Within twelve hours to hitting the trailhead, Luke decided to come along on this year’s Timpanogos hike (I say that like it’s an annual thing but it is not. It is for some friends that invited us, but I digress). Originally planned sans-kids, Luke mustered the courage to climb trails unknown. Currently 13 miles in, rounding the corner back to the start, a few moments ahead of our summit party gives us a few moments to collect our thoughts and and share my journaling process with Luke.
He’s sitting across from me here at Scout Falls. Momentary changes in the wind push the cascading water onto my body, which surely could use more of this cold, refreshing breeze. He’s staring at the same picture of us at the saddle with the prompt “imagine tomorrow you completely forget today’s hike. What would you want to remember?”
Surely he will write about how he was scared. A few moments after arriving at the saddle I saw him in tears, hyperventilating, and having walked past a young woman experiencing similar ailments a few thousand feet prior, my mind immediately came up with a list of two things to say to him.
One. Look me right in the eyes.
Two. Breathe with me. (If only he could get the Prodigy reference).
What he won’t write is how I was equally scared. The saddle at Timpanogos is over 10,000 feet in the air, towering over Utah County to the west and whatever county the rich people live in to the east. There’s not enough room to play pickleball, and even if you tried, the gale-force winds would make it a challenge to keep a ball somewhat in play, let alone to stand steady on slippery rock below.
Also, the fact it’s basically a sheer cliff on either end.
What I hope he doesn’t write is that he is disappointed in himself for not achieving our goal of the summit. Nine hours into this hike with no complaints any one of the other kids would exclaim, I’m immensely proud of Luke. Mostly carrying his own weight and water and snacks, he was the first in our team to get off the ground during our breaks and say “let’s go!”
One of the most mentally and physically demanding things I’ve done, taking a kid on a 15+ mile hike to heights over 10,000 feet climbing 4,000 feet along the way, realizing that while his trepidations were recognizable, my own were buried under stupid jokes and Lamaze breathing. Couldn’t be more proud of him.