I am seated on a sturdy rock, which feels far more secure than the ones I have climbed to arrive at this peaceful place atop a majestic mountain in Southern Idaho. My husband, Bill and I have just summited Silver Lake on a two-hour climb; I am already dreading the descent, which surely will involve more rock climbing.
Just fifteen minutes ago, I nearly slid down the mountain after struggling to gain my footing on the rugged terrain. Then, a few moments later, I lost sight of Bill after becoming distracted by a book on my phone that I had stopped to read. Despite these hurdles, we made it to the top in one piece and there is triumph in that.
Even more triumphant is the fact that we managed not to kill each other on the way up the mountain. During long hikes, which we do often during the summer months, my mind meanders and I bring up tough topics that Bill would rather not discuss.
“Can’t you appreciate the scenery?” He pleads. “Why must you always criticize me when I am trying to enjoy nature with you?”
“There is only so much I can focus on the rippling waters,” I retort. “We have to solve the issue with your dad; we need to figure out how to help your mom.”
The list of tasks goes on.
Bill thinks that these human issues can wait, as he prefers to soak in the sights and sounds. Although my appreciation for the natural world runs deep, I cannot help but feel distracted by the endless preoccupations of human beings and their complex relationships. Furthermore, as someone always fretting about the future, I struggle to stay within the moment.
As I sit on the sturdy rock atop the mountain, I begin to write this story. Bill takes photographs from every angle of the lake, as birds chirp melodically and forceful winds blow. Having stopped to read on the hike up, I now feel a need to compose my story.
Two sentences in, I stop writing and we begin our descent, which starts to feel like a deep dive down the mountain. The climb down seems so much worse than the ascent, as my knees cave in and I struggle to find my footing.
“How would Cheryl Strayed handle a moment like this one?” I ponder about the acclaimed author of Wild who successfully hiked solo the Pacific Crest Trail and then shared her story through a memorable memoir.
Strayed’s story has captivated me from day one, and I often find inspiration from her words of wisdom about survival and perseverance. “I was amazed that what I needed to survive could be carried on my back. And, most surprisingly of all, that I could carry it.”
Strayed carried a ton of baggage, both physical and emotional, throughout her hike on the Pacific Coast Trail. On this journey, she somehow finds freedom from it all, and she arrives at a profound place of healing through self-discovery.
My four-hour journey through the Idaho Mountains pales in comparison to Strayed’s story, but reflecting on Wild during my downhill climb empowers me to create narrative. I soak in every sight, sound, and smell which allows me to paint a picture with words in my mind; this painting has made its way to the page in the form of the piece you now read.
This story originates on the mountaintop, but it really crystallized on the descent. And I have to give Miley Cyrus credit, as her lyrics echoed in my mind.
“Ain’t about how fast I get there
Ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side
It’s the climb.”
These climbs often reawaken me to the firm foundation of family, motherhood, and my marriage while hikes with Bill deepen my desire to write and secure my footing as a storyteller.
About the Author:
Cara Erdheim Kilgallen is a writer who connected through Prose Playground and a common Idaho bond!