I listened to the wind in the conifers on three consecutive days last week. And I noticed it. Hooray for small miracles of mindfulness.
Last Saturday, I had a good run on the Ridgeline Trail, enjoying how strong my out-of-shape body actually felt (hefting 22-pound babies counts for more than I give it credit for) but not enjoying the sharp, 2-3-inch crushed gravel on the new section of trail (no rock plates in my otherwise fantastic shoes equals sore feet). Wind in the Douglas firs.
Last Sunday, I climbed Diamond Peak, a solo hike that felt really tough for the first four miles. My body has always reacted strongly to a little altitude. I remember showing up at the Noble Hotel in Lander, Wyoming (elevation ca. 5350 ft.) for NOLS courses and sucking wind as I climbed the stairs, thinking, “How am I going to go out and heft a 60-pound pack around at 8000 feet?” Then, of course, there was the stroke, after I’d been up to 11,000 feet. Dehydration and my body’s goal of making more red blood cells to compensate for the difficulty in acquiring oxygen couldn’t have helped.
My body turned it around last Sunday, though, and the objectively difficult part of the climb, a steep, well-worn and heavily-cairned climbers’ trail with lots of scree and gravelly footing that gained the last 2300 feet to the summit, seemed much easier than the first four trail miles. After snapping a few pictures on the windy top, I had a late lunch back down at the false summit, all the while convincing a cheeky ground squirrel that I don’t share chocolate with rodents. There was no one else on the mountain on that sunny Sunday in mid-August. I saw two Pacific Crest Trail through-hikers that evening, back on the trail as I headed to the trailhead. I also surprised a long-tailed weasel, who skittered away up a log, looking back, then finding cover. Wind in the mountain hemlocks up high, then Douglas firs toward the trailhead. And, whew, the mosquitoes down near Summit Lake, on the Forest Service road I was walking on back to the car. I put on my raingear and RAN.
On the summit. Nice gaiters, NOLSie.
On Monday, Sylvan, Elena, and I hiked up the Amazon Headwaters Trail. Elena fell asleep, as planned. Sylvan, on his first apprentice-hike, preparing to climb Diamond Peak with me (when he’s 10? 11? I think he’s thinking this reward will be a little more immediate, but I’m happy to have him excited about hiking again.), powered uphill with nary a whine. The ripe blackberries helped. Wind in the Douglas firs.