Day 22: “All True Paths Lead Through Mountains” - Smokey the Bear Sutra

Day Twenty-Two: “All True Paths Lead Through Mountains” - Smokey the Bear Sutra

7/1/11:

We were rough, tough, and ready to rumble.

At 7:20a.m., Yelena, Travis, Noah, and I started up Mount Humphreys. Six miles up and six miles down, the larger of the two San Francisco Peaks rose 4,000 feet and, topping out at 12,637 feet, was the highest point in all of Arizona.

Travis was an old hand at this climb and, as I’d feared—I surveyed with him on a regular basis, I knew—, he set up a very decent clip. Laden with much water and many a clothing layer, I labored on, quite happy to take a breather at the edge of an intense scree slope. The slope ran most of the length of the mountain; big enticing rock chunks leading up and up and up. Dumping my pack on the trail, I indulged in a bit of rock hopping, bouncing from one tilty boulder to the next.

Reined in by Travis, I returned and we continued our ascent, stopping next at the border of the tree line. Munching on crumbly granola bars, we splayed over some rocks and took in the view, sniggering (well, me anyway) at a troop of ill-prepared boy scouts.

This last two miles was comparable to Sam and Frodo’s trek up Mount Mordor: nothing but sharp nasty rocks and wind. Forsaking dignity, I huffed up the last peak…to discover it wasn’t actually. This happened about a total of three times before I, fairly annoyed, got the hang of Mount Humphreys' seemingly ceaseless false peaks.

At 10:25a.m., victory was ours. Unfortunately, that victory was to be shared with a small army of tiny black bugs, all of which were particularly enamored of my white shirt and blonde hair.

Following lunch, more sniggering at the just-arriving boy scouts, and more than a few dead bugs, we began our descent. Altitude sickness hit and feeling a bit punch drunk, I wobbled my way down, shaking it off as we passed back into the trees.

Being a competitive lot, Noah, Travis and I picked up the pace, myself indulging in the balance-stabilizing but ultimately ridiculous toe-in hip swinging walk. With about a mile and three-fourths left, Travis upped the ante by streaking past Noah and me in a full-out run.

Oh, it was on.

Pack strapped to my body, I haphazardly flew on after him, doggedly determined to keep his white bandana’d head in my sights. Gone was any sense of self-preservation; gone was any sort of caution. We hurtled rocks and stumps, veered around corners, soared past fellow hikers.

Ahead of me, Travis began to slow. Spurred forth by weeks of training, I slide past him and bounded off down the trail.

My down fall (i.e., me falling down) came in the one moment when I lifted my eyes from the trail before me. Who was it that called my gaze and broke my concentration?

A sixty-something man, that’s who. The ripped and sweaty hikers were passed unnoticed but the cheery “hello” of a fatherly type sent me down in a plume of dust. Popping back up, I took off wildly, the sound of Travis’ footfalls heavy behind me.

I’ve been called competitive.

At 12:27p.m., I gasped to a stop at the trailhead, the first down. My knees, a bit torn, were starting to sting from the grit, and plopping down in a small stand of watchful aspen, I gulped water and washed out the dirt and small stones.

Tired, content, and warm, I used my pack as a pillow and closed my eyes under the white-bark and soft green leaves, the aspens murmuring to me as I waited for the others.

I’d made those twelve miles and 4,000 feet in about five hours.  I felt strong: bone-weary, a little bit bloody, but strong.

Which is really not a bad way to feel after hiking a mountain.

Photos: 1. Scree slope (with just visible Travis) 2. Saddle between the San Francisco Peaks 3. Aforementioned Mount Mordor part of the hike 3. View from Mount Humphreys' summit