One geographic truth about hiking

Why it feels so good to get so high (up)

Photo by Willian Reis via Unsplash

The wingspan of a California condor is around nine-and-a-half feet from tip to tip. They are the largest land birds in North America and due to their immense size, they do whatever they can to not expend the energy required to flap those giant wings. Instead they prefer to glide on wind thermals caused by updrafts of warm air amongst the mountainous formations where they perch.

This is what my wife read off to me as we headed into Pinnacles National Park at six-thirty in the morning. Driving out of our comfortable stay in coastal Carmel, we bundled up against the cold morning marine layer and headed into the arid and dry landscapes of Central California.

Unable to push down airport-dad instincts to arrive early (to be fair, the park website said to be first in as well), we pulled into an empty and eerily silent valley floor as nothing but the rustle of wildlife greeted us. Thankfully, some of the rustling revealed itself to be a park ranger replacing toilet paper in the bathroom and he cheerily gave us a few pointers, emphasizing the rattlesnakes and ticks we’d probably encounter as the first people on the trail. I knew there was a reason I wanted to be first.

We proceeded cautiously, myself volunteering my face and body as sacrifice to screen door sized spiderwebs, doing my best Indiana Jones impression as I cursed the prickling sensation while apologizing for destroying such elaborate handiwork.

We ascended a couple hundred feet to breathtaking views of the eroded leftovers of an extinct volcano that had carved out the rocky spires that had become home to those magnificent condors. Peering down on us, I wondered if we looked like prey or just some odd interlopers disturbing the morning peace.

A couple hundred feet more and we caught our first glimpse of the great bird soaring on the heat that we were submerged in, gliding above us as we sweat and toiled, feeling each and every human step to reach such great heights.

I’ve never been much of a birder, but I was suitably astounded when we finally reached the top and drew eye level with the condor effortlessly soaring through the air. At 2,500 feet, I couldn’t help but feel both at a loss and in awe at just how hard it had been to get up here— and how those birds knew the same sensation in a different way.

We had traveled far and expended much energy to watch those magnificent birds hold on to theirs.

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On our descent, after scrambling down seventy-degree inclines, dodging a curious rattlesnake, and later wedging ourselves through head-lamp lit caves, Emily and I did a lot of wondering why we enjoyed such difficult “vacations”.

For me it could be restlessness, a check-list mentality persisting even when I’m supposed to be on a break. I could see someone telling me that I’m turning leisure into a task. Or maybe it’s just a need to feel accomplishment in everything I do. Maybe I have “no chill”. Maybe I’m trying to grasp at the disappearing tail of cancer survivorship’s YOLO mentality. Or maybe there’s just too much stuff to see in this world and I’ve seen plenty of pools (but if you have one, I still welcome an invite).

I do know that I’ve always enjoyed climbing. I loved climbing trees as a kid, and with that addiction to reach a little higher came an impulse to compete, a tickling need to win that I’ve tried to counterbalance with small doses of ego death.

The opposing forces of up or down in nature plays out like many binaries. Light is up, dark is down. Get busy living (up), or get busy dying (lying down). Peaks and valleys stand in for the good and bad spots in your life.

But the one geographic truth about altitude is that it allows us to see more. And on our descent, we came to the simple and obvious conclusion that the central conceit of hiking is that it should pay off with a view. That all that toil and hard work will, for a few brief moments, be so very worth it. And in that moment you will find rest, and maybe some inspiration and maybe some truth. Certainly some perspective.

It is an addicting pursuit. To work hard enough to one day or moment be above it all. To look back on all that you have trod and conquered and see what you were able to accomplish. But while our modern world may push the idea of constant “growth”, an always-up stock market more-more-more mentality, the second act of a good hike brings us back from intermission with the humbling reminder that we now must go all the way back down.

All of that newfound perspective must be brought back to Earth and transfigured into something for those horizon-bound days in-between.

Despite my lust for winning, I also like that hiking isn’t really a competition. You can certainly make it one, but there seems to be a silent understanding that it is meant to be done at your own time and pace. On our way down we ran into young and old alike, each decked out in various layers of preparation, each group pausing to make sure there was enough room for the other pass.

Everyone had their own small encouragement or greeting— a reassuringly sweaty or breathless acknowledgement that we were in this together. It is a funny contradiction, that hikes are often rated based on how busy/populated they are, as if the best experience with the trail would be to not see a single human soul. But after an eerie morning ascent, I was very happy to see people, and not just because it meant that they had come thus far un-bitten by snakes.

Rather, we had all been rendered into miniature by the awesome expanse of nature and a world beyond my control, with every fleeting interaction tethering us to the species that we belong to, the few seconds as I passed each person serving as a reminder that we are never entirely alone. In cancer and illness, the feelings can often be the same.

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Sensory Activation: Things I Was Into This Week

“Death & Romance”, Magdalena Bay

I’m not going to lie, the real thing I was into this week was a Polish hot dog loaded with sauerkraut hot off the grill at a little grocery store in Carmel— a delicious indulgence after our physical activity and a nice reprieve from some of the more oppressive restaurant prices that certainly didn’t match the food quality…

But let’s instead drop a track that grabbed my ear on the long drive back home. I haven’t heard of Magdalena Bay before but the thick, alternately fuzzy and bouncy bass makes for a tasty groove. Why stress over Death and Taxes when you could dance to Death and Romance?

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