by J.P. Medved
Chapter 6
The pain was really starting to sink in. All of those hours of hiking up, maybe a little down, and then back up again were really starting to get to my body. By the time we were past East Cross Creek and well on our way to the summit, my knees were aching like never before. This was a tougher excursion than it seemed.
I guess I got so used to the hilly, but not really steep, valley floor that actually hiking up a really tall mountain is surprisingly hard. Awesome, but hard, as with a lot of things in life.
When we reached the last trees, it was almost a surreal moment. Life we were going from earth to some unknown planet. It was on the verge of scary. The climate was changing so much around us, but I never really noticed it until we got to that point. There was life below, but up above, the summit reigned supreme.
When we reached this point, my father suggested we take a water break, as the lack of trees suggested we were getting really high up, altitude dehydration now sucking the life out of me. I agreed without hesitation.
While we were waiting, we started discussing how while this was my father's last 14er to climb, it was my first.
“As you know, David, you are following in the footsteps of many before you”, he started, “Climbing a 14er has been a family tradition for many generations. Not one of those boring traditions, though, but something that everyone can enjoy, exploring nature. However, you and I setting off on our trail. We are hiking this together. I hope that for the generations to come can share this special moment that we are sharing today.”
I couldn't agree with my father's statement more. Too often traditions are completed because the people doing them are just trying to keep the tradition alive, not because the tradition has any meaning to them. There is no tradition more exhilarating than climbing a mountain scaling over 14,000 feet. I just could not wait to get to the summit. We must keep going.
From there, the going got real tough. You know the feeling where you are going up countless numbers of steps and then, just when you feel broken, there more flights to go up. Well, that was how I was feeling.
There was serious doubt in my mind as to whether I could possibly climb that mountain. I looked at the path in front of me, and the incline was tremendous.
I muttered to myself, “Someone please help me get through this.”
Somehow, my father heard me say this and told me, “I hope I didn't hear what I thought I heard. Just when everything isn't going your way you want to quit? Is that the son I raised? I thought you were tougher than that. You've made it this far, David, you don't need any help. And if you can't do it, if you just want to give in, then, well, there is always time for us to turn. But, one of the time things about mountain climbing is not everything will go your way. You may lose your shoe, or you may trip on rock. In fact, David, there is something that I have not told you that I think you might want to know. On the day we attempted to climb this mountain oh so many years ago, you did not break your ankle. You had a bruise. But, I told you that you had a broken ankle so you wouldn't feel bad about yourself, and so I wouldn't feel about myself. I should have known that you were not ready for the monster that is the Mount of the Holy Cross, but I pushed you anyways. I thought you were tough enough now, but apparently not.”
I just sat there staring at my father. Once again trying to let what he just told me sink in. So my ankle really wasn't broken.
For a split second, I remember being angry at my father for waiting this long to tell me that, but I finally regained my senses. He was just doing it because he loved me, and I had to remind myself that.
“So, what do you want to do?” my father piped into my thought.
I simply responded, “Let's kick some ass.”
At that point, there was an understanding between my father and I. It was at that moment that I think he realized that he was right for thinking I was ready. This was my time, and the earth below me (or in this case above me) could not change that.
“Let's get moving,” I said, “we have lots more hiking to do!”
“That's the man I know” he responded.
And with that we were off, the summit before us.
….
I have to say that the incline was not any fun. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Climbing, at least what felt like, due north on not quite the most stable land in the world is not the most fun thing in the world. It was in fact horrible. I tripped and tumbled, I will not deny that. I even had a face first fall. But, nothing would deter me. Not after my father had lit that fire under my ass, it was time for me to reach the summit.
As we got to within a few football fields away my father asked if I wanted to stop and take a water break.
And do you want to know what I told my father? I told him, “I will not be taking any water breaks until we reach that summit. I wouldn't want the summit, with us so close to it, to see any weaknesses.”
As soon as I said that, a wide smile spread across my father's face. He knew exactly where I was coming from.
“Let's go,” he said, “a summit awaits.”
It started raining around then, but at that point, the ponchos did not matter anymore.
And from there we were off, storming to the summit. We got there within ten minutes.
As we were about to get over the final hump and to the summit my father said one final thing to me, “This one is for our family.”
And that was the moment when my father and I, together, stepped on the summit of Mount of the Holy Cross.
What awaited us there, however, would have to be seen to be believed.