My Spirit Walk a.k.a. Vesper Peak Hike a.k.a Bullshit Mountain

Most people know I love to hike. I love the exercise, the beauty of nature, and the trail lets me pound out stuff rattling around in my head -- it really helps my mental well-being.  I had some really difficult things happen over this past week…so I really needed to go all "Cheryl Strayed's Wild" and pound some stuff out on a tough, beautiful trail.

I picked Vesper Peak -- it's a tad longer than most of my hikes (11 miles vs. the typical 8-10), and a bit more elevation gain (4,100 vs. 3,800 or so), but nothing that much more difficult  than usual (those of you who know me also know that I *may* have a problem assessing what is "difficult"). It was in the Northern Cascades, whereas I tend to stick to the Central region, and there were supposed to be mountain goats!! Yes!! It would be perfect for my much needed "spirit walk."



Around 10 am, I got to the trailhead, which was about 30 miles outside of cell coverage, and at the end of a 2 mile gravel road. The temperature had dropped from a balmy 65 degrees in Kirkland to 48 degrees and everything was socked in with a solid bank of fog. I'm a pretty experienced hiker, and I usually prep pretty well. I had extra clothes and a jacket, a few snacks (although in a fit of idiocy I packed only "paleo" snacks as I'm trying to stick to that diet) and a bunch of  water. I always bring my mace since I mostly hike alone, plus a med kit and a compass + temperature gauge.   A couple of other hikers and I discussed the weather, agreed we had heard the forecast was sunny, and expected the fog to burn off in a few hours.



Trailhead, according to GPS coordinates...actually 2 miles further



So off I went. A few dicey water crossings at first, but nothing I couldn't handle.  About after an hour, with the fog refusing to budge, I arrived at a huge rock field where there was a sliver of a glacier nestled in one of the mountain crevices. Not exactly Nisqually Glacier, but still pretty cool. All of sudden, the wind kicked up and the temperature dropped to 35 degrees. As I looked up towards the mountain, it seemed as if the frigging Nothing was descending from its peaks. I half expected Falkor the Luck Dragon to swoop in from the clouds and rescue me from danger.  I put on my extra jackets and continued on. 



The Nothing



The only patch of blue sky I saw the whole day




Itty bitty glacier (not just left over snow)

I quickly discovered this trail was not like the nice, well maintained trails I usually hike along I-90. This trail was non-existent. From the glacier spot on, the only way you could determine the path was via the cairns left by what I like to call "trail fairies" --  people who pile up rocks into little towers to designate where you should go when the trail is unclear. God bless the trail fairies. At this point, most people might be thinking, " Hmm, this doesn’t seem like the best idea." Not this girl! I was thinking "Hey it's a challenge! Hey the fog will burn off and the views will be great! Hey there will be mountain goats!"  Hubris is a bitch, I think they say.

I continued to trudge along.  There were some beautiful water falls crashing down from thousands of feet up, the promise of burning legs and utter exhaustion echoing in their tumbling waters. Trudge. Trudge. Trudge. Up and up I continued over the extremely steep and rocky path.





This waterfall stems from the lake that you eventually reach on the hike

From the rock field (opposite direction of the Nothing)

Finally, about 2 hours in, I reached Headlee Pass. Usually at passes, you can experience the startling (and rewarding) effect of one side of the mountain being foggy & cloudy, and the other side being clear and pristine. No such luck. The fog was frigging worse, if you can believe that. And the trail started to go DOWN. What is this insanity?  But I gave in to the mountain, and I headed downwards, my legs secretly grateful for the break in ascent.

 Another rock field marked only by cairns! Yay. On this stretch, I encountered a fair number of hikers who were coming back along the trail, having gotten an earlier start. Pretty much everyone said they had gone to the lake, not the peak. Looking back, I realize these were all angels of wisdom God was literally throwing in my face, but my personality, my hubris, and maybe a dash of masochism, prevent me from NOT climbing a mountain when it is right there in front of me (even if technically I can't see said mountain). After crossing the rock field and scrambling across some larger boulders, I reached the point where you can split off to go to the lake or go hike the peak. "Lake! Lake! Choose the lake!" my future, wiser self with burned-out thighs screamed at me, but I didn’t listen. I turned towards the peak.

