First things first, no one likes a quitter. Seriously. Don’t use this blog post as an excuse to give up on something you really should finish. For further instruction on how to use this blog, see my introduction.
There are several catchy phrases used to deter quitting behavior, the most popular of which is probably, “quitters never win!” Really though, I’ve heard that one so many times on the playground that the voice in my head as I think, “quitters never win!” is an 8-year-old boy with a slightly Southern accent and a little too much sass for his own good (spoiler alert: it’s my own 8-year-old voice).
While that phrase does an excellent job of quitter-shaming, I must regretfully say that my problem of sticking things out till the bitter (like, 90% cacao bitter) end comes from my parents. I can only imagine how clever my father or grandfather or great-grandfather felt when he coined the term “Kings don’t quit.” Real kings don’t quit, they rule or they die. The problem here is that while my name is King, my choice really isn’t finishing this game of Monopoly or death.
Quitting has now been ingrained in my psyche as something personal. Because I am a King, I cannot quit. Kings are above quitting. Kings persevere till the end. Kings stay in unhealthy relationships too long because quitting would be admitting that we don’t have all of our shit together… Alright, that last one might just be me [clears throat].
I’m about to share a story about myself, and before you start thinking, ‘Gah, this guy’s an idiot,’ let me beat you to it: This is one of the dumbest series of choices of my life, and I could have (maybe even should have) died. To be perfectly honest though, the only thing keeping this from being a major motion picture is the fact that I’m self-aware enough to acknowledge that I totally had this coming. And I’m way too awkward of a human being for a drama to be made out of any part of my life. But, this could easily have been [movie trailer voice guy:] the story of a young geologist struggling to survive. A solo mountain trek turns sour due to poorly marked trails and fierce battles with the elements in… Man On A Mountain. [OK, you can use your normal reading voice again:] Instead, this is the fourth entry in a blog so vaguely titled I can write about almost anything as long as there was some decision I made along the way. Anyway, I feel like I’ve gone a little tangent. Let’s get to the story.
Intro:
The summer after my senior year of college, I had to go through summer geology field camp. For me, this was done in around 6 weeks in New Mexico and Colorado. It was incredibly challenging but also very fun, and the scenery was beautiful. Because of the challenging nature of field camp, we weren’t given much free time other than a two day period about three weeks in. I was determined to make the most of it.
For most of my friends at field camp, ‘making the most’ of a two day break meant ‘drinking’ (hey, it was college). I, however, was determined to do something I couldn’t do at home. Climbing the 12,835 ft peak behind the lodge where we were staying fit that description. I completed this task, but there were several warnings that popped up that should have been enough to cause me to quit. I ignored all of them. Let’s get started!
Warning #1:
My first warning was the night before I planned to leave for my hike. A couple of people had expressed interest in going with me, so I was going to check in on them to make sure they’d be ready in the morning. Unfortunately, I was met by my friends’ glazed-over expressions as they attempted to explain that they “weren’t that drunk” and could totally meet up the next morning. I think I remember stepping over one of them in the hallway as I left. It looked like I was going to be hiking alone. And, as this excursion would progress, it would become apparent that someone else’s judgment skills would have been pretty handy.
Warning #2:
That fateful morning my plan was simple. Wake up before sunrise, take a pic of the trail map in the lobby of the lodge, and head out. Unfortunately, as I reached for the door to the lobby and turned the knob, nothing happened. They had locked the lobby. I was suddenly faced with a dilemma: go back to bed and wait till they opened 3 hours later, or trust that I had studied the map carefully enough in the previous several days to know where to go. I mean, I knew the trail number that I needed to use, and as long as I kept going up I had to eventually come to the top of the mountain, right? Map shmap I was going on an adventure! (I’m shaking my head in disgust with myself as I’m writing this)
Warning #3:
If you’re easily grossed out, just move on to #4. Seriously, last chance. … Okay! Congratulations on not being a wimp!
Now, I’ve been hiking several times in my life, and possibly the most important thing to do is keep yourself hydrated. Its easy enough if you carry plenty of water, which I did. Yet, I did not anticipate what would happen about an hour into my hike up the mountain. It was just as the sun was rising that I was hit with an intense intestinal cramp. I am one who is not ashamed to say that I’ve taken several shits in the woods, but I am one to say that I’d really prefer not to if I can help it. I went along for several minutes trying to convince my body that we could wait:
Me: Shut up, we can do this. Just wait till we get home.
My intestine: guwwwuuuurggggl
Me: Stop it. JUST STOP.
My intestine: gg-grfrunchllurnriiiiiiightnow
I then gave up my battle and dug a hole. I’m not sure I can properly describe what came out of me at that moment, but imagine your worst Port-a-potty experience, then dig a hole in remote New Mexico and bury that experience in the hole. It was loud, it was wet, and it was horrendous. Oh yeah, and IT HAPPENED TWO MORE TIMES BEFORE LUNCH. Thankfully, for reasons I still don’t fully comprehend, I brought enough toilet paper along to handle that output. Anyway, at this point, the proper response would have been to realize that, despite having brought plenty of water for a normal hike, I had just dispelled a literal shitload of water and was probably dealing with some weak form of food poisoning. I should have gone back. But, if I had gone back after three warnings, I would be using a baseball strikeout metaphor for this blog. And I wouldn’t have just told people to skip to #4. So you know what happened.
