cares? What am I afraid of?
Just do it.
I stick my cell phone in my pocket just in case.
Table Mountain still looks cool, but it appears far more imposing up
close. It has a round, flat top
surrounded by sheer cliffs. It reminds
me of a larger version of the hoodoos in Drumheller or the rocky pillars you
see in movies set in New Mexico or Nevada deserts.
The blue sky is dotted with a few clouds. It’s late Autumn, so it is a bit chilly and
the sparse bushes are dry and yellow like tumbleweeds. Actually, the bushes probably always look
like that because this is a high elevation desert that gets almost no precipitation.
It’s around 4:30 PM, so it should get dark soon. A co-worker told me that the hike takes
around 20-30 minutes each way so I convince myself that it should be okay. Again, I make a mental note that there is no
one visible on the path or on the mountain.
A dog in a nearby yard barks at me as if to tell me “stay away, you fool”
or “beware”. I wonder if there are any
wild animals up there. So many things
could go wrong.
Who cares? Am I a big baby or a man?
Go for it!
The first steps are easy. I
enter a 2-foot wide path made by thousands of feet before mine. The path is made from crushed dark red
rock. A nearby sign tells me that the
rock is from a volcano erupting millions of years ago.
Oh, shit. Are my expensive runners going to be ruined
by the red dust?
I walk on. There is a slight
upward gradient, but easy enough to manage.
As I walk, I wonder if the cell phone battery is very low. I can’t remember for sure, but I think I
would have enough power to make one last phone call if needed to 911 or even another
call to my family to say good-bye as I lay dying.
I’ve done crazy shit like this before.
Like the time I went skiing down a double black diamond ski run at
breakneck speed, while extremely fatigued, at the end of my first day ever
skiing and could have broken my neck. Or
the time I went hiking alone in the mountains near Kananaskis, Alberta in a
deserted area where I could have been attacked by a cougar or eaten by a bear. I think we’ve all had that dream where we die
from some totally avoidable situation and as we die we wonder “how stupid of
me” and “what a waste.” I hope this
journey doesn’t end that way.
Oh, well. I’ve started, so I may as well go on.
As I walk on, the slope gets steeper and the path crisscrosses horizontally
across the mountain. The path gets
narrower and at certain junctions I am not sure which way represents the safe
beginner’s path. I see some obvious
short cuts to save hundreds of meters of walking side to side, but my legs are
starting to get tired and I don’t want to climb a steeper incline, so I stay on
the widest path. Two roads diverged on a
hill, and I - I took the one more
traveled by (as usual).
Why must I walk so far in
the opposite direction from my ultimate destination? Am I even on the right path? Get real.
What else would people climb up a mountain to see?
After 10 minutes, my breathing is getting heavy and I begin to sweat.
Already? I am in worse physical shape than I
thought. Take deep breaths.
Maybe there is less oxygen in the thinner air at this elevation. I’m used to being 800 feet above sea level,
but I am now more than a mile high.
My feet begin to drag and I trip over a few large rocks on the
path. I am so lazy that I don’t even try
to step over those rocks anymore; I just walk around them. I have to keep my eyes on the path now. I can’t even enjoy the surroundings anymore.
Soon, I’m really panting like a dog in the sun and I can feel my heart
pounding as if it wants to leap out of my chest.
What if I have a heart
attack? Will I have the strength to call
911 or will the next hiker find my corpse?
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
They always tell you to consult a doctor before starting an exercise
program and I haven’t been to a doctor in years.
I look back at the miniature model of the rental car. I am one-third of the way up and it already
seems so far below. I see two people
walking near the car and I hope that they are going to climb up after me. At least then, if I have a heart attack or slip
and break my ankle or back, I can call out to them and they’ll find me
quickly. That is all the reinforcement
that my will needed. If they can do it,
so can I.
I move forward; one foot after the other.
Keep on trucking.
This is way harder than a step machine or inclined treadmill at the
gym, but at least I am breathing fresh air and there’s a breeze to cool me
down. Well, the air is fresh except for
the smell of malt in the air from the brewery below.
I’m almost halfway up and I see a small bench and a sign telling me
that I am leaving the “open recreation area”.
Now, I take a seat so that my shaking legs can rest while my speeding
heart slows down. However, from this
point forward it is clear that I am proceeding at my own risk.
It’s getting a bit colder and darker and I will have to hurry if I want
to get to the top and down again safely.
After a few heavenly minutes, I decide to move on.
I plod up the narrowing path and come to some areas that are slippery
and hard to ascend because of the steeper angles combined with loose dust and
rocks. I guess it’s time to get my hands
dirty and climb like a gorilla on all fours.
I climb up some walls through a narrow crevasse and I am surprised at
how easily I handle this tough part of my journey. I never was good at rock climbing on those
rock climbing walls, maybe because the harness removes the risk and prevents
the adrenaline and survival instinct from kicking in.
I finally reach the top only to find that I am still 700 meters away from
the peak, so I walk on. There are many
paths that seem to lead to the summit, so I scan them to find the one that
seems to be the least distance and effort.
My second wind has come and I march on at a nice pace.
Near the peak, someone has been nice enough to install concrete steps
leading to the summit. The summit has a
flat top and it looks like a giant helicopter pad.
As I am about to climb the steps, one of the other hikers jogs past me
to the top with little effort and no sweat.
I wish that I was in that kind of shape.
Oh, well. At least I made it. His goals and expectations are a little
higher than mine. I theorize that he may have taken a much easier route to get
here up an access road on another side of the mountain, but it’s probably wishful
thinking.
I make quick work of the steps too.
