Granite Peak

Yesterday, my friend, her dog and I hiked Granite Peak. We arrived at the trailhead in the afternoon after a lively night of libations at our class reunion. Suffice it to say, neither of us was in top form as we were nursing headaches and trying to replenish our bodies with liquid. We both fully acknowledged that noon was not the best time to start the hike, but that any earlier, and we would have still been drunk. Ahhhh, it had been a fun night! Upon looking at the trailhead, it did not present any delusion of easiness or evenness. The first few feet were almost completely straight up. We slowly emerged up the mountain. Any grand ideas that I was supremely fit quickly punched me in the face as my breath became labored, sweat wholeheartedly ran down my face, and legs strained. Every once in awhile, we would come across  even pathways, and we relished each and every one. There were maybe two of these short lived experiences. Eventually, our journey took us to a beautiful slanted meadow overlooking Trinity Lake. I do not know if we were distracted by the wildflowers, the vibrant greens of the grass, and the slow trickling of water below our feet; or maybe it was perhaps the pre-night fog that had not quite risen from our heads; or maybe it was simply the trail was not well-marked, but we spent a good ten to fifteen minutes looking for anything that resembled a trail. All the options that I had staked out had resulted in failure. We both concurred that the best thing to do was go up; we were hiking a peak after all.  Fortuitously, in our path finding sleuth work, we heard a loud sound fairly close to us, and as we began to ascend some outstanding rocks in the meadow, the sound came closer. A woman was belting out an incomprehensible song. Pure joy filled me as I knew we could flag her and question her about the trail. My friend’s first instinct was that the woman was insane, and we should stay clear of her. Despite any fears of being hacked up in the wilderness by a loud, axe-bearing woman, we sang back to her. It was a trio of “Heys” and “Hellos” ringing off the mountainside. This woman appeared magically into our view on the other side of the meadow, a huge smile on her face (obviously not an axe murderer), and directed us to the trail. There is nothing better than finding the security of the trail after wandering about cluelessly for awhile. We both felt like the mountains were favoring us because we knew this woman had to be the only other person on the trail, and she had crossed our paths at just the time we had needed her the most. Onward and upward we went. We crawled through manzanita bushes, got swatted in the face with branches, were stuck with stickers, and slowly accumulated layers of dirt upon our layers of sweat. As we ascended, both of us began to feel the effects of the altitude. Our movements became slightly more sluggish, our stomachs unsettled, and heads light. I am not sure at what point we had realized that we had lost the trail again, but it was abundantly clear that every option we searched out was not the intended trail. We did not even know how long we had been off trail. We employed our earlier strategy; just go up and hope we come across the trail, and this we did. We crawled up rocks, treaded through loose terrain on treacherously steep cliffs, and came to a point that boasted a ruggedly beautiful view of granite peaks, and we saw our peak. We had gone on the wrong side of the mountain, but lucky for us, there was only one direction for us to go because the other option would be to plummet to our deaths on the cold, hard rocks to our right. Left we went, struggling through the manzanita. After awhile and as my head became lighter and lighter, we decided to stop, eat, and think about our situation. Maybe we should have done this earlier, but we could not distinguish if we were thinking logically or if the combination of altitude and last night had impaired our thinking. At any rate, almost instantly after we sat and began to eat, I realized that I could find our location by looking at the GPS on my phone. The GPS revealed that we were off trail, which we had known, and we were fairly close to the peak, and if we kept going up, we would eventually run into the trail; we had known all of this as well, but it was reassuring having a blue dot moving on the screen to validate that we were there, moving, and that we were still within sights of the hidden trail. We continued, and about fifteen minutes later, the heavens opened, angels sang, and a massive light shone down on what was the one and only trail. I would love to say that it got easier and easier at that point, but remember, this is a mountain and that means all uphill, and what ensued was a series of switch backs that would eventually lead us to the peak. The peak did not disappoint; it broadcasted phenomenal views of surrounding mountains, some still with a little snow, blue lakes, and I am sure much more, but at the peak, my friend eyed the grey clouds looming right overhead and recalled her days in Colorado when those clouds meant sure lightning. Fear overcame her as she saw the sparse trees around that had been rent with lightning and then imagined that her head was those trees. She started running down the mountain looking for a more covered area incase Mother Nature decided to send down her wrath. We had spent hours going up that mountain to stand at the peak for one minute. I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t somewhat disappointed, but I could not blame my friend; her fears seemed legitimate to me, and we were on this journey together. 

    Our journey down the mountain took a toll on our joints and feet, but it was quicker, and by this time we had identified all our mistakes and knew exactly the location of the trail, so there were no more pathfinding adventures. It all went very smoothly except the multiple times the dog tried to pull my friend off the mountain in the attempt to chase a chipmunk. The chipmunk could have easily been the spawn of the devil because it kept appearing to taunt the dog with its presence. I am pretty sure it had horns and a pitch fork, or maybe it was the altitude playing tricks on my eyes. 

    When we finally made it back to my vehicle, we were relieved, tired, and satisfied. Our journey had been full of mistakes and bushwacking, and a fair amount of pain; but we both agreed that we had loved it.  Even though the summit was brief, really the whole uphill journey had been our adventure. Now, if only we could laugh, smile, and appreciate the mountains of life in the manner of my friend and me, perhaps our weariness would not be so oppressive. Perhaps our discomforts could be our best memories; perhaps we can do this thing called life.