Editor’s note: We’re looking for a variety of young voices to contribute to “Hits Different.” If you’d like to write a commentary, send it to Area Editor Jason Hennington at jason.hennington@ granitemediapartners.com.
Part 2 of Dannah’s column continues her tale about perseverance and hiking with her family … The trek to the lower lake was well-marked and easy to follow, introducing a series of switchbacks. To us experienced hikers, this was child’s play. We quickly spotted a well-trodden path that led off the main trail, allowing us to go straight up the cliff to avoid tedious switchbacks. We took it, and successfully scrambled up the mountain to meet in the center of the main trail once again. The trail was almost too predictable.
We continued on, taking shortcuts. For us, dangerously scrambling a few feet up the mountain was well worth it since it allowed us to avoid walking 10 extra feet on a slight incline. We came to yet another clearly marked shortcut, and when we looked up to see where it led, there was no end in sight. We decided to try it anyway. Unbeknownst to us, this was where the switchbacks ended. The “wellmarked shortcut” turned into a sheer scramble up the side of the mountain taking nearly 15 minutes. As we grasped tree roots and hoisted ourselves up, the shortcut became harder to follow. We found ourselves in dense undergrowth, forced to trace our way back to the main trailhead.
Let’s just say we learned our lesson about shortcuts after losing nearly half an hour.
When we finally made it to the lower lake, it exceeded all our expectations. The views were stunning, and even I questioned whether the journey to the upper lake would be worth it as we sat eating our lunch. As my dad and brother baited the fishing poles, I began to feel dizzy and dehydrated. They cast repeatedly, having no luck. According to my dad, one of the main reasons we do these killer-lake hikes is to catch fish. My dad considers this technique easier than “normal fishing” because the fish up at the mountain lakes practically never get fished. Maybe we had an off day, or the bait was expired, but the fish didn’t bite. To say my dad was bitter would be an understatement. We decided right then