Some mountains are easy to climb. They have well-maintained trails, and you can mindlessly follow them to your destination. Others have no path, but when you’re lucky, you find someone’s report about how they navigated their way up to the top, and you have something to go by. Our latest adventure was one of those. We had one woman’s description of the route, our maps, and a general idea of where we were going.
The first mile was pretty straightforward. The next involved a steeper climb through a dense forest where it was difficult to determine if we were heading in the right direction. (But I’ve been known to “lose” my car in a parking lot, so let’s not rely on my directional skills!) I just tried to follow the slope and keep going up. We topped out onto a wide expanse of tundra and found a nice grassy ramp to the ridge.
The ridge was a sea of rocks for as far as the eye could see. We knew it was a rocky route per the one report, and we’ve been on plenty of talus fields, slipped up and down scree slopes, and clambered over car-sized boulders to get to summits, but these rocks were of every size and shape, pointed in every direction, with sharp and jagged edges. Walking atop them was more like walking a tightrope, trying to maintain our balance as it seemed every rock shifted under our feet. And the big boulders that looked like sturdy little walls were just as shaky. And you do not want one of those to fall on you. It was a tedious tiptoe across the unstable terrain. And a serious core workout.
On well-worn paths, I can find my mind wandering. Thinking about anything from the latest story I want to write, or that stupid thing I did, or oftentimes, what I am going to eat at the end of the hike. There was no time for such mind games on this trip. Every rock had to be scrutinized and chosen carefully.
I’d analyze the jumble of stones in front of me and find a path that looked the most promising, place a toe on the rock, and give it a shove to see if it would hold. If it were solid, I’d step ahead and do the same with the other foot on the next rock. I held my hiking poles out for balance and hastily stabbed them at the ground when I’d lose my balance and the rolling rock threatened to tip me over. Needless to say, it was a very slow process, tight roping our way across the teeter-tottering rocks. And in the back of my mind, I was thinking, “And we have to go back over all this madness to get out of here.”
We took a lot of breaks to relax all the muscles we tensed while on our balance beam, catch our breath, and look up and around at the beautiful views. I could not afford to walk and gawk; my eyes were on the gray daggers of stone with their little splotches of green lichen that wanted to break my ankle or bust my head open if I fell.
In the final 100 yards or so, the rocks parted like the Red Sea, and a magic dirt path appeared to carry us to the top. It was a welcome reprieve, and we breathed easier as we approached the customary windbreak at the summit.
The 360-degree views were about the best we’d ever seen, with sub-ranges of the San Juan mountains in every direction. Some shot up in steep, jagged lines, others angled at perfect pyramid slopes, and a few had streaks of rusty red, burnt orange, and deep purple, reminding me of those layered jars of sand. Massive rock glaciers fanned out from some, looking like they were left by a giant dump truck, and others were surrounded by a sea of green tundra. It was breathtaking.
Being on top of a mountain is one of my favorite places to be, and sharing these moments with my husband is a gift. And I love the little lessons that the mountains keep teaching me. Evidently, I needed a reminder about patience and focus. And to not worry about the destination, only what is right in front of me.
While I had my head down studying every rock and carefully choosing my steps, I was barely aware of how far I was from the summit. I’d glance up occasionally, but it was like my brain had no bandwidth for anything other than keeping me upright on the tightrope. Yet, despite my oblivion to how much farther I had to go, I still made progress. And miraculously the summit appeared.
A good reminder not to obsess about the destination. I can get fixated on the end goal, to the point of being overwhelmed about how to get there. It seems so far away. There is so much to do—or so many miles to run! My book was like that. Running marathons and ultramarathons is like that. And starting my own business definitely felt like that. I could see where I wanted to be, but I was paralyzed by its…well, bigness. And in each case, I had to stop thinking about how far I was from my goal and just do what was right in front of me. Write one scene, then another, and another, and eventually I had a chapter. Run a half marathon, marathon, and eventually tackle a 50K and beyond. Get one client, then another. The big goals were accomplished when I stopped obsessing about how big they were and just took one step!
I realized I’ve been carrying an unconscious pressure to do something with these Rambles, and even that fuzzy goal was bringing on the same sense of paralysis, also known as procrastination and self-doubt. I was getting tripped up by a big goal that didn’t even have a name.
So, thank you, mountains. I hear you. I shall put my head down and do what is in front of me. Like our teetering and tedious jaunt to the peak, I will try a few things, wobble a little (or a lot), and trust that each step will move me forward. The magic dirt path will show itself soon enough. So I ramble on.
