This might be a cautionary tale, like when people say, “be careful what you wish for.” I prefer to think of it as a life lesson, neither good nor bad though there were moments of pure torture. I’m still waiting for a time when I can sit in my comfy chair laughing at what I had chosen to do.
Normal walking for me – probably for most of us – is on a safe steady graveled or paved trajectory. Usually in town or at least a safe distance to anything you might need – something to drink, a nourishing meal, and cell towers for good reception. Most of my longer walks when I travel have been in a notable town or city. Often those walks were 10-12 miles around interesting sights near places where I could buy bread or shop for socks. Most days at home, I walk three miles or so. Lately, I had wanted to go on a longer walk. This is what happened.
I had started walking with a hiking group. They are a gathering of people my age – old enough to know better, but not so old that new places are always off-limits. One member of that group – he shall remain nameless because he is a really nice guy – convinced my husband and I that hiking up to an Alpine lake in the Sierra’s Jenny Lake Wilderness was a great idea.
I thought I was prepared. I altered my standard supplies. I brought more water than usual and a bag of pretzels. I had some first aid bits and pieces, bug oil and a big sandwich to eat lakeside. I also changed some habits. I ate a piece of toast beforehand because I wanted to go well-nourished. I double-socked. I made sure Merlin, to identify birds, was downloaded on my phone. Seven miles, he said. Piece of cake, I thought.
The trail started on a rounded mountain of granite out-cropping. If my friend hadn’t been there, I would never have known where to start. If there was a marker, I never saw it. If there had ever been a lined pathway, it had disappeared. Then came the climb. My thighs discovered the difference between hills and mountains. We came upon steps in our ascension that met me at my kneecaps. The trail kept going up and up until I stopped asking “how far?” and simply accepted that this was my future: forever tramping along a trail at 8,000 feet of elevation and rising.
We crossed three streams. The first one babbled along and charmed me into a fantasy about serene Alpine waterways. The second taught me not to trust flat granite rocks that pretended to be sturdy steps. By the third, I was focused on the tall mountain from which the stream was falling. I had to climb that mountain. My feet pleaded the end would come soon.
When my friend said, “It’s just up ahead” for the twenty-eighth time, I disbelieved him. He’d been wrong 27 times.
Then I reached that high point in the trail. There it was: a piercingly gorgeous Alpine lake, filling a cleft in a granite mountainside. Pine trees dotted the shore. It was a perfect reward for that tortuous hike. I nearly took a long moment just admiring the beauty before I pulled out my sandwich. Nearly, but not quite. I found that I could appreciate the wilderness view while chomping on sustenance I badly needed.
I would like to say that the downhill trek to the trailhead was easy. It did take less time. But my toes pounded into the front of my boots with every step. By the next day, it looked like I might lose a toenail or two.
Maybe the true lesson here is that I should stick with what I know – city-walking. And just to clarify, I take responsibility for insisting I wanted to go on a long walk. It wasn’t my friend’s fault at all.
Susan Vasquez 