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.

Things that happen when you smell your feet

The other day, I was driving home with the girls, which is usually when the blog inspiration magic happens.  This particular ride home was no exception. O out of the blue informed me, "I smelled my feet and it made me fart."

 

Yep, I'm a proud mama of a delicate, lady-like 4 year old. Now of course, this quote of O's is probably one of her better ones -- but unlike the others, I struggled to find the inspiration.  What lesson in life could this phenomenal quote could teach me? At the suggestion of one of my good friends, I did start to think about the surprising, and sometimes amazing things that happen when you least expect it.  Even when you are mired in the most dire circumstances. Or smelly ones.

 

Speaking of both dire and smelly circumstances, I've ventured out into the world of online dating, given how tough it can be to meet people these days.  Not that I'm equating these men with smelly feet, or farting for that matter, but some of these guys may want to pick up a book on social skills.

 

I'll start with Vinnie (all names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent -- but this guy totally seems like a Vinnie) - his intro email to me was "Hey babygirl, your beauty is flawless." For anyone who knows me, you'd accurately guess that this guy was dead-on-arrival. He must have taken my lack of response as playing hard to get, as he kept trying to catch me on IM until I final blocked him.

 

Then there was Mark, who wanted to cut through any normal introductions and ask me "Have you ever dated anyone outside your race?"  I'm all for figuring out potential deal-breakers sooner rather than later, but a hello would be super nice.

 

Another friend, Iam4u2316, also wanted to cut through the chase. At 58 years of age, he asked me on IM "Am I too old for you?"  I'm not sure, let me introduce you to my mom and dad and let them tell you.  At least Simon spent time writing an email, acknowledging "I know I am very young [24 years of age] but I am very mature for my age" and actually asked me out like a gentlemen. 

 

You also have a lot of yellers  -- I'd like to think they are just really excited to be contacting me, but I think they are just unfamiliar with their keyboards.  Pitts2317 went right to our potential chemistry with "WHO IS UR FAV FOOTBALL TEAM? MINE IS THE STEELERS IS THAT A DEAL BREAKER LOL" followed by "I LIKE GOOD FOOD WORKING OUT AND I AM A SPORTS NUT."  Not just a sports nut, Pitts old boy.

 

But you have to appreciate the effort to find common ground, I suppose.  BassFisher7084 jumped in with "Cute pics. Do ya like country music? Do ya like to boat in the summer?" 

 

There are a few guys who just take the simple approach, like they are walking up to me at a bar, which I guess I can understand.  Rick went with "Hello I am Rick."  Full stop.  And Sounderfan3109 simply said "Heyyyyyy."  I felt like I was right back at Tia Lou's, age 26. And it was not awesome.

 

Then there are the plethora of guys who I guess knew better than to try to contact me directly -- they just winked or liked a photo. Upon closer inspection, a good percentage of them had either pictures of their car in their profile as part of their profile name. Hey Porsche3477, I drive a Highlander with a large collection of Cheerios and mismatched socks - that's hot right?

 

So all of this does feel a bit like smelling my feet and farting, I must say.  And my guidance to you guys (and gals) out there also trying the online dating thing (or just the socializing with people thing) - don't mention the type of car you drive as a lead-in, use complete words and punctuation, common pleasantries like Hello are always appreciated, try to leave your baggage out of your profile or intro email, and in general do read the profile of the person you are approaching before reaching out. 

 

Now, it hasn't all been bad  -- I've received a lot of very nice, polite, funny emails and have made some good connections.  And despite lack of social skills, *most* people are just trying to find someone to connect with - which is hard and scary to do, absolutely -- so I give tons of credit for just getting out there. And so here comes the inspirational part -- If I have learned one thing over the last couple of years, the most surprising and wonderful things can happen, even when it all seems crappy, and especially if you would never, ever expect it. Painful experiences have turned into amazingly strengthening experiences, and people who I never imagined being close have become incredibly important to me.  So I'm chugging along with this online dating thing, as with everything in life, and trying to have an open mind and heart.  After all, you never know what might happen.  And I'm looking forward to meeting Sean and George next week. I may lay off the beans prior to meeting them…just in case.

A new identity is born...

When my daughter was born, I had these grand notions of jumping into the mommy blog fray, spending my maternity leave writing witty vignettes in between Stroller Stride classes and trips to Starbucks.   Then I realized that I was lucky to even shower during those first few months -- and once I returned to work, lucky to make it through the work day mentally and physically intact so I could spend some time with my husband and daughter.

I managed to get roughly 2 blog posts done, and then life got in the way and I didn't write again.  Flash forward 3 1/2 years, I now have 2 daughters (3 1/2 years old and 1 year old), I am divorced and my life is completely different...I have had wonderful moments, angry moments, sad and despairing moments and hopeful, inspiring moments. And throughout all, I've asked myself over and over -- "Who am I?" 

As most of you know, it's a huge adjustment becoming a spouse, a parent, a single person once again, and it's been challenging in some ways as I try to figure out who is this new Liz moving forward. I think life is a series of identity crises (some minor, some major) -- moving away from home and establishing independence, deciding who I would be as a young woman, going to grad school and moving across the country from family and friends, working hard and moving my career forward, getting married and figuring out how to share my life with a partner... being responsible for two tiny beautiful humans, deciding to end a relationship and face some of these challenges on my own.

I look at myself and think -- I'm part mom, part career woman, part daughter, part friend, part sister, part adventure seeker, part outdoors lover, part yoga enthusiast, part runner...the number of parts we split ourselves into begins to get exhausting, and I start to think how hard it is to know what to do with all these different parts.  Do I keep dicing myself up into more parts to avoid losing anything, but risk becoming fragile, thin, tenuous?  Do I drop parts to make room for higher priority ones and risk not feeling like "me"?  Or do I make some parts smaller, hoping one day there will be more time for them?

Or perhaps some new identity gets forged out of all these parts.  Maybe there is a new me that encompasses being a wife, a woman, a great marketer, a person passionate about living, a girl who rode mopeds in Vietnam but also reads The Economist...maybe I have to let go of the predefined "parts" and all the "I used to's" to allow some new identity to emerge. Embracing that some parts change to help create new parts, or some parts break off, but made room for newer, stronger parts.

When I was in grad school (Go 'Heels!), I took a class called "Preparation for Execution Management" even though I was pretty sure I never wanted to be a CEO.  At any rate, we had two guest female CEOs speak one day. Both had never had children and were past that point in their lives.  One of the women said something very wise, I think -- "You can do it all, but just not at the same time."  I think it's embracing that concept that is key to letting this new identity emerge -- a new identity that doesn't require you to keep splitting yourself up into more parts, or to drop parts and feel a sense of loss...but that fully embraces your choices, priorities and desires as being exactly right for the specific time and place.

Easier said than done, but I'm happy to be on that journey.  So, to all my fellow identity seekers, tell me about your journey. How have you managed through your life changes and come out whole on the other end?