It seems like it’s been years since we’ve tried putting this together, and now it feels like it’s always been. I can’t really put my finger on why I feel so immediately melancholy when I think about my most recent outing with two of my dearest friends, but I think a simple psychoanalysis could reveal just why I think the thoughts I do. It’s really simple for everyone, really.
It started at 2:30PM on Friday, September 11th, 2020. Nineteen years after an attack of terror that defined the generation I grew up in and shaped the world we occupy today. It wasn’t even a thought for me during the planning, nor while I started up my car after the third time driving down the road and back to pick up little knick nacks I’d forgotten after packing 3 backpacking bags for a 2 night stay in the woods. My company, Spencer and Nate, are both first timers when it comes to backpacking and I have provided just about everything to them except clothing and food, and I wanted to be sure that I had everything they would need for a comfortable stay. Already running late, I still had to stop for gas and pick up a handful of cigars at the local tobacconist before I would pick both of them up from Nate’s abode.
Seeing both of them for the first time was striking as I was dressed in a decades-long perfection of outdoor gear, and they were in their daily wear clothes strapping on brand new boots. Regardless, we were all excited and eager to get on the road just like many adventures beginnings; each of use filled with stories, energy, and anticipation to hit the trail as we set out on our day. A quick stop to the local grocery for last minute sunscreen and we were off driving up the canyons of Northern Utah.
We hit the trail right about 4PM, the latest I’ve ever actually started hiking on a trail which made for a fairly scenic and well shaded sunset as we navigated our way along the trail in the shadow of Mount Watson. My friend’s hadn’t anticipated what hiking with a 20lbs pack at 10k elevation was like, thinking their occupation - which entails standing and walking all day - would more than prepare them for the coming journey. A shock at first as we made our way up our first hill, they stood strong in their zealous attempts to keep up with myself, well familiar with the deep breaths the altitude can bring. I applaud their vigilance as first timers, I remember back when I first backpacked at this elevation, a meager .75 mile trial left me winded and grasping at my lighter to slurp down another cigarette; They are making great time on this 3 mile hike today.
We had arrived at our campsite around 5:30 and began to set up just as the sun turned to twilight. A fire restriction has been in effect for several weeks now as precautions against the nearly omnipotent threat of wildfire at any and every dry brushes side. No fires aside from stoves with an ON / OFF switch running on liquid fuel to be allowed. I guided them through a quick set up of my gear, all of it being as intuitive as I could keep it - I personally like to avoid knots as much as possible, despite now knowing a myriad of different techniques and ties. This pays of in dividends setting up a camp with those of newer experience points, and gives us more time to sink down whiskey and smoke our cigars, myself pacing away between introspective discussion attempting to get any decent shots I can.
As dawn broke I arose before my companions, something I wasn’t expecting at all; when I started backpacking my nights were sleepless and riddled with abrupt awakenings and tossing and turning. It was 6:45 when I woke, but I didn’t really wretch myself from comfort out of my Warbonnet Ridgerunner bridge hammock until about 7:05AM. I went to the lake, grabbed our bear bags from the trees we had planted them in, and listened to a few squirrels fight over the territory I had just invaded.
I peered out at the lake itself, once nearly 2-3 feet deeper, the murky muddy waters that stood mostly still now were in sharp contrast to the crystal clear body I had fished just two months ago. I didn’t realize how radical the changes could be to a well established alpine lake over the summer, and this was the first of many shocking signs I would witness of change taking hold. The brookies were rising at a much lower interval than I had seen once before, but I went to set up my fly rod regardless.
An hour and a half later, I walked back towards camp empty handed and started to make myself a morning coffee. It was just about 9, and the Gray Jays began to take curiosity in our campsite. Camp Robbers are a great name for these little mischief makers, with seemingly no fear of humans at all, it’s almost like the same 3 birds I had met during my birthday outing just in June were still up to their usual fuckery, playing chicken with me darting in and out of my reach, perching on hammock straps, and making a mess of anything I’ve left laying around the on the ground. Spencer was the first to rise, sleeping in a Dutchware Chameleon - my usual go-to hammock - and told me the night had gone relatively well, if just a bit strange as a first time hanger. Just as he awoke, so too did the Marmots who had gone unnoticed the night before, seemingly emerging from homes they had made in the rocks next to our camp, my first time ever seeing the critter first hand!