Warning #4
This warning could also be listed as 2.1 or 2a or something like that. Because, when you are going from the map in your head, you don’t always exactly remember that there are three forks in the road and you’re supposed to go left, right, left and not left, left, right. And maybe the US Forest Service doesn’t label their trails worth a hill of beans and leaves you scratching your head. And maybe you should have turned back and followed the trail you knew would lead you to safety instead of just haphazardly heading up the trail that led the most uphill.
The Sign or Warning #5
I should be clear: there was a point where I was genuinely going to turn around. The previous warnings had all started to eat at my conscience. I decided that I would eat lunch, then head back to the lodge. However, as I sat down to eat, I looked up and saw something… A SIGN!! It was the only sign I saw the entire hike (both literally and figuratively). While I was only 6 miles from the trailhead (I had taken a much more circuitous route to get to the sign due to some wrong turns), I was also only 4 miles from the peak. Now, a dumb person would have been excited that the peak was closer than the trailhead. I was smarter than that. I realized that I would have to go to the summit and return to the sign, meaning that the trip to the peak would actually be 8 miles. However, in hindsight I am even smarter and realize that not only would a trip to the peak be 8 miles, I would also still have to trek the 6 miles to the trailhead. My decision was not 6 miles to failure or 8 miles to success, it was 6 miles to safety or 14 miles of trail with death imminent along the way. If you ever plan to hike by yourself, make sure you can perform elementary school mathematics.
Warning #6
The trail I was using to reach Jicarita Peak was barely open at the time that I left. That meant that there were still several snow banks along the trail. Before I reached the sign, there had been snow banks, but after the sign the snowbanks were much more rampant. Also, there were several rock fields the trail would pass through as well. These made navigating difficult and the trail very uneasy to follow. And if you can’t find the trail, you’re lost.
I apologize for the poor quality of my pictures. My camera had died a few weeks earlier at the very beginning of field camp, so I was reduced to using my phone’s poor camera. But I digress.
I am proud to say that I made it to the crest of Jicarita Peak. But, while that’s impressive, I still had to make it back down.
The Descent
Within an hour of descent, all of my warnings came back to haunt me. I ran out of water, having to refill by stuffing every container full of snow from the snow banks. Between the dehydration and altitude, I was left slightly delirious – to the point where it didn’t matter that I’d looked at a map before I left or even that I’d just seen a sign 4 miles ago along the ridge. Somewhere over a rock pile or snowbank I lost the trail. Not to worry though, I would just follow in the general direction of the trail and hope I’d come across it again.
I was just walking along enjoying the scenery and still diligently watching for signs of the trail (for probably close to an hour) when I noticed something very peculiar: The sun was setting in the east. Luckily, I was not so delirious that I thought this was just the sun playing a practical joke. I quickly oriented myself to the cardinal directions, and with my knowledge that the trail, or at least the highway, was to the northeast, I chose to make a beeline in that direction.
It took me another 4 hours of hiking through fallen trees (dear lord that is the most torturous, monotonous and slow hiking of all time – straddle tree, swing leg over, walk two steps, repeat x 1000) and along rushing mountain streams, but I finally came to a clearing with a campsite AND A TRAIL!!! I quickly followed the trail back to the highway, but I was still miles away from the lodge.
Time to try hitch hiking for the first time ever.
As I walked along the road toward the lodge, I held out my thumb and prayed I wouldn’t be killed… or die of exhaustion. Several cars drove past. Then a small, old Dodge pickup drove past. It stopped what seemed like 5 football fields ahead of me, and the driver got out and waved to me. Despite being completely and utterly exhausted, I ran to the truck.
I was met by an old, cane-wielding Native American man.
Me: Is there any way I can get a ride to Sipapu Lodge? Are you going by there?
Man: Well, my grandson is riding with me in the cab, but you can ride in the back if you want. We’ll be going right by there.
Me: [looks in back of truck]
Several hundred pieces of firewood were stacked in the truck, almost to the top of the cab. What the heck.
Me: Sure! Thanks so much!
It was there that I rode, on top of the firewood, being pelted by what seemed like every bug in the state of New Mexico, in the back of a late ’80s Dodge pickup.
I made it back after 15 hours, ultimately almost 30 miles of hiking/hitch hiking, and 4600 feet difference in elevation.
Sometimes, decisions have to be made incrementally. While every individual decision I made didn’t seem like a huge deal, overall they almost killed me. It’s important in these situations to keep the big picture in mind – you may not have one great reason to give up, but if you have 6 good reasons, maybe that’s enough.
Decisions, Decisions... 