Live for the Journey not the Destination
We got up at 6:00am. It was raining outside.
We went into the hike with the agreement that we would hike as much as we could and turn back if the weather became too dangerous. As we head out, the sky was still dark and the rain was pouring harder than ever. Thoughts of concern cloud my head. “I really think we should stop by a store to pick up some ponchos.” The unanimous agreement eased my anxiety about our journey ahead. We stop by a local market called Sol’s. No customers in sight. The store clerk rings up four ponchos and gives us a stern good luck. We turn into the parking lot and we’re the only car here. Backpack strapped, hoods up and ponchos on, we look up at the mountain enveloped with snow and fog. In this time, some cars turn in and turn out. The weather conditions turn away a lot of hopefuls who planned hours before for a long day and an amazing sight.
Within a few hundred feet up, the trail turns from a red, brown clay path to an icy slush. The rocky walls have a constant stream of water flowing down. I thought to myself, is this what they mean by weeping rock? Incline after incline, zig zag after zig zag — looking over the edge, our car begins to look like a small toy car. Our car remains the only one in the parking lot. The idea that we are the only people out here slightly terrifies me. I tell myself to stop looking over the edge. Keep your head down and keep moving. My fear of heights completely diminishes as we turn the corner on our last incline and find ourselves in an astonishing, winter wonderland. Snow begins to fall. Tree branches above us are gracefully garnished with snow. The freshly fallen snow is disrupted by our aggressive footmarks. The deeper the footprint the easier it will be to find our way back. I try to step in the footprints in front of me to make a deeper mark. As we make our way deeper into the canyon, it was crazy to think we had this entire trail to ourselves. We saw footprints from other brave souls, but not too far in they disappeared– either the snow has enveloped any proof of human existence or they weren’t foolish enough to continue on.
Soon enough, we were enclosed with trees and snow. Everywhere I turned were mountains and a foggy white abyss. The fog was so thick we couldn’t see the path that led us up here. No way to see out. No way to see in. Even with our bright-colored ponchos, there was no chance anybody would be able to spot us. There was an abundance of nature, but we haven’t spotted a single living organism out here. Despite normality, I was desperate to see an insect slither past us. The trail began to become narrower and narrower. Gasping for breath, I wasn’t sure if the hike was deteriorating me or if the air was getting thinner. It’s probably both. The steep trail finally flattens out and for a moment, everything is quiet. Undisturbed, the trees and plants are napping peacefully. I almost felt a sense of disdain for hikers who come here during the peak season and disrupt the peace I felt lived above these canyons. Whose idea was it anyways to venture to the tops of these canyons? My thought bubble quickly evaporates as the urge to get to the top takes over. The quicker we get to the top the quicker we can make our way down. We spot a sign sticking out like a sore thumb in between the shades of white and gray. I wipe the snow off the sign. “Observation point — 0.3 miles.” We’re almost there. The trail ends and here we are 2,100 feet above ground with nothing in sight.
The fog was so thick that there was no observation point to gratify all of our sweat and tears in. And then I realized– each of us knew internally halfway into the hike that there wasn’t going to be an observation point on the top of the canyon. The spread of the fog moved quickly and the hope of a view above the clouds was minimal. Then why did we continue the hike knowing this? People tend to forget that the journey taken is what makes your experience — not than the destination. The view at the top was what we were striving for, but the memories were in the moments of snowfall that silenced every gasping breath; in the feelings of youth and freedom; and in every turn that opened a new world of nature.
