Fear, the backside of Joy

hike #5, Pilot Rock Summit Elevation: 5908ft, 1000 Ft elevation gain over 2 miles from the trailhead. Thursday Dec 14, 2017

IMG_1285

The trailhead hides in the shadows of the trees on the North-West side of Pilot Rock, a snowy/icy entrance. My car sits lonely in the empty parking lot. Even though it’s only mid-day, because of the shadowy light, low in its slant, it already feels like the end of the afternoon. I hike the incline, happy to be out, smell the pine trees, and feel the air and sun, thin as it is. A burst of joy erupts in my chest, as my body warms to the trail, and my senses take in the smells and colors of nature. I call it “happiness in my heart”. It’s a predictable happiness when I go out solo and surrender to the laws of nature.

IMG_1279

Dry trail follows an icy, snowy section, then more snow, melted and refrozen, a small meadow with dried grasses struggling to keep their bowed heads above the snow. It’s time for micro-spikes. As I struggle with muddy boots, and messy hands, I say to myself, why didn’t I put them on right away? But, no use crying over spilled milk. Fighting my wobbly stance, I get them on though, and feel more secure as the spikes crunch into the icy crust. Perfect tool for the job!

The trail keeps climbing. Onward and upward, rocks and ice, I wonder if my spikes will wear down on the rocks, so I step in the icy spots to avoid hitting the rock. I don’t want to trouble with taking the spikes off since I’ll need them on the way back down. The trees sway above me in agreement, letting light through from the South, showing a sunlit valley in the distance. I feel vulnerable with the sun not here to warm me, the cold air waiting in the shadows. This is December, not hot July.

With my senses on alert from finding my footing, my breathing sped up as I exert myself while climbing, the accompanying adrenaline releases a wild fear. What if I slip, what if I break my ankle, what if ….None of it is likely to happen, I know the trail well, I have a GPS device to call for help and yet, I’m here by myself, I am the one to take care of me. This is what animals must feel as they roam, always on alert for danger, even if part of a herd or pod.

I reach the top of the trail, stand at the bottom of the chute that leads up to the top of the rock. A top I can’t reach today. The last time I climbed to the top was with my husband many years ago when he gave me a boost to pull myself up through the chute. I tried it last year on a warm spring day, but couldn’t get up by myself, my legs not long enough to reach. With snow and ice on the rocky ledge, it’s foolish to try. My husband’s death anniversary just days ago still rummaging around in my mind, I realize I may never again stand on top of Pilot Rock. I call out in my mind why aren’t you here to give me a boost? To go with me on the trail?

IMG_1282

Since solo is my mode of living now, surrounded by friends and family but not tied to them, I go out in nature to feel connected, to feel joy. On this hike I know the fear that’s the other side of that connectedness: the quick turn life can take, an afternoon with a wrong step, the chill of a cold wind. I look out along the rock wall to the hazy, far away valley far below and know, it’s time to find my way back to the safe hollow of my house, like the shelter every animal finds when night falls, a hiding place from the danger of prey, a respite from the continuous search for food and water, when the senses can come to rest. I use my spikes and poles for support as I descend, retracing my steps, finding comfort in the momentary familiarity of the trail’s markings. Despite the fear lurking in the back of my mind, I am at home here. I carry that at-home-ness in my heart, next to the joy that burst out earlier. Later I drive in the late sunlight on the snow covered dirt road. This is my place. The gifts of nature will nurture me until the next time.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s