Rock field after Headlee Pass





View from Headlee Pass



The path to the lake



As I continued towards the peak, the visibility reduced to near zero. No exaggeration. You could hear the soft murmur of other hikers around you (there were about 5 of us that were keeping similar pace and thus kind of near each other), but you couldn't see anything.  It was eerie, as if in a dream. Soon after the split, I reached a very steep climb through a heavily forested area. This part was reminiscent of the top of Tiger Mountain or Rattlesnake Ridge, so in my apparent delirium in even comparing those hikes to this one, I thought "Hey, the peak must be near!" It wasn't. The scramble through the trees was nearly vertical, with the roots of trees forming slippery, treacherous steps to climb. As I finally emerged from the forested section, it was like the mountain wanted to give me one last middle finger. The fog lightened up *just* enough to give me a glimpse of where I was headed....a looming shadow of a peak that, without revealing itself entirely, seemed very big...and very, very far away.  Big, ragged rocks, barren of any life, promised an arduous climb to the finish. I sat down on a rock to rest, and proclaimed to any who could hear - "This mountain is BULLSHIT."

The few hikers who did summit and were on their way down all kept saying the same thing - "You have about 300-400 feet to go." I had to believe them, as I still couldn't see the actual top.  As I kept going, the distance remained the same with each hiker - just another 300-400 feet to go! Bullshit mountain math. During this stretch, I was pretty much on all fours, prostrating myself to the magnitude of this mountain. I climbed from one jagged rock to the next, following the cairns and the natural spring trickling through the rocks, which left a red wound of iron stain on the mountain. It reminded me of someone punching the mountain in its face and drawing blood. Which made me feel good. This mountain was a total bitch.   

Rock climb to the peak

After 3.5 hours of hiking, I finally made it to the top. No surprise, I couldn't see anything. Bullshit fog. I basically climbed this bullshit mountain to prove that I could, with no payoff in the end. It was freezing cold (now down around 32 degrees), I had eaten all my stupid paleo-friendly snacks and I was worried about getting down the mountain before dark, as it was already 2 pm.  I admitted to myself that I had no business climbing this mountain by myself, with little food, in horrible conditions. After a brief respite and a bit more self-flagellation, I started back down the mountain. What. The. Actual. F-ck. I couldn't see ANYTHING. The fog was so solid it was vertigo-inducing. I had no idea where the trail was, and only a faint sense of which direction to go in. This was the point where I truly started to panic-- If I got lost, it could be really bad. It was cold (even with my extra clothes), I had some water but no food left, and the visibility would be horrible for any rescue team.  "Bullshit mountain," I grumbled to myself. And then.. "Ok…I can do this. I have to do this. I have kids. I am not dying on some cursed bullshit mountain." And then..."Bullshit mountain." That went on for a while.

I kept my eyes peeled for cairns and slowly, carefully made my way from one to the next. At some places, I had to pause for several minutes, anxiously peering into the fog until another cairn appeared, like one of those old magic eye posters.  Even my eyelashes were thick with fog, making it hard to see. In the eerie silence, my ears strained to hear the murmur of hikers coming up the mountain, hoping for some beacon to confirm my path. I finally made it back to the forested section and stopped to say a prayer of thanks to God... and to the trail fairies.

The lake, finally revealed on my way down

 The rest of the way down was terrible. Again, no real path, just rock scrambling, which is about 1000 times harder going down than up. My right knee, which I had surgery on 6 years ago, was SCREAMING at me the whole way down. I was having fantasies of wine and Advil cocktails in a hot bath when I got home…and then I remembered, "Med Kit!" I popped a few Advil and kept going….every other step punctuated by variations of "I want off this bullshit mountain."  Once I crossed back over Headlee pass, it cleared up significantly -- still no blue skies, but I could actually see the mountains and the surrounding beauty. But honestly I didn’t care, and couldn't enjoy it. I was just trying to balance going as fast as I could, as I was really worried about darkness settling in, and being careful with all the rocks and my excruciating knee. I was stopping nearly every ten steps to take a break, curse the mountain, and re-motivate myself that I *could* do this. 


