I love to hike. The views, the exercise, the mental vacation… So when we met our son in the Rock Creek area of the Eastern Sierra last week, hiking was at the top of our list. I expected a certain amount of physical stress – a good workout can leave you energized. What I hadn’t anticipated was how this particular hike would affect how I thought about hiking in the future.
We often do a day-hike on our first full day and, since we had two cars, I suggested the 11.4-mile hike from the Mosquito Flat trailhead (10,255 ft.) over Morgan Pass (11,155 ft.) and ending at the Pine Creek trailhead (7,405 ft.) near Rovana where we could leave one of the cars.
We set out at 10:00 AM and easily walked the 4-plus miles past wildflowers and the lakes of the Little Lakes Basin up to Morgan Pass and beyond toward the Morgan Lakes. This is starkly beautiful alpine country with rocky peaks typical of the Eastern Sierra.
After lunch near an old log shelter, we began the descent on a well-graded mining road. Rusty metal and mining timbers littered some areas along the trail and we could hear the sound of Morgan Creek tumbling over rocks through the canyon nearby. We should have turned back after taking in the magnificence of the early-afternoon sun shining on Bear Creek Spire. By then, the canyon had fallen so far below us that we could no longer hear the stream. But, no, we continued on toward Pine Creek, 3,000 feet below, along 7 miles of long switchbacks crossing, hot, dry, bleak talus.
I have a problem with heights that I’ve been working on the last several years. I’m much better. Yet, as soon as I realized this particular trail was a relentless descent down a steep hillside with treeless drop-offs into a deep canyon, I had a moment when I hesitated and seriously considered returning the 4 1/2 miles back the way we’d come.
The little voice in my head said something like, “You’ll be down soon. How bad can it be?” The answer became, “Pretty bad.” With the help of my floppy hat folded down like blinders on a horse, I focused on my feet, putting one foot in front of the other. The two times I ventured a look past the trail edge, my knees went wobbly. By the time we arrived at the trailhead and the car, I was exhausted. Mentally and physically.
For the first time in a long time, I questioned my ability to conquer this fear of heights. And then I got mad. I want to still enjoy hiking, not second-guess each trail. And what about my plans to someday climb Mt. Whitney and decend the Grand Canyon?
“That which does not kill us makes us stronger.” (Friedrich Nietzsche) Okay. I didn’t die. My son and husband walked the same trail without any problem. So, if I can believe Nietzsche, I’m closer to conquering this fear-of-heights-thing because I hiked that God-forsaken trail.
I’ll go with that. And with the hope that I can continue to love to hike.