on climbing mountains with friends

life is pure process

Canmore, Alberta 

July 9, 2021

3:00am.

An alarm in the Airbnb starts blaring Calvin Harris’ ‘By Your Side’. 

I startle awake after just a few hours of sleep. It takes me a few bewildered seconds to remember why on earth I’m waking up so early.

I swing my legs over the bunk bed and throw on my hiking clothes, as my four friends rouse and rise to do the same, in a sleep-deprived scramble. I fill my Nalgene, pack my bag with a single Clif Bar and step out—the cold of the night air like a splash of water on my face. 

We drive through the sleepy streets of the eerily empty mountain-rimmed town and venture into the rugged outskirts, winding through a narrow gravel road toward the trailhead, car headlights piercing the pitch black.

3:30am.

‘Here we are.’ 

I get out and flip on my flashlight. The sky above is filled with crisp and glittering stars. After a few minutes of searching for the start of the trail, antsy to start, we see something that looks like a path and start walking. 

We know we have to go up.

Less than 12 hours before, my friends and I decided it would “be cool” to do a sunrise hike, summiting a mountain to watch the sun emerge from the East.

The East End of Mount Rundle (“Eeyore” as the locals call it) is a challenging, technical hike. People are recommended to have hiking boots, poles, gloves, and a helmet. I had worn-out running shoes.

The trail gets steep right away and doesn’t let up. It’s rugged and rocky, laced with roots and barricaded by branches. Already, my legs are burning and my lungs are bursting. It’s a chilly July morning but I throw my vest in my bag to cool off as sweat beads on my forehead.

I want to slow down and take a breather but we’re on a tight schedule. 

The sun won’t wait.

4:00am.

Immersed in thick forest, surroundings draped in the blanket of night, I can only see a few feet ahead. A grizzly bear could be close. Watching. Waiting. Perhaps chuckling in amusement at our stupidity. Being with friends puts my mind at ease, but I still shine my flashlight around every few minutes. Just in case. 

With no markings, I’m doubtful we’re on a proper trail. Or we’ll make it to the top in time. The temptation to turn back twists itself around my brain. 

4:30am.

The path suddenly stops in front of a rock wall that reaches over my head. There’s no way around. Up we go. I pass my flashlight to my friend, grab two handholds, then a fistful of roots, and hoist myself up. 

The trail stays steep. Doubting it will ever flatten, I climb each cliff without anticipation and start up the next cliff without disappointment. 

Seconds and minutes and hours begin to blur, becoming indistinguishable. 

6:30am.

We finally come above the treeline into a clearing. The summit looks to be ahead to the right, surprisingly within reach. As we trek towards it, getting closer and closer, the ridgeline of the mountain banks out and climbs to the left. 

My mind is hit with a wave of confusion which slowly boils to sheer disbelief (with a sprinkle of self-pity).

‘Here we are… and there’s the summit’ as I point far off to the left.

We’re way off the path. 

Dusk is melding into dawn, as the stars begin to fade across the light purple sky. I take a deep breath and switch off my flashlight. 

I start to pick my way over a steep stretch of loose rock, my gripless shoes slipping and sliding. Halfway across I lose my balance but catch myself at the last second, sending stones tumbling down off the cliff’s edge below. My hands are now dusty and cut but it feels like a small price to pay.

After a few tense minutes, I make it across and join the main trail. It snakes up another steep stretch to the summit, the real summit, now within sight. I keep climbing, relying purely on excitement and adrenaline, all fatigue flushed from my system. 

The final stretch hugs the side of a carved cliffside, with a few flat feet of trail before a steep dropoff. But I’m too close and too tired to care. 

I trudge on and arrive at the final rock ledge. I find a foothold and a friend reaches down to offer a hand and helps me up.

7:15am.

‘Here we are.’ 

The summit of Eeyore. 2,545m in elevation. 

not shot on my stunning iPhone 8

The clouds feel close. Canmore looks like a replica town below, a ribbon of river running through it. Cold wind whips by and I put back on my warm clothes. 

We made it in time. 

A wave of relief and exhaustion washes over me. Grinning at how undeniably unprepared I was, but astonished I actually summited a mountain, I sling off my pack and sit down. My shoulders begin to unknot as I huddle together with my friends on a rocky ledge, now as comfortable as a couch, as the distant sky begins to swell with mellow reds and oranges, teasing the arrival of the spectacle to come.

oooh…ahhh

I watch as the curtains of the heavens open to a golden dawn, and savor the silence, breathless with wonder. The sun creeps into view, light spilling over the peaks of the distant silhouetted mountains, warming us with its glow. The pink mist draped along the horizon melts into flaming gold. 

The rising sun and the growing warmth of the day seem infinitely precious.

see the clouds change colour?

Two years later, this story has been told many times in my friend group.

The sunrise was beautiful, but we mostly talk about the hike: how Calvin Harris should never be used as an alarm, how we took a goat path on the way up, how terrible my running shoes were. 

Once I got to the summit, despite the intense beauty all around me, I was a bit sad it was over. I wished I slowed down, looked around, took more deep breaths. Appreciated the climb more, as a rite of passage to savor, instead of a burden to bear.

As my Dad tells me, “You have to enjoy the journey.” Like all life’s most important lessons, it’s unbearably trite but eternally true. 

Joseph Campbell believed what we are searching for is a journey itself—the experience of being alive.

I have to continually remind myself to enjoy the stage of the journey I’m on. Looking back, I’ve wasted so much energy wanting to speed up, skip to the end. Forgetting the journey isn’t some stale appetizer of life but the hearty main course. And by the time I finish the journey I’m on, I know I won’t want it to end.

Life is pure process. 

And, like a sunrise, the contentment you’ll find at the end is short-lived…

climbing mountains is more fun with friends

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Thank you for reading my writing. I hope this piece made your day a little more beautiful.

If you enjoyed this, you might like my related piece on the dangers of deservance.

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