Up and Away in Sierras
Final Moments at the Pinnacle that Keep me Coming Back
The air is thin. Hot. Dusty. Above 10,000 ft my oxygen deprived, drunken mind wanders. It tells me to keep walking. Keep. Going. Up. I am high in the Sierras. I have never been more miserable and I have never been happier. I am wild here. I am meant to be here, up here, doing this. Somehow my dehydrated, fatigued body can still make tears. I am overcome with emotion. Silly me. This always happens to me when I get above it all, when I see the sparkly perfection of the mountains, the lakes, the snow, the sky, the clouds. I stop and breathe and look and admire. I take a swig of my water. I look far ahead to see the outline of Ed’s body slowly trodding forward, one foot in front of the other. Its looks as though he is almost at the top but I can’t really tell. Illusions reign in the high Sierras. We have been hiking for 5 straight days. This is our final pass. It is all downhill from here.
Summer after summer I return to these mountains. Five days of food, warmth and shelter squeezed into a nylon pack that I sinch snuggly around my shoulders, back and hips. 45 pounds of everything I need and not one thing more. At home I drown in all the extra. Out here I thrive off minimalism.
My legs are heavy but they do not fail me. They keep flexing and propelling my body forward. Sweat trickles down the back of my neck. My thoughts are clear here. I am on fire inside. I am burning with the glory of my surroundings, my accomplishments and my fatigue. I want more of this. I always want this. When can I come back?
The gravel trail crunches beneath my feet with each step. Some steps are huge, heavy heaves up and over obstacles. Some steps are careful, nimble negotiations with the delicate terrain. I stop again to catch my breath and clean the dust off my sunglasses. I am supercharged with anticipation. I want my moment at the top. That surge of adrenaline and the giant exhale that only happens when you have finally made it. I am already dreaming of unbuckling my pack, dropping it to the ground, sitting on top of it and delving into my afternoon snack – a few rounds of salami, a handful of pistachios and a couple squares of chocolate, swished down with water freshly filtered from the river below.
I’m almost there, I can see the saddle of the pass. Ed is there, waiting for me. He’s smiling. His arms are up over his head. He is surveying the magic and wonder of the landscape that has unfolded below him. I’m trying to keep my cool. I’m trying not to cry, but it’s welling up inside of me again. Four more steps and I’m there. At. The. Top. There is no place I would rather be.