don't look down.
It’s just a ladder. How many times have you climbed a ladder? Tons.
Uh, but never at 6,000 feet.
Just don't look down.
There are different kinds of fear. There’s trivial kinds- I’m afraid of my drivers test/I’m afraid of rejection. And then there’s adrenaline pumping, heart-beat-in-your-ears, fight or flight to save your life fear.
And as I stood frozen on a slippery wooden ladder at 6,000 feet in the air, body pressed against a cold boulder, hair whipping, stinging my face in the wind, I felt that kind of fear.
Thunder shook the ladder. Lightening melted the heavens.
And I found myself stuck. On a exposed ladder at 6,000 feet. In a storm.
Lawdy, I feared most that this is a new level of stupid. Even for me.
The plan was born of good intentions. We just wanted to salvage summer. To cling to the last of these warm, salty days. To live in youth and spare time. To climb a mountain.
So we did.
Clayton and I decided to hike to the top of Grandfather Mtn the long way (from 105, if you know the area). The whole trip was approx. 9 miles and a combination of hiking trails with a couple bouldering sections and sketchy passes. Yeah, it was far, but Clayton and I considered ourselves decently fit people and with determination, the distance seemed a doable challenge.
So we parked our car at the gate, double knotted our shoes, and began the hike.
Each step took us deeper into the Appalachian forest, cool with towering pine trees . We hiked to where yellow sunlight poured and rivers beat themselves into the soil, smoothing rock and giving life to ancient valleys. To say it was beautiful is an understatement.
Soon, the trail turned upwards and fat rain drops melted the dust into mud.
“should we turn back?”
“And save the hike for another day? When?”
So we kept going, the miles unfolding beneath our feet.
The first boulder section was wet but not impossible. We conquered it on all fours, legs propelling us over rocks twice my height. Then we paused at the top to take in the first view. By now, we were already at a pretty high elevation. But instead of seeing the overlapping mountains of the blue ridge, there was just fog. Miles and miles of white nothingness. Apparently the rain had rolled in with some sort of storm system.
“I feel like we’re on the moon”
“There isn’t any atmosphere on the moon. You wouldn’t see fog”
“I feel like we’re in nothingness, like we’re breathing in the clouds and dissolving into the air”
The was so much air.
Then the wind picked up. The rain poured harder, colder.
We left the overlook to find sheltered safety on the trail.
And after a moments rest, we kept climbing.
Higher and higher. the rockers became slicker and trees were shorter, not able to grow this oxogen deprived environment. The wind beat into us now. Our faces stung. We clung to the shortening shrubs on our left taking each step slow and sure as the consequence of slipping grew. On our right we could barely make out the edge of the rock before it disappeared into a wall of white fog.
For the first time, I wished we weren’t here. This same hike in clear weather must be beautiful. This view- blank white for us now- must be a lush landscape of painted blue mountains and sky. I wanted to see the rolling hills buried within the fog. Why else climb so high?
To our relief the trail turned inward away from the edge and we sought momentary shelter beneath an overhanging rock. My hands balled into fights, trying to reclaim every bit of escaping heat. We’re so, so cold now and there was still a mile left before we reach the peak, let alone the whole way back down the mountain to go.
Then my ribs shook- a growl that seemed to grow from the core of my body. It shook the life out of all this organic material.
Thunder.
I imagined Zeus on these clouds.
He’s angry. Angry we have climbed high enough to look him in the eye. And while a moment ago we stood brave on the cusp of fog, now we hid as he grabbed our mountain with both hands and shook.
It rained even harder. We could barely see shapes between the raindrops but at least the top was close now. At nearly 6,000 feet, the trees vanished into small shrubs and then, just rock. Exposed. We clung to the cold wet surface. My Nike trainers aren’t hiking shoes. The slipped against the boulders. But one slow, steady footstep at a time we made it to the top.
McCrae peak is a boulder the size of a house atop the tallest point of Grandfather mountain. By now, the rain had grown into a full on storm. The ancient rock stood defiant against the now howling winds. And we had to climb to the top. We had to. Otherwise this journey was worth nothing. Otherwise we came all this way to turn back at the most pivotal point.
The rock face of McCrae peak is too steep to climb on its own so wooden ladders have been drilled in to let hikers to the top. We approached the ladder and carefully, we climbed. One rung at a time. Clayton went first. At the top, he couldn’t get traction on the slick surface. In one terrifying moment it looked as though he would slip before regaining composure. Then, it was my turn. Who is braver, us or the weather?
The wind beat us stronger yet. The rain poured sideways.
One step at a time. My knuckles ached from holding on. My arms felt like they’d give out.
But, then one step at a time, I was at the top.
We stood there for a moment, unsheltered by anything. Just standing on a rock, 6,000 feet into the air. Not thinking. Not planning. Just being. Breathing in the clouds.
I have a Patagonia base layer. I have an expensive waterproof jacket. They both failed me. So cold now, who is braver, us or the weather?
The weather is larger than us. Living inside of us. Birthing the rhythmic pattern of life like the moon’s tide. I will not fight the weather anymore, but I will no longer fear it. I’ll notice my place in nature and accept the magnitude of the mountains.
When I ride my bike, I won’t fight the climb. I won’t rush over it. Instead, I’ll learn to love my labored breathing and be thankful the mountain is allowing me to find my own path over it, allowing me my own version of conquering it’s strength.
I’m not afraid of winter. Not anymore.
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