That Time I Accidentally Climbed a Mountain
Creative spontaneity & universal randomness
I never thought I’d be a person who accidentally climbed a mountain. Someone who just got up one day, made some decisions, met a stranger at the edge of the woods, and ended up talking to goats on top a mountain they had no intention of summiting.
But yeah . . . Hi! It’s me!
Oh, there was a psychic involved too. I forgot to mention that.
And hitchhiking.
And fancy cupcakes.
Planned and unplanned adventures
I planned on getting up at 4:30 a.m., early even for me on a Saturday. I didn’t care though, I was still riding the high of my first solo 14er the week before and the prelaunch of the workshop I’d been creating for about a year.
I felt like I was right were I was supposed to be. Aligned with myself and the world around me.
In my infinite wisdom I decided I should do a “recovery” hike that was just hard enough to flush waste from my muscles and loosen what had inflamed itself together after adventuring the week before.
Apparently that meant doing 10.6 miles with around 3,200’ of elevation gain.
I laugh with love for myself. Rest and recovery are things I’ve had to learn.
The deep comedy of my humaness hit me after I’d finished with the never-ending stoney decent. Usually I dig going up or down a stoney trail, but this? This was all points and jagged edges and I couldn’t get a good bouncy cadence going. Start. Stop. Start. Stop. When all I wanted to do was goooooooo.
Then . . . things leveled out, stones transitioned to dirt, and I hit that good-good cadence. At least until I hit the muck.
Start. Stop. Start. Stop.
The trail had disappeared into chaos with footprints…well foot holes really, about 3-4 inches deep…going in every direction. And my map said I was off-trail.
Duh.
Rest and recovery, huh? Deep comedy of humaness, for sure.
Creativity and the muck: contrast-driven inspiration
I knew in the midst of mucky chaos, my best bet was to choose a line and walk it. Walk it as best I could with intention and awareness of my choices. Backtracking is always available and sometimes the very best choice in the moment, but in this muck, even backtracking would be tough.
I emerged muddy and wet from the dense electric green bushes into the beginning of the basin, instantly feeling the frustration and anxiety of the previous miles wash away. Everything within me lit up and expanded to fill the space. I felt everything…the slight wind bobbing and weaving through the leaves in the warming sun…the squish, squish of my still muddy boots on the increasingly dry and very obvious trail. I felt how small I was compared to the high pines and steep walls of the basin.
I wanted to capture it all and share.
That day I experimented with video and photography, which I still resist calling photography. I attach a “just” label to it, even now (“I’m ‘just’ taking pictures”).
I couldn’t figure out how to take a “good” photo, the kind where you can totally feel the place and space. The mountains always looked smaller somehow and I was always forgetting the trick to make that not happen.
But with video…with video I could capture the 360* of the impossibly green basin surrounded by towering rock walls that held a series of small alpine lakes. With video I could capture the movement of light through the last remaining morning mists, touching blades of grass and the tips of outreached branches.
Even if I did it way too f****g fast. (Learning takes time and experimentation.)
At the edge of the woods
I feel more uncomfortable than I want to when I take my own picture–whether it’s selfie or candid–and I was working on shifting that. I had some hint of an inkling that if I could get to a place where taking my own photo didn’t feel like taking down my pants in front of everyone, something very important would emerge in me and my life. What that was, I could guess at. But guessing felt like a trap for abandoning the goal.
So I’d just do it. I’d do it on the dirt trail. Did it in boulder fields. On ridgelines. In the muck.
Future me always loved seeing myself adventuring in beautiful spaces. The present-moment me setting up a tripod or getting out my selfie stick rode waves of panic and time distortion.
So when the beautiful stranger wondered out of the woods and asked me if I wanted him to take my photo with the topmost lake in the background I declined in a way that made him go away fast.
Oops.
Later that morning, we summited Mt. Evans together.
Creativity & spontaneity: I create my reality
The trail disappeared again. The map said the trail was right by the red dot that represented me, but all I and my new trail friend saw was a wall of boulders that couldn’t possibly be the trail. We debated. We questioned. Looked at references and maps. And that pile of f***g boulders.
Not really knowing what the answer was, we decided to go ahead and try a little at a time and see if the trail became more clear. And you know what? It did.
