"How could anyone truly enjoy this?", I thought to myself, stumbling one foot over a rock. "This is the hardest thing I've ever done..."
Strange to think where I stand now, started with moments like this. Roughly three years ago on a self invited (I regret nothing) backpacking trip with some good friends determined to hike up to the summit of Mt. San Jacinto, Ca, I caught the bug. Well, the outdoorsman bug. The only way I can now describe it is addiction. Between work, college, and time with loved ones, I'm putting on my boots and seeing the world. However it's hard to believe after the start I was given, I'd be the person I am today.
A combination of my car radio being stolen over night, altitude sickness from the Palm Springs Arial Tram throwing me thousands of feet up the mountain in 10 minutes, leading to intense stomach pains, loss of appetite, and dare I say it... constipation, mixed together with the rigorous consumption of protein, vegetables, and a now religious tradition of McDonald's breakfast pre-hike, sprinkled with the crippling weight of my 60lbs of rag-tag camp gear, were what accompanied me through day one of this three day trip from hell.
Why did I go? Well at the time, I was beginning the phase I now jokingly call, "Lumberjack-ism". You see, around this time, 19 years old and still relatively fresh out of high school, most people begin to want to travel. Grab some friends and go on a road trip to Vegas, maybe Lake Havasu, or maybe even Tijuana and knock back some cold ones. But me? No not me. I was a camper! Raised by my father to fish for trout in the rapids of the high Eastern Sierra Nevada Mountains. I knew how to camp and build a fire. Yosemite. Mammoth Mountain. Lake Tahoe. Those are my backyards! I wanted to be one with nature. I wanted to be a modern outdoorsman! How hard could backpacking a little mountain be? I couldn't tell you because this was no little mountain. My arrogance had the best of me at first.
After miles of tough, gradual uphill climb we came upon our first stop for the night at a gorgeous little valley rightly named "Round Valley" about half way up. From there our plan was to summit the next morning, and head home the morning after that. Hitting the valley I couldn't have been happier. This flat, grassy bowl shaped valley surrounded by pine trees and the impressive mountain just engulfed you in 360° of beauty. We made our way clockwise around the meadow and found our spot for the night granting me my first understanding of what relief was.
My blisters already had blisters; my bruises already had bruises, and all I wanted to do was sit down, but I still had to set up camp. After my friends Dan and Joey seemingly threw their tents and area up in seconds, I had finally gotten my pack off my back and open. By noon I was finally situated and by 12:01 I was out cold for a power nap, tired and defeated by my overly confident ego's creation.
That evening was not what I was hoping for. Most trips when I camped you'd sit around a fire and roast hot dogs and marshmallows while taking turns talking about miscellaneous topics. Being in the San Jacinto wilderness area however meant no wood fires, only propane canisters to boil water, a little something foreign and disappointing to me.
As I awoke from the beginning of the stomach pains brought on by the altitude sickness, I forced myself to eat some rehydrated-dehydrated lasagna. Walking down to the valley my friends and I talked about random stories we had experienced on past camping trips. A small group of deer were grazing in the meadow staying a fine distance away, but never turning their backs to us. This went on for a time until I finally returned to my catatonic state in my tent in hopes of feeling better with some food and rest.
It wasn't until roughly 2am when I awoke to relieve myself that I started to realize what I was really doing. I walked maybe 20 yards away from camp behind a large set of boulders and looked up and my jaw dropped.
Above me sat the universe and all its beauty; a million shining stars glittering brighter than I had seen in a long time. This is when it really sunk in. I was climbing a mountain. I was doing something more than sitting on my phone or watching TV at home, and I was happy in this moment. I felt grateful for my being right there in that very spot. I couldn't help but reflect on my life while I stood there. Something about a giant night's sky makes you feel small again, helps you put something you may have found too large to handle in perspective. I watched the sky for a while alone, counting a couple stars that flew by, and eventually went back to sleep refreshed and content with the world. Blessed.
The next morning we all got up, made some breakfast, and left camp all smiles. Summit came quick that day, all of us feeling rested from a good nights sleep. Being able to look down from summit and see Palm Springs, all the IE, Idyllwild, and the rivaling summit of Mt. San Gorgonio was breathtaking, and again I felt good. Really good! Some people talk of runners high, where you almost have an out of body experience while running, and nothing hurts, your breath is steady, and you feel happy. I wouldn't call what we were feeling that, I would call this a hikers high. The main difference is I was present in the moment. I felt everything, heard, saw, smelled the environment.
None of us said a word for a long time. We just sat there looking at the city below, breathing it in with thin air and deep breaths. We felt accomplishment. This was something you could see. You saw where you started, and you walked your ass all the way up. The world below was almost unimaginable. Sitting there at over 10,800ft, you had no worries, you had no cares, you just felt good. I know I felt lucky, not to be in the city among the chaos.
The rest of the trip got better and better. That night we stayed up late telling stories, cracking jokes, and even trying to hunt down the unknown provider of heavy foot steps that ran right past us in the dark. Dan is still pretty convinced it was Bigfoot, and after reading some native history of the area I might be convinced myself, but maybe for the fun of the moment.
The next morning, we stank, but we stank of victory. Three days with out a shower will do a lot too your body, especially after climbing a mountain, and we were ready to go home. We laughed as our notable presence scared off the fresh foreign tourists coming up the tram from below for their business banquets. We waited our turn down, all smiles from our accomplishment of a good hike and already planning more.
Since then I have done nothing to stop my "use". I have since climbed Mt. San Gorgonio, Southern California's highest peak, begun other activities such as mountain biking, surfing, snow boarding, etc., and plan on only enhancing my habit with the eventual plan to hike the John Muir Trail. My health has only improved, understanding and knowledge broadened, and appreciation and a healthy beard grown. I am grateful for what I have and what I've seen in many ways I couldn't have if I had not started living this life style.
While living in the current aspect of our world allows for easy living with technology and society standards, there is a world in our backyards many are unaware of. It holds beauty no camera could ever fully capture, wilderness dreams could never replicate, and moments waiting to be experienced. If I could say one thing from this I'd say get out more, and plan well for the love of God. We need to put the phones down and look at what is around us. We need to feel accomplishment and struggle through tough areas to get there. We need to be willing to try something new despite being scared to begin.
My life will forever be one of addiction to adventure and wilderness. I plan to always be a modern outdoorsman, and that will never change. Find your passion.
Nicholas Charles Lanham
aka Lumberjack Nick
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