During one of those stops, I heard a noise…a munching noise. I turn around, and about 10 feet away, there it was... a wooly, white, GLORIOUS mountain goat!! Bullshit Mountain finally delivered! No views, a near-death experience, crappy trails….but I got to see a damn mountain goat! I clicked a few pics, thanked the goat for making an appearance, and finally enjoyed the wild, beautiful land that I was in. 





I love you, mountain goat!!!



After leaving the goat, I knew I was getting close, and that I would be ok, if a bit worse for wear for my troubles. I had reached the area of multiple water crossings. One happened to be a pretty fast-paced waterfall crossing. Coming over it the first time hadn't been too hard, but looking at it from this side, with different angles and legs that were completely fried, I just didn’t know how to get back (I feel like there is a metaphor about life in there somewhere -- it is easy to get lost or off the path, but a lot harder to find your way back). As I was contemplating my crossing, along came a young guy who just hopped across the rocks like a mother effing billy goat. F you, dude. Eventually I scrambled over, soaking my feet in the icy mountain water, but at least I didn’t careen over the edge, to be splattered on rocks 15 feet below. It would be a shame to die now, after making it all this way. Bullshit waterfall.

 

Bullshit Mountain

After 7 hours of hiking, approximately 250 exclamations of "Bullshit Mountain" or variations on that theme, 8 water crossings (4 each way), a blown up knee, and sore shoulders from climbing….I made it back to my car. I had NEVER been so happy to get off a mountain as I was at that moment. 

While this wasn't exactly the Spirit Walk I was expecting, I did learn a few things:

• Don’t get complacent: I got lazy hiking on the I-90 trails and didn’t do the prep work I needed for this hike. With everything in life, if you get complacent, you miss the important stuff. You miss what your spouse/partner needs, what is happening with your kids, you miss what YOU need to be happy and healthy. Observe. Ask. Check-in. With those you care about, and with yourself. Oh, and read the damn weather forecast.
• Be prepared: I was marginally prepared for this hike. Taking on new challenges both mentally and physically is great, but you need to prepare yourself.  Your grit and skills and past experiences are preparation of sorts, but only get you part of the way there, especially if you want to push yourself out of complacency and do something new. Also, Paleo snacks are a stupid idea for crazy mountain adventures. Bring a sandwich for crying out loud.
• Look for your markers: The cairns saved me. Sometimes we want to get to the end destination so quickly, with such a direct route, we give up because it seems so too hard, too long,  too arduous. Sometimes you just need to find your next milestone and get THERE first. Then worry about the next step. And often, there are people to help you along the way, even those you don't know.
• You have what you need: I know that I'm strong - I've gotten through some tough stuff already over the past few years.  But something about this hike told me that I really can get through anything. Even when stuff from the past messes with my head, even when I feel scared and hopeless inside, or like I won't ever be able to truly move forward. I know I have the skills, the experiences, the preparation (usually) and the heart to get through the bullshit that can happen in life. And so do you. Sometimes you need to slow down and tread carefully, sometimes you need to push through some pain, and sometimes there are moments of surprise and delight that keep you going….but it all gets you over those bullshit mountains.  

Will I ever do this hike again? Hell no. Even on a good day I can't see how that hike would ever be "fun." But I did leave the bullshit of the last week, and even from the last couple of years, on that mountain. So mission accomplished. And I feel like the fog has lifted - I'm ready to move forward again on my own trail through life, and take on whatever challenges are ahead. Everything I need I have within me, or I know how to find it. And if necessary, I will just take it one cairn at a time.