Top of the World, The Sun Above Us

I've lived in Utah for my entire life. When I moved to Orem, I fell in love with Mount Timpanogos. I've a great view of the mountain right out my kitchen door, and more times than I can count, I've sat out on my back porch looking at it. Sometimes, storm clouds come pouring right over its top. When the shrubby little trees on the western face change colors in the fall, the mountain looks bruised. And in the winter, sometimes you can see the snow blowing right off the face. I've studied the mountain from all seasons and in plenty of moods. Even, sometimes, in the dark, on nights when I couldn't sleep or even see the mountain; then it is like a silent companion, dark and strong and always reliable.

But I've never hiked to the top. I've always wanted to. Every summer for the past ten years or so, I've said "this is the summer I climb Timp." But then I'd get pregnant. Or I'd be busy with school, or then with more school, or with teaching. One summer I was training for a marathon. Another I had knee issues. But this summer? FInally I decided: this was the summer. So this weekend, Becky and I had our hiking Timp adventure.

This isn't a casual hike. It's 7.38 miles to the saddle, and you gain 7,370 feet in altitude. We knew it would take all day, so we were on the trail at exactly 7:00. I'd been so full of anticipation the night before, I couldn't sleep. And the anticipation was definitely well-founded. Because this hike was...well, "amazing," "awesome," "fantastic," or "incredible" might come close. Winding through oaks and pines, across waterfalls, around cirques carved by ancient glaciers. Past a snow cave and the path of an avalanche, still scattered with trees ripped from their roots. Through meadows filled with wildflowers. Miles and miles of switchbacks. And then up, past the tree line, to the saddle, up the staircase and the chimney until we finally made it: 11,752 feet.

When you get Becky and me together, we talk. Non stop. For the five hours it took us to make it to the summit, we gabbed: literature, religion, philosophy, marriage, adolescent histories. Somewhere along the trail, one of us confessed to the other that in addition to water, granola bars, trailmix, and peanut-butter-sandwich variations (mine had a Nutella addition, hers had honey), she was carrying her notebook in her backpack. And a pen. The other one admitted the same thing. So when we got to the top, after we'd caught our breath, called Kendell on my cell phone to tell him we'd made it to the summit, and admired the amazing view of Utah Valley, we both dug out our notebooks and wrote. Right there on the top of the world (or the third closest you can get in Utah), at noon with the sun right above us, we wrote. If that's not sisterly bonding, I don't know what is!

Today, two days later, I'm still sore. Shoulders, pecs, back, hip flexors: my muscles complain every time I move. Somehow I made two enormous blisters between my big toe and the next one over on my left foot. And I'm sunburned, even though I put sunscreen on and borrowed Becky's hat for part of the way. But none of my various aches matter. Today, I stood on my back porch and looked at my mountain with a different perspective. I traced a visual path of the hardest part of the trail, from the saddle to the summit. I looked at the austere western face of the mountain and could visualize the voluptuous crags of its eastern back, full of stony peaks, verdant meadows, running water. I want to put into words what I learned from our 9+ hour hike. Some might call it "conquering" the mountain (in fact, I did hear several people at the summit use just that word). To me, it wasn't about overcoming something or doing it just for the challenge. Instead, it was about listening to the mountain in a different way. Learning it with more than just my eyes---learning it with my legs, breath, lungs, shoulders, toes, elbows, fingertips, heartbeat, blood, fear, voice, laughter. Becky would say it's my inner, hidden hippie coming out. But it's more. I think what I learned was to remember how everything has layers, and that with some effort, uncovering those other dimensions makes relationships more complex.

(That's Becky on the left, me on the right, and if she didn't have her hat on you could see that I'm not the only one with the enormously high forehead.) Tomorrow: the Story of The Harrowing Ascent Down the Snowfield from Hell (or, We Discover that Snowballs Indeed Do Stand a Chance in Hell).

Comments

[Adrienne]

WOW, what an adventure!

[kelly edgerton]

Yes! You did it. After all these years wanting it to happen, it finally happened. YAY YOU, and yay Becky too. I love that your sister had the desire to reach this dream with you. And the notebooks, oh my heck. I can't believe ya'll brought notebooks. You were inspired to do that. And yeah, very much a bonding moment - it choked me up when I read that part. Can't wait to see more pictures. I am just so very happy for you. Congratulations on reaching this goal and achieving this longtime dream.

[Becca]

This is an awesome post--I felt like I was right there with you as you reached the summit. YAY for you!

xoxo.

[Heather D. White]

Sounds like an AWESOME day!!!! What a blessing to have friends like Becky, isn't it? Love that not only you have a TON to chat about, but that you both brought your notebooks. So cool that you had time to just sit and write together. Love that!! Friends like that are priceless...and LOL about the high forehead.

[Liz Ness]

It is when I've achieved something difficult and monumental (like your climb) that I realize just what I can do; that human will and ability is such a blessing and so awesome! Finally, the accomplishment reminds me that I am made to do so much more than I've realized.

[ElizabethW]

YOU GO GIRL!