I scrambled a little and then a little more and there was a barely recognizable human path up and through. And then it disappeared again. Panic and doubt reappeared.
At a semi-paniced rest and reassess point I learned my trail friend (whose name I’ve since forgotten) was looking to summit. His hiking crew bailed the night before and he was bound and determined to get to the top, even if it meant going solo.
Did I want to join him and attempt the summit?
Ughhhhh…..
I don’t know if my mind went blank or what, but that’s pretty much all I managed to say in response. And when he asked again, that’s all I managed. And again. I’d respond, “Ugh….”, not hear a “no” from my internal stearing committee, and then stare dumfounded into the beautiful green basin.
Too preoccuplied with his own struggle under an overweight overnight pack, my companion seemed unaware of my acute existential crisis and offered to share his water and food if I wanted to change my plans. Beef jerky, water, and these views.
Tempting.
Oh! And did I know, we could just hitch a ride from the top to the parking lot and skip the return route?!?!
Even more tempting.
Obviously there were only two choices available:
1) Accidentally hike this mountain with a stranger I met in the woods and hitch for the first time ever or
2) I could walk back through the muck and up that awful rocky trail.
Antlers, cupcakes, and talking to goats
I’m pretty sure donning the antlers displayed to educate the public (me) about the wildlife of Mt. Evans was key to summiting the 5,600’ of gain from Echo Lake because the beef jerky really didn’t cut it.
That last bit of the trail I don’t remember much. I remember not wanting to stop for fear I couldn’t get started again. Doing a little. Resting. Doing a little more. Resting.
At some point my trail friend said he didn’t think he’d have gotten this far without me leading and setting such a good pace.
Huh.
When did I start leading?
In that first boulderfield, my friend replied breathelssly.
So in my blind-ish panic I led a stranger I met in the woods up a mountain? Seems about right.
If I’m that person…
I am the person with cake in her pack. That is a certainty. And on this day I just happened to have TWO cakes instead of one because I simply couldn’t decide.
With the goats chatting in the distance, I cracked open the cake container and pulled out the fancy cupcakes I’d had special delivered at the exact time the workshop prelaunch ended and shared them with my trail friend.
Perfection.
How not to die when hitchhiking
Of all the things I’m scared of in life figuring out who to ask for a ride down the mountain wasn’t one of them.
Maybe it was altitude sickness (I was nowhere near prepared for those kinds of gains) or maybe it was something greater, but as I scanned the humans exploring the top I knew exactly who to ask–the solo traveler in the blue shirt.
Who turned out to be Evan. I asked Evan on top of Mt. Evans if me and my new trail friend could hitch a ride back to Echo Lake. And he said yes. Because that’s what happens when you ask Evan on top of Mt. Evans if you can hitchhike with him.
I did not die.
Instead I learned about Evan’s summer adventures before he headed back to learning what people learn to become material scientists.
When psychics bring you icecream
I threw myself into the heavy wood chair in the last 15 minutes of the cafe’s open hours. Throwing myself around was about all I could manage at this point. Everything felt like jelly.
Except my heart and spirit. Those were lit. Absolutely lit.
My body though…I’d never been so physically exhausted in my life. It wasn’t just muscle exhaustion…this was something else. I’d played roller derby in 80* heat for two hours and this…this was something else.
When the server came with our menus, he brought a little bonus–two kinds of ice cream!
“Here. You look like you could use these.”
I never felt so seen.
He stopped as he walked to put in our order, came back, and paused. This seemed important.
“I know this is weird, but I want you to know…” he said looking earnestly at me. “You are surrounded by guides and energies. They are here with you. You know this, yes? Yes. They say you know.”
He paused again, scanning the space.
“There are so many…” As he turned to leave he offered his card if I felt called to connect for intuitive services.
Lessons learned
Creative alignment sometimes looks like you and the universe threw the all of everything in a bowl, mixed it around, poured it out and literally called it a “day.”
Eating two CliffBlocs and a handful of beef jerky is not enough to hike 5,600’ of gain. Not. At. All.
Boulder fields are better with friends.
Always chat with wilderness volunteers. Learn more about the world and how to help life thrive. Also hear some truely random stories.
You know when you know. This one I learn again and again. You know when you know.
