Unconfined on Haney Mountain
Today is February 29th. The next time I will see another February 29th is in four years. To commemorate this extra day, I decided to traverse up the side of Haney Mountain. Haney Mountain is not particularly an impressive mountain in stature or even appearance. It is speckled with burnt trees and is covered in buck brush. The top of the mountain is home to PG&E, AT&T, and other towers. They are stark reminders of modernity in a valley characterized by old time values and strong community ties. My sole purpose for hiking up this mountain was because I had never done so, it is close to home, and because this February 29th needed to mark the end of a winter for me. This winter found me stuck inside myself, cold and bitter, and waiting for the next freeze. I found it impossible to see anything as beautiful; all I saw was the constant grey cloud layer pressing down on everything. Today was the first time in a long time that I hiked by myself and on my own terms. There was a time when I hiked by myself comfortably, choosing my own destinations, braving the rustling bushes, and being fully confident in my ability to navigate the wilderness. Somewhere between relationships, breakups, cancer scares, raising an adolescent boy, and vitamin D deficiencies; I got lost.
I pulled up to a red dirt road that appeared to possibly go up the mountain. I was not sure if I was trespassing or not, but my logic was that if someone wanted to shoot me for trespassing, then the whole town would see it because all of the trees were burnt down. Social pressure would dictate the owner to reasonably instruct me to leave rather than shoot me. Judge that logic how you will. That is how my mind works. I followed the uphill road on foot, slowly pulling my lazy winter body up the steepest sections of the mountain. I got to a point where I could not tell if the road led to the top or to someone's private meth lab(kidding...Haney Mountain would be a terrible place to try to conceal a meth lab), so I decided to make my own path up the rocks, soft dirt, and buck brush. I saw some new plant growth, but for the most part, I saw desolation, but it wasn't just barren landscape; it was a tiny blue bird perched on top of charred branches; it was a leaf in a hole that echoed the mad dash of an animal that had heard my footsteps; it was the view of the valley and the curve of the surrounding mountains that are so perfect in their stillness, and it was the sensations in my legs of effort and progress. It was whispering, living quietude. When I got to the top, I was greeted by metal buildings and towers and discarded wires. It was not an ideal summit, but I couldn't help but smile, and I couldn't stop smiling. In fact, I was still smiling as I made my way down the mountain, hopping on rocks, zig zagging to avoid bushes, sliding down steep sections with loose dirt. I was even smiling when I noticed the wobbliness of my legs from having to wake up and work, and even now as I type, I am smiling thinking of the absolute freedom of being on that mountainside, and how it had been my choice, and how I had made the right choice for me.
Today, February 29th, is a day where I chose to live unconfined even with the oncoming clouds and persistent cold winds.
I pulled up to a red dirt road that appeared to possibly go up the mountain. I was not sure if I was trespassing or not, but my logic was that if someone wanted to shoot me for trespassing, then the whole town would see it because all of the trees were burnt down. Social pressure would dictate the owner to reasonably instruct me to leave rather than shoot me. Judge that logic how you will. That is how my mind works. I followed the uphill road on foot, slowly pulling my lazy winter body up the steepest sections of the mountain. I got to a point where I could not tell if the road led to the top or to someone's private meth lab(kidding...Haney Mountain would be a terrible place to try to conceal a meth lab), so I decided to make my own path up the rocks, soft dirt, and buck brush. I saw some new plant growth, but for the most part, I saw desolation, but it wasn't just barren landscape; it was a tiny blue bird perched on top of charred branches; it was a leaf in a hole that echoed the mad dash of an animal that had heard my footsteps; it was the view of the valley and the curve of the surrounding mountains that are so perfect in their stillness, and it was the sensations in my legs of effort and progress. It was whispering, living quietude. When I got to the top, I was greeted by metal buildings and towers and discarded wires. It was not an ideal summit, but I couldn't help but smile, and I couldn't stop smiling. In fact, I was still smiling as I made my way down the mountain, hopping on rocks, zig zagging to avoid bushes, sliding down steep sections with loose dirt. I was even smiling when I noticed the wobbliness of my legs from having to wake up and work, and even now as I type, I am smiling thinking of the absolute freedom of being on that mountainside, and how it had been my choice, and how I had made the right choice for me.
Today, February 29th, is a day where I chose to live unconfined even with the oncoming clouds and persistent cold winds.
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