Prologue
I squint at the Mt. Baldy trail description on my phone. 11 miles. Over 4,000 feet of climbing. Some snow on the trail. My in-much-better-shape adventure buddy Ginger can handle it, I know, but can I? A voice inside my brain that evidently needs to be tamped down lets me know that I should at least try. What’s the worst that could happen, it remarks.
Chapter 1
We set out, Ginger apologizing for running late. I don’t tell her that we’re on time because I lied to her about when we needed to leave. Yes, I’m one of those people.
Chapter 2
We knew it wasn’t going to be warm – too high of an elevation for that – but didn’t think it would be THIS cold. I layer my puffy coat, brought only as something to toss on after hiking, knowing that I’m being stupid because within 30 minutes I’ll be too warm.
Chapter 3
Twenty minutes in, the coat comes off. At least it’s not too heavy to shove into my backpack. I mentally shake my head at myself. If I don’t make it to the top, the weight of the jacket will be the culprit, no doubt.
Chapter 4
Miles upon miles of fire road, trudging upwards. I remark to Ginger that this is not my kind of hike and the payback better improve. A ski lift takes people where we’re going. Are we doing this wrong?
Chapter 5
The Notch, a ski resort, comes into view. At around 7,700′ of elevation, people are snowboarding and skiing. They serve hot chocolate with whip cream. The views are decent, but the real bathrooms are a luxury you don’t often find over 3 miles into a summit hike. It’s possible that porcelain and toilet paper bring tears of joy to my eyes.
Chapter 6
We find out that the fire road was just a warm-up, a prelude to the real hiking. As we leave the comfort of the ski lodge, we march straight up a ski run (a closed ski run, thankfully, though it might have been fun to watch people on skis dodge us). The views improve, my breathing gets all gaspy and such.
Chapter 7
The Devil’s Backbone. Aptly named, except that instead of gurgling lava or some other hot substance, it’s covered in snow. We don ice cleats and walk the ridge, navigating the narrow, trodden path. Claws on my feet make me feel invincible, despite steep drops a foot or so away on either side of me.
Chapter 8
The fear that the Devil’s Backbone failed to raise in me, comes flooding in just after the ridgeline. Somehow claw-feet don’t seem to matter when the trail is literally 8 inches wide, gravel and snow covered, with nothing but a steep wall next to me that has no handholds or guardrails. Heart in my throat, I move forward because I’ve already started and going back would be even scarier. Here’s to not having a good way out!
Chapter 9
A stretch of easy(ish) trail, a stretch of being sure the wind was going to blow me off the mountain, and then we hunker down behind some big boulders to get out of the wind and eat some food for the final ascent. The problem? I am totally done with this hike. Checked out. Finished. Except, of course, for the fact that I am miles from anywhere and a toddler-like tantrum won’t help the situation. I know, I tried. Ginger is not amused.
Chapter 10
Almost 800 feet of straight up. Snowy straight up. Straight up enough that claw-feet don’t stop me from taking one step and sliding back half of it. And the altitude! Take 5 steps, stop and catch my breath. Rinse and repeat. I wondered whether this is like the math problem where if you always go halfway to your destination, do you ever get there?
THE SUMMIT
Angels sang! Nature rejoiced! The universe did a jig in my honor! The voice in my head imperceptibly shrugs, huh, I didn’t think you’d make it. Good on you, it remarks, in a gesture of good will.
Chapter 11
Ebulliently heading down, we pitch and post-hole in the snow, falling over, on our butts, sideways, legs akimbo. It’s like playing in the snow and the randomness of never knowing whether your leg will bury itself in snow up to your knee, or whether your foot-claw will slide in an unpredictable direction is hilarity embodied.
Chapter 12
Spoiler alert: that fun doesn’t last. Turns out the math of “fall 186 times, get up 185 times” doesn’t work if you want to eventually get back to the car. Sure, gravity helps me down the hill, but it’s also kind of a jerk about not allowing me to stay upright and on my feet.
Chapter 13
Hours later we had make it far enough down the mountain that the trail turns from snowy hell to muddy, dirty heaven. I will neither confirm nor deny kissing the bare ground while taking off the ice cleats.
Chapter 14
We are starting to lose daylight and at the same time a fog rolls in, creating an eerie forest world that seems straight out of a movie set. I’m looking for some kind of supernatural being to either carry me down the rest of the way or cast a spell on me that will magically make my body feel not broken.
Chapter 15
We are finally back on the fire road, a short way from the car. Ginger asks me, how are you holding up? I mentally take an inventory and tell her: my ears are doing pretty well. With nothing more to add, she nods in agreement and we limp forward.
Chapter 16
Getting in the car is an act of high comedy and driving seems like too much effort. But home and bed are the carrot at the end of the stick that’s beating me up.
Chapter 17
Home. Well, my cousin’s house, but that’s where my bed for the night is at. We leave all of our gear in the car, too tired to deal with it. We stand in the kitchen, foraging through the refrigerator for some food. Ginger tells me it looks like I got a little sun. Another spoiler alert: understatement of the year.
Chapter 18
I somehow drag my body into the shower. Aside from my ears, there is literally not a part of me that doesn’t hurt in some way. Merely existing is painful. The warm water stings my severely sunburned face and I promise myself I’ll tend to it tomorrow.
Chapter 19
I look down at the shorts that I carelessly tossed on the floor that morning before leaving. I wear them as pajamas and have a hard time fathoming how I will bend down to grab them, then lift up each leg in succession to put them on. This seems like a superhuman feat, but one that I amazingly manage with a minimum of grunts and groans. I’m inordinately proud of myself.
Chapter 20
To show my body how much I appreciate its work and suffering, I decide to end the day with a little gentle yoga to stretch out my hips and lower back. I do a modified pigeon pose – one leg folds on top of the bed – and lean into it. Painful, but in a good way. Then the foot on the floor wobbles. The rest of me starts to wobble. I feel myself starting to tilt and instinctively try to get my bed-top leg on the ground; it catches in the sheets and down I go. Pain shoots like an electric cattle prod into my right buttock and lower back.
Epilogue
The leftover agony from the hike is surpassed only by the pain in my lower back, a white, hot pinched nerve zap at the slightest move. The rest plays like a bad movie: an urgent care visit; x-rays to assure no structural damage; laughter and gasps when my mask lowering reveals my very bright, very painful bottom-of-my-face sunburn; and a course of steroids, anti-inflammatories and muscle relaxers to work a little chemical magic. The voice in my head preens, see I told you not to do that gentle yoga.
(many of these photos courtesy of my adventure pal, Ginger)