He and I went on a very short hike, and sat in a field of rocks. The sun was just perfectly beating down in such a way that any outdoorsman would recognize; this same feeling fell over me on my first Turkey hunt earlier this year, finding a spot almost perfectly weathered to fit my form. I nestled in and loosened my hats grip, bringing the bill down just over my eyes enough to block the sun as I closed my eyes, hands tucked away in the pockets of my fleece lined hunting jacket. This moment of peace seemed to inspire Spencer as well, unsure at first how to approach sitting in the dirt care-free, he too was able to find the scent of serenity and take in the morning with a relaxing dirt nap. These short bursts of rest and relaxation are unlike anything I find at home or even out hiking a trail and hanging a hammock to nap in. There’s something to be said about starting an early morning with a hike, a hunt (or in this case, fishing) and then taking a nap with just the rocks around you and the clothing covering your skin. All the normal thoughts of conern for filth disappear, and soon the spiders crawling around your back, birds singing in the pines above, and mid-morning crescent moon just an eye opening away all come together like an orchestra of lethargy bombarding your core with peace, love and understanding.
For a moment, if only a brief 10 minutes, all the comfort in the world befalls you, and you truly connect with the world around you.
After our nap and a quick game of rock-basketball - tossing rocks overhand while lounging to see who could score the most in the center of a few shrubby trees - we went back to our camp, now 11AM, and coaxed Nate from his slumber. He had told me that he didn’t sleep to well and had cold legs through the night; Note to self, get a water bottle warm for Nate tonight. As Nate had wrestled himself from the tent I spotted yet another small critter I had never seen before, this predator striking an even cuter visage - a Pine Marten, scoping out the den of the Marmots and making its rounds through the Lodgepole Pines. The Marten was much larger than I would have ever expected and made for an exhilarating morning of photos.
We all began to prep our breakfasts, I made myself a second coffee and offered them both a burst of energy in the form of a MTN OPS Hot Ignite. Seems to hit the spot as both of them begin coming to life cooking up Ramen and Oatmeal, then we all set off to hit the lake. Nate had just bought his first fishing license in who-knows-how-long, and I offered to have him use my Spinning rod and lures as I presented flies. The morning turned to noon as we watched several dozen hikers walk in and out, a particular group being composed of an obnoxiously annoying and loud couple of women, telling the world and the trout and coyotes and yes even great ol’ Bog himself up in the stars about their adoration for baby yoda. Alas, my focus was on the water, my boots now off as I made my way along the sharp rocks underwater to cast further from the treeline without getting hung up.
The trout are far more timid that last I had fished these waters, many even bolting away at the simple sight of my fly landing above their feeding zone. This I took to be an obvious sign of overpressure from the massive influx of hikers this year due to the COVID-19 outbreak. I had known all about the highway hassles of campers flooding sites and leaving trash all around, but I didn’t think the ramifications would be this colossal. Despite the fearful fish, I was still able to take 3, and 4 others that took a strike that I didn’t set. I had released all of them, thinking “I’ll take the next one!” but 3 hours on the water left Nate with nothing but some good casting time and a few lost lures. Spencer had spent his time whittling down a walking stick, whose physical properties were somewhat perplexing; the wood itself was dead as a doornail, but to the touch remained almost freezingly cold. A very bad-ass staff of ice to be sure.
We headed back to camp and found that a family decided to set up shop just 100ft away from our campsite, despite multiple other location to pitch. They were far enough out though that it seems we didn’t bother eachother too much. We made our lunches - for me, it was some hard goat cheese and cheddar with a dried italian sausage - then played a game of Arch Enemy in MTG. I had brought two of my favorite decks, but Nate had only brought a couple Duel Decks (Elves vs. Inventors) and there was a big power differential, so we opted to put the two lower decks up as a team against my Eldrazi Post deck. The Eldrazi certainly made a name for themselves, Cloudpost proving why it’s banned in so many formats.
After the games, Nate took to lounging in the Chameleon to read a book as Spencer and I set out on a small hike.
The hike was initially just to got get the water filter filled, but it turned into us just walking, finding a hill on the horizon and saying, “let’s see what’s over there!” This is something I haven’t done in years, and was quite honestly one of the funnest hikes I’ve ever been on, rivalling the aimless walk a different group of friends and I took in Idaho some 4 years ago. Over hills, up small scrambles, and over more hills, I had noted to Spencer that there was indeed a like nearby, but it was roughly a half mile or more from where our camp was.
We looked out into the valley below, and decided it must be in an area where the treeline broke, but continued to press on in that direction. Not 200 paces further, we arrived at the aptly named Hidden Lake, and remarked on how we’d wished to set up camp and swim at this lake, with no neighbors and no obnoxious hikers in sight; Just as we had arrived, a quick gale hit the lake and whistled a vortex along the waters surface, creating a “water-devil” like effect on the water’s edge, twisting along the lake until it made it’s way to us, then disappeared into the tall grass. We skipped rocks a bit along the serene surface, then set back towards our water bag, then back to camp.
