The tougher the trail, the sweeter the arrival

Last night, Scotty and I found ourselves reflecting on our recent trip to John Muir Cabin last Saturday and how frustrating and tough the hike had been. It was so difficult, that at the time we both swore never again would we try to hike a trail in those conditions. Of course, it started out benignly enough at sea level...

Trailhead: May 11, 2013

We'd started out toward the cabin much later in the day than usual at around 6 p.m., but with daylight lasting until around 9 p.m. this time of year (hard to believe the summer solstice is only just over a month away!), we figured we had more than enough time to get there. But then conditions vary by elevation and can change quickly and unexpectedly in the mountains, even mountains well-known.

As dusk and fog rolled in over the mountain trail, we trudged along in near darkness, our packs heavily laden with firewood, food, water, and at least a few completely unnecessary creature comforts. This did nothing to help with the trek, pushing us deeper into the drifts that still covered the alpine meadows.

Here we were, on a Saturday evening, falling thigh-deep in wet snow just to get to a Forest Service cabin to spend the night. It seemed ridiculous to be out there when we could be curled up at home watching a movie or chatting over a cozy meal.

"I promise you," I shouted in Scotty's direction, as I tried not fall over in the snow. "I will not reserve any more cabins from early December through the end of May. I thought this *@%# snow would be gone by now!"

"We just need snowshoes. This is stupid." He grumbled in answer. (Yep, six winters of hiking here with no snow shoes... we must be in denial. Or cheap. Probably both.)

At a few points the trail wasn't immediately clear because of the snow drifts, but blue trail markers nailed to trees kept us on course.

 (This marker is en route to Peterson Lake Cabin, but you get the point.)

After three hours we made it, too exhausted to cheer, but relieved to have made it before it really got dark. Inside the cabin, we stripped off our wet clothes, cranked on the propane-fired heater, and unpacked our sleeping bags and mattress pads. Scotty started the fire (his job), and it's crackling warmth heated the place up so much we had to turn the other heater off eventually.

Dinner consisted of pan-fried king salmon that Scotty had pre-cooked at home, with Mary Jane's Farm backpacker alfredo pasta. Everything tastes better when backpacking, but this really was a good meal. Even people who claim to not like fish usually like fresh Alaska salmon.

 Cooking breakfast the next morning

My cell phone still worked and I'd be lying if I said I didn't look at it a bit (damn addictive technology). But before going to bed, I also got out my new book and- while Scotty slept- read by candlelight for at least an hour. The only sound was the rushing of the wind as it swept the surrounding meadow and soft breath of my loved one beside me. More days should end so peacefully.

That night we both slept well, tucked away in the cabin surrounded by trees and winter. On mountains, only the strong and the lucky survive. I know that night I felt like both.

The next morning the sun came out and we cooked breakfast, cleaned and packed. Going down the mountain is so much easier than going up, even in those conditions. When you're falling frequently, it helps to have gravity on your side! (Our shoe spikes also helped.)

 

It's easy to smile about the hike now, to diminish its difficulties. But when Scotty and I reflected on it and other difficult hikes we've taken, those somehow have ended up being the ones we remember most and when we experienced the most joy at the end.

Ptarmigan!

It's more than simple relief: perhaps a combination of the rush a physical challenge brings, along with the emotional relief that we made it through together and can now relax and enjoy the reward. There are a lot of things in life that are like this. Being on a trail is just one way I'm reminded to remember the good, let go of the bad, and keep on going.

In hiking- and in life- sometimes the tougher the trail, the sweeter the arrival.*

*This is not to say that you should book a cabin in Alaska in the winter without skis or snowshoes. Unless you're a masochist. Then, have at it! And bring good food.
**This is the second hike like this we've done in the past month. The first was to Peterson Lake Cabin. You can see those pictures here {coming soon}.