Go Take A Hike
How Conquering Literally Conquers Figuratively
I can still recall the day I hiked my first mountain in vivid detail though it’s been almost 18 years ago. It was precisely four days after my high school graduation. Two days prior I got a tip from my cousin about a summer camp job in Colorado and jumped at the chance to bail with him on the small eastern Oklahoma town I haled from. I had never been to Colorado and besides a decent mix of hills around my town and visits to New Mexico as a toddler I had never experienced mountains much less true mountain hiking. I arrived at the summer camp that bordered Rocky Mountain National Park northwest of Denver around noon after a morning spent on the side of a mountain road because my truck overheated proof evident I was a newbie mountain driver. My eyes were bursting from their sockets as I stared at the massive 14,256 ft. mountain named Longs Peak where that the camp was situated within its shadow.
Camp elevation was a paltry 9,000 ft and the air was strangely thin. It was a gorgeous day and we were eager to stretch our legs after the long drive. After making acquaintances with a nice lady, also a fellow camp employee, the trio of us decided to take a hike only a couple of hours after arriving. We spied a perfectly formed cone shaped summit that looked much easier to conquer than the towering Fourteener (that’s what Coloradans call mountains that exceed 14,000 ft. in elevation) that the sun was now high over. It was named Estes Cone and it’s elevation was 11,007 ft according to our newfound female trail guide. She was fit and had an odd way about herself but seemed to know the route and terrain well enough having already worked a couple summers at the camp. Before heading for the trailhead though she gave us a good looking over and politely asked where our hiking boots and daypacks were. With chummy grins we shrugged our shoulders and asked, “What for?” I think our cocky countenances must have overwhelmed her kind sense of looking out for us because she shrugged her shoulders and said, “you’ll see”, and led the way to the trailhead after grabbing her backpack.
A little backstory is probably necessary at this point in the tail to convey the source of our over-confidence. You see my cousin and I grew up trouncing through the rugged hills and thick timber country of eastern Oklahoma all of our lives (it’s a myth that Oklahoma is all flat plains and waving wheat folks). In fact from the looks of the well established and groomed trail she was headed towards we felt quite at ease because we were sure we had negotiated worse terrain before. Personally I was a cross country star throughout high school. My forte was traversing long distances and never getting winded. Additionally why on earth would I wear clunky and restrictive hiking boots? Please. I thought maybe she had a point about water but I didn’t carry water when I ran so….honestly what could this odd girl possibly know that I didn’t?
That we exhibited poor judgment would be an understatement. About 45 minutes into our hike I would find myself utterly winded and dehydrated. Luckily for us two the girl had disappeared before we set off and filled a couple extra two liter bottles with water and put them in her backpack. Her usual deadpan face would form a smirk as she pulled one of the bottles out when I finally copped to immense thirst. Just minutes later I would ask if we could stop to “take in the view” which was actually code for “I'm spent”. My feet hurt, particularly my ankles after taking a beating navigating the increasingly rocky terrain. I had cottonmouth and a splitting headache. I felt like I had just finished a long set of wind sprints. I was learning the hard way that after living my entire life at 700 ft. elevation two hours at 9,000 ft+ was simply not enough time to properly acclimate. At those higher altitudes the air was significantly thinner and dryer than I was used to. Dehydration set in in very little time. I would also learn the value of appropriate gear starting with hiking boots and a day pack with essential supplies. Lastly I was also seeing my keester handed to me by a 98 lb girl that afternoon. For all the pride lost that afternoon I would gain something of value that day that still sustains me even now as we would finally press on to reach the tiny outcropping of rocks that would make up the summit to that mountain.
Much to her chagrin we would ask for a couple more breaks as we drug ourselves further up and then something happened as the trees began to thin and the anticipation of getting close to the summit set in. We got what we runners well know as our second wind as our excitement built. Soon all trees disappeared (I would learn that this is called tree line which is the elevation in which most vegetation stops growing) and only a few boulders and loose rocks stood in the way of us and the summit. At this point I left both of them in the dust like a school boy determined to get to base in a game of tag first as I scrambled to the top. I was left literally and figuratively breathless at the 360 degree panoramic view as I cleared the cramped summit. This was indeed a far cry from Oklahoma or anywhere else I had ever experienced. Once the moment of true fascination passed something else set in and it settled in to stay. It was a true sense of accomplishment. I had hiked a real mountain. It was three miles from the trailhead to the summit and we gained about 2,000 ft in elevation but as cheesy as this will sound my heart had sored to the moon!
It’s difficult to put into words how significant this moment was for me and why I believe everyone that physically can should summit a mountain just once in their life via a hike but I'll try in these last few words. I've since lead dozens of others of all ages to reach their first summit including my wife a few years ago and it’s always a magical experience for each and everyone of them. They can regurgitate each step of their pursuit in pristine detail just like me for the exact same reason that I can. We grow up in life being taught persistence and dedication to overcoming obstacles and mountains are the most common metaphor used in each one of these life lessons. When you literally overcome a real mountain there’s just something that clicks inside you that tells your psyche you can do anything. Finally the best part about hiking a mountain (and the biggest cliche I can conjur) is that it’s all downhill after you reach the summit.
The scenic pictures included in this post are from the area surrounding the Salvation Army High Peak Camp located south of Estes Park, Colorado. It’s a wonderful mission put on by an equally wonderful community minded organization. Please support it here.
