I wish I could write that Nick and I spent 4 lazy days trout fishing and hiking in Flat Tops Wilderness Area. I wish I could say that I had some beautiful moment, surrounded by nature, where God, in all His glory, revealed Himself to me through a beautiful night sky filled with stars, or through an astonishing glade complete with waterfall and epic scenery.
I wish I could say that we skipped up the trail like two plucky heroes, and effortlessly conquered that vast, unkempt wilderness; modern day Lewis and Clark.
Instead we hiked, plowed, and gasped our way up 7 miles of steep trail only to find snow increasingly deep, until eventually in a deep forest along a canyon wall the trail disappeared completely into four foot high drifts of snow. At one point we had waded, barefoot, across a rushing snow-fed creek, a move that would not have gained the approval of my mother or my wife. We had dried our throbbing feet on the far bank and pressed on. At another point, we began having to set down our packs and press forward through the snow to try to find the trail, only to find it and circle back for our packs. We'd move forward a hundred yards, then put our packs down again and began the trail-searching anew. Nick's hiking boots, combined with the creek-wading incident, had given him a bleeding heel. I felt a weird tweak in my hip, which was to become much worse later. We were 90% of the way to the plateau, and we simply could not reach it. I remember dropping my pack and sitting down on a log, feet frozen and soaked, despondence on Nick's face as we discussed our options. Unfortunately, continuing forward was simply not one of them.
In the end, we turned around and headed back. Our eight mile journey up became a mad dash back down to a suitable camping site before dusk, out of the snow. About three miles back down we found one. On the way, as I was posting through a snowbank, I lost my footing and slipped. I caught myself on my right hand, impaling it on a piece of deadfall, and felt a "pop" in my already tweaked right hip. I regained my footing and we continued the hike.
We set up camp and pitifully tried to console each other, as our second Man Trip in 3 years had once again been waylayed by snow.
But as we sat there, eating our food and watching the fire, it slowly dawned on me that this was karma at it's best. Instead of me smugly striding like a warrior king on the plateau for a few days, catching trout and stroking my ego like I'd planned, instead I had been crushed before I ever got there. Is there a lesson to be learned here? I certainly asked myself that question many times that evening. The next morning was a baking sauna, and by the time Nick and I got down to the truck we'd drank 2 gallons of water a piece. My foot was bleeding, and Nick (an M.D. for those of you not acquainted with him) determined that my right hip was severely out of place...he showed me that when lying down my right leg was nearly an inch shorter than my left due to the dislocation. Nick's foot looked like hell, and he quickly moaned out of his boots into some flip-flops.
What is this life, we live? It occurs to me that my trip to Flat Tops was awfully metaphorical for my life back home. I stride around (smugly at times), stroke my own ego, and expect that a good plan means life will be a cakewalk followed by 3 days of easy trout fishing. And instead life is an uphill, heaving battle, where you suddenly feel that your youthful vitality has left you. Life is a big, well-planned, ambitious undertaking that often prematurely halts with the road in front of you completely impassible. Life is a well-worn pair of boots suddenly deciding that a blister is a good idea. Life is not, ever, what I expect. And it certainly isn't easy.
But then again, when in your life have you stood and watched a pair of wild elk watch you back? When have you seen fresh lynx tracks in the mud in front of you? How often, really, have you seen a beaver building his dam in the morning mist? When in your life have you stood on a hilltop, completely surrounded by mountains and canyons, and heaved breaths of fresh mountain air? When have you ever come across a gushing stream, 33 degrees at most, and waded into it barefoot? Can you think of a time you have gone to sleep knowing that bears were in your vicinity? Can you think of a time you have woken to the sound of several dozen hummingbirds dancing in the air above you?
And so, it was not the trip we planned. It never is. But by God, what an adventure. What a great place, what beautiful terrain, what a great friend I had with me. Isn't that what life is? Some airhead philosopher, surely thinking he was offering empathy, said once that "life is about the journey, not the destination." In this case, though I find the words cliche, he is right. Life is the suffering, the bleeding, the freezing, the pain, the wonder, the adventure, the camaraderie, the gasping for breaths of air, the 12 hour drives for 2 days of camping...life is slinging a 40 pound backpack on your shoulders again and again after you search for a hidden trail. Life is starting a fire while your whole body convulses from cold. Life is a long drink of coffee at 5 in the morning.
What life isn't is a stroll through the park with the keys to the city handed to you. Sometimes it is good to be reminded of that.
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