At the top, there is nothing. No
signs, benches, drink machines, or garbage cans. It looks like the inside of a volcano. All I see is dusty red sand. There are no plants and there are even a few mini-craters
scattered around.
I wander dangerously close to the edge to peer down. A strong gust of wind blows hard enough to
move my considerable mass, but thankfully it blows be back and not
forward. My sanity returns and I crawl
to the edge and lie on my stomach to look down the steep, high cliff. I realize that a fall would have been fatal
(and still would be), so I back up five feet from the edge and survey the
small, charming Golden town below. A few lights are on and the people in tiny
cars are heading home from work for a nice dinner.
Unfortunately, there is not much of a sunset to view with all the
mountains around getting in the way.
Hey, look at me.
I wave my arms wildly in the air in case anyone below is looking at the
peak at this exact moment. I am certain
that lots of people are looking because I have looked at the peak many times
myself in the past few days and I have seen people at the top. I wanted to feel what they felt and now I am
here. I feel tired. I feel proud, but lucky to be uninjured. I breathe deeply and look at the surrounding
mountains. I finally allow myself to
feel a tiny bit of exhilaration, but I quickly wonder how I am going to get
back down.
I think about my life and how lucky I am to have a good job and a wonderful,
loving family. I can’t wait to get home and see my beautiful wife and two precious,
amazing kids. My business traveling is never easy on any of us.
I feel gratitude to my parents for helping me become the person I am
and make a mental note to visit them when I get home. Sometimes life gets in
the way of cherished relationships.
I ponder the symbolism of this climb and the steps along the way.
At what stage of this
journey is my life? Am I just starting out, with little idea of what lies in
front of me? Am I still climbing and striving and looking for ways to reach the
summit of my career, my personal interests, my family and my marriage? Am I “over the hill”? What parts of my life
have plateaued with nowhere to go but down? Once I peak in various aspects of
my life, will the descent be slow and easy or hard, fast & painful? Do I
always take what appears to be the easiest path? What risks would I take to
reach a higher summit? Do I have the energy and ambition?
It is now much colder and windier.
It is starting to get dark, so the treacherous parts of the path will be
hard to see. In my fatigued state, I can
easily misstep and go for a tumble.
I sit for a few minutes more and decide it is time to go. I wish I could leave a mark behind to prove
that I was here. I don’t want to
desecrate such a natural beauty by carving my initials in the rocks, so I go on
my cell phone and update my facebook status to tell the world that I am at the
top of a mountain. I casually notice
that the battery is almost half full, which removes one of my worries. Then, I simply get up and walk down the
stairs.
The second hiker is now arriving and both of them are at the top. It’s weird, but I thought they’d acknowledge
me or say “hi”. I am sure that they do
this simple climb every day for exercise, which I admire. I wonder if they feel exhilaration or
gratitude for being unhurt as I did.
Probably not.
I am a bit worried about my descent, so I walk close to the edge to try
to find a shortcut down. Down is supposed
to be easier than up, right? What goes
up must come down and all that. I see
several paths leading over the edge.
I explore one of them, the apparent lesser of several evils. I even climb down a small 10-foot cliff to a
narrow ledge. I peek over the edge and
see a sheer wall at least 30 feet high.
I can’t imagine how anyone could climb up or down without proper rock-climbing
gear. I am in a hurry and I foolishly
think I can keep going down.
Why not? Others surely have done it. I’ve gone this far. Go down or go up? Down or up?
I shimmy down the ledge to try to find an easier way to climb back UP
to where I started 10 feet above me. That
tells you a bit about me. I am glad to
see a few rocks to grab and use as footholds.
I hug the rock close to my body and climb slowly and carefully because I
worry that I don’t have the skill or strength to climb back up and I know that
if I fall I will break something. In my
mind, I constantly replay a movie clip of myself falling and breaking different
parts of my body. It’s not like my whole
life flashes in front of my eyes, but I have visions of my wife and kids during
some good times back home. Motivation. My laziness and rush to get down has put me
in real danger. After a few exacerbating
slips, I get to the top. I feel happy,
but also tired from the stress and exertion.
I walk a bit further and try another shortcut with similar results. I shake my head and laugh out loud at how
stupid I am being. I am being too
risky. I don’t have a harness to protect
me.
How much time have I already
wasted on these deadly dead ends? How much time in my life has been spent
exploring dead ends and making and correcting wrong decisions?
I don’t exactly remember how I got up here in the first place. I follow the edge until I see a familiar
crevasse. This terrain looks harder to
descend than climb. I slip on some loose
rocks and fall back on my keester, which is much better than rolling down the
slope. The next time I slip and fall, I reach back to break my fall only to
grab small cactus plants with both hands.
Ouch! I take a few minutes to pluck out the
needles, but I can’t get them all.
Going down is not as easy as I thought, so I slide most of the way on
my ass. I know it is degrading and nothing
to be proud of, but it is safer, especially now that it has rapidly become
dark.
I get more confident with my footing as I get closer to the bottom and
I actually jog down in places. I take
many of the shortcuts down that I was too lazy to take on the way up.
The dog barks nearby as if to say “welcome home, you ignorant
fool”.
Funny. I feel just as much exhilaration knowing I am safely at the
bottom as I felt at the summit. There
has got to be a guardian angel watching over me. The mini-mountain must have been in a good
mood today.
I get in the car and drive away none the wiser. I think I’ll have Mexican food with a nice
green chili sauce for dinner.
* First published in the Write to Move Anthology by the Winnipeg Trails Association.
Happy Travels,
Kev
PS - For a shorter read with vivid description of a creek at sunset in late summer, check out this poem:
