Switchback after switchback, we zigzagged our way up the mountain with backpacks full of camping gear and supplies dangling from the loops and clasps of our Osprey backpacks. The best thing about these backpacks was the built-in aluminum frames with a mesh that kept the body of the bag away from our own bodies, distributed weight evenly, and allowed the air to flow like cool breath over our sweaty backs.
“Buying these backpacks was the best decision ever,” I said.
When you climb up a mountain with so much weight on your back, your legs will scream with sheer muscular pain, your feet will slip and slide along precarious trails covered with loose stones that roll over the edge of the precipice. Concentrate and keep your cool like a saint or Buddhist wise sage. There is no easy way out of this one once you’re halfway there. It’s either turn back the way you came or onward hiking soldier. There is no standing still in the middle of a mountain. No rest for your weary bones until you made it to the top or turned back defeated.
In the grand scheme of things, the journey is the destination. The majesty of nature unfolds all around, above and below. The trail had been cut at an angle then switched back the other way and on and on it went, climbing ever higher, until it disappeared through the dense forest.
The sound of the rushing river faded with each step up the mountain. Below us, the top of giant pine trees swaying to and fro. Time to stop for a rest. Drink some water. Look at each other with wide eyes and wonder what have we gotten ourselves into, little rabbit?
“Who’s idea was this?” Pluma said.
I stopped and leaned against the side of the mountain. “My body is killing me. I just want to roll back down and forget all about this mountain.”
“But just look how beautiful this is! How many people have come this way and seen this wonderful place?”
“It’s a long way down,” I said peering over the edge at the treetops.
“And farther still to go,” she said.
“Let’s keep going then! Up and atom!”
“Up. And. At. Them.”
Back aching! Toes aching! Knees aching! Shoulders aching! Calves aching! Thighs aching! Ass aching! Aching aching aching everywhere! When does it end, when does it, when-
The last switchback at last. It just never seems to end until you’re on top! Breathless and disoriented. The trail crews had put a rest stop nearby and we decided to have some snacks there.
“I’m ready for a long nap,” I said.
“We still have a few miles to go before we get to base camp,” said Pluma.
“I can barely move my legs. That was brutal.”
“I can’t believe we just climbed a mountain with these heavy backpacks.”
“It was epic. That guy in the trail warned us that it was going to be hard.”
“He didn’t think we’d make. Well, we did it! Ha!”
Soon we were back on the trail; our minds and bodies were numb. We were just glad that we were no longer hiking up. Still, focus was essential because there was no room for error now. The trail meandered through the alpine woods, up and down. Whenever I saw the trail beginning to rise, I groaned and moaned and cursed the darn mountain.
I heard the sound of rushing water.
“Look down the ravine!” I say pointing through the trees. “It’s a river! Wow, it’s rushing down cliffs and through the canyon. Amazing!”
Further up ahead, we encountered a couple of hikers. They were sitting on a log looking miserable. We had not seen them on the way up, so they must’ve started the climb about a half-hour ahead of us. The short squirrelly man was peering at a GPS device while his tall burly companion sat there looking as if he was about to pass out. His countenance was that of someone who’s had too much to drink the night before embarking on a mountain hike.
We walked past them with our trekking poles driving us onward. A good rhythmic stride. There was no stopping us. Our muscles were burning, but we knew that if we stopped then we wouldn’t get up. We had to keep going at risk of exhaustion. Sheer force of WILL drove us onwards to our destination. Visions of alpine meadows swirled in my head. I hadn’t seen any images prior to our trek, so I could only imagine what base camp looked like. It was to be our reward. The gold pot at the end of the rainbow. The jewel resting gorgeously in the plump oyster of experience.
Following winding paths, swerving, going round and round, up and down, along narrow muddy streams and with each step a new world of majesty opened up right before us, taking it us in her natural embrace and sensory folds, step after step, mile after mile, the indomitable spirit drove us onward by that majestic force of WILL! Don’t stop! Go! Go! Go!
Ahead through the grasses beyond the stream, round the bend, through the gloom of the mountain forest, the sky opened up in all its magnificence, and below it, a single flag with a non-assuming maple leaf fluttered in the wind. Beyond it, an alpine meadow spread in a carpet of grass and flowers beneath the watch of the Black Tusk in the distance.
Base camp!
Just a few more steps. Suddenly, we were there. Standing on the open plains and surrounded by forests and mountains as far as the eye could see. The funny thing was that we were no longer looking up at the mountains. Their tops were right beside us. They were our companions not our watchers. Face to face. Both quivering with raw energy, neither good nor bad, just energy. The kind upon which you can build a foundation and soar to new heights.
The park crew had placed platforms for the tents. So, there was only a limited number of spots available. Alpine meadows are sensitive environments, and the last thing you need is a bunch of monkeys wreaking havoc upon it.
We found our platform right beside a tree, as luck would have it. It felt cozy. We were dog tired, but the sun would soon go down, and so we hurried and set up camp.
Afterward, we headed back down the trail with our tenkara rods and a surprising bounce in our step.
We encountered the two men we had seen back in the trail.
“Excuse my curiosity,” the squirrelly man said to us after exchanging a few greetings. “But do you mind telling me what is in your tubes?”
“Fishing rods.”
“Fishing rods!” he said turning to his companion. “I saw you with them back there, so I was wondering what they could be? Fishing rods,” he repeated as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “I guess you’re gonna catch dinner now.”
We laughed.
“We came prepared,” I said.
We found a couple of streams and worked them for a bit. The fly glided effortlessly through the thin mountain air. We waded downstream but soon our legs were freezing in the cold water. Our flies got stuck in the brambles and soon we realized that it was not to be. The sun had begun its descent, and it was nearly time for supper.
We explored our surroundings a bit, like astronauts in a new world. The composition of grasses and flowers was like no other. Soft and pretty. The air was cool and rarefied. That stuff gets you high, and soon you’re grooving with all the visual delights that nature has to offer.
We had coffee on the grass and lay there looking at the sky and the sunset. The odd group of hikers meandered into camp and slowly began to fill the remaining available spots on the meadow.
“Look at these little flowers,” I said and lifted a leaf. “It’s so unique in spite of its plainness.”
“It’s so strange how nothing really grows here except for this thin layer of grass and flowers,” said Pluma rolling over on the grass and touching the flower that I held between my fingers.
At night, the stars were bright, and the moon rose above The Black Tusk mountain in the distance. The feeling of being closer to heaven was palpable. Clinging to the jagged peaks of Earth as it spun and revolved across the heavens. There was no separation between here and there. That feeling of being at one with the great expanse beyond our firmament was a rare experience, particularly when it didn’t involve more direct methods like the use of psychedelics. This moment was our reward for our efforts, this rush of dopamine pearls that glittered among the stars.
The next day, we had breakfast beside a cold mountain stream, bathed in its icy water, and broke camp soon thereafter. We made our way back down the mountain, which turned out to be much easier than going up. Ragged, unkempt, and with a backpack several pounds lighter than it began, we cheerfully chanted down the trail.
Back at the trail-head parking lot, we waited for our Aussie cab driver with whom we had arranged to pick us up. Of course, he didn’t show up, but no one can blame him for it. It had been a silly request. So no bad feelings, mate, wherever you are.
We had no phone signal at the parking lot, but thankfully, we didn’t have to hike back very long before we did get a signal and were able to phone a cab. Another surprised Aussie driver showed up to pick us up. He also had that mad Aussie gleam in his eyes and soon, he was driving us back to civilization.
Read more:
Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 13, 15
Mood Song
Uncle John's Band