We played a few more games of MTG for the night, then all enjoyed a somewhat shared meal; Despite my ketogenic lifestyle, I had prepared the same impromptu second-night dinner as my friends: a luxurious Cheddar and Broccoli soup. We smoked our second cigars as the sun set, enjoyed our party-wide immersion stew, then played a few more games of Magic before I prepped some “Slumber” sleep aid to help us all arrive safely in the dream world. Just an hour or two after I had hit the hay, I awoke to the cries of coyotes roughly a half-mile or mile from our camp. I love hearing these guys at night, their wild howls and sobs gleaming through the woods as I stare up at the stars outside of my bugnet. Very few sounds bring me more cool comfort than the creatures of the night in the forests of Utah.
I slept in much later this morning, the Sleep Cider seems to have done the job for all of us well. We all awoke nearly in unison around 9AM and began to clean up camp. A quick breakfast gave us all the energy we needed to get things packed and hitting the trail about 11 - I told my compatriots that I had intended to fish for just an hour until noon, and they obliged my request with surprising approval - Usually folks are real eager to get going out the last day, but my friends were content to wait around in the shade as I earned another sunburn on the water. 6 strikes later, I finally landed a fish, albeit fowl-hooked, at 11:50AM. I was happy to get a hit, but these fish have never been more nervous. It’s incredible how they can change from biting at almost anything to ignoring almost everything in just a matter of 60 days.
Our way back was just the beginning of the day, as I had asked my friends if they’d like to ascend the mountain that had been leering over us the past few days like a watchful parent. Again to my astonishment, Spencer and Nate agreed, and so we hiked our pack to where the “trail” on my AllTrails app met with roughly our direction out of the woods. We dropped the bags and brought only waters, I carried my GPS and D500 camera as well, and made our way up the winding hills.
The initial hike wasn’t bad, but as you crest the last hill, the “Mountain” proper still stand tall before you. The trail marker on the GPS reads appropriately; You just climb up. My friends began the ascent with me, taking several breaks on their way as the air began to thin out, and before they knew it they were 500ft up on loose rock. This was apparently a shock to the system, and with the effects of elevation starting to take effect, they told me that this, just about the half-way point, was where they would need to turn back. “Adios amigos” I told them, and set out to continue my ascent.
This is where the entire trip, for me, took a turn for the worse. With each step I took higher and higher, I felt more and more ostracized and alienated to the friends I have cared so deeply about for so long. It is a feeling that is hard to describe; I have determined myself to daily discipline for almost 5 years now, exercising, running, working on cardio, and training for this very kind of lifestyle. And now I am here, climbing the mountain, but the realization dawned on me like the cresting step to the top of the flat mountain after a nearly vertical scramble up loose, technical rock.
I have left my friends behind, both literally and figuratively. For what? To peer down upon the lakes which we froliced around, the campsite where we laughed and spoke philosophically, to see the fires burning thousands of acres to the east, and the other mountains and passes along this range of geology I have ascribed so much mysticism and romanticism to? Yes, I have ascended to see all of this, and here I am: Alone. The feelings of depression flooded over and consumed me, at times almost paralyzing me atop the mountain. I rushed to my phone to play a song, desperate to find something I can relate to; “Lonely Press Play” by Damon Albarn.
My heart rate slows. The beauty finds me, the same as the dirt nap from the day before, but this time different. My heavy lungs breath deeply. I look out over the ever evolving wilds rolling over one another with rocky peaks and pine-speckled terrain below. I’ve explored so much here and yet there is still so much more to see. For just a moment I peered over the edge, some thousand feet down a steep and rocky mountainside, and the call of the void whispers it’s indulgence to me. “God, how far down does that go”, I think to myself. “Too far to think about”, my logical brain kicks in. I start a brief Instagram Live session making my way down the top of the ridgeline before stopping the broadcast to focus on the tricky descent down the bouldered hill.
I found my friends at the bottom and we made our way home, stopping by Dicks Burgers on the way back and finding solace in the greasy, meaty excess. I felt a lot better after the meal but the dark cloud still rained over my head despite having a lovely time with my friends in the woods and truly, honestly looking forward to the remote possibility of getting them outside again. I don’t know why this wave of depression hit me so deeply, so evocatively; Like I said in the first paragraph, it’s probably just a simple psycho-analysis away. Those who rise to fame and fortune are often noted as not finding peace and happiness, but sadness and despair.
Maybe this is the fate that all lonesome outdoorsmen face; Trying so hard to find peace and prosperity through health, seeing life from a different perspective, but only finding ourselves in the end. The despair puzzles me, intrigues me, and forces me to think deeper about myself and my motives.
Why do I keep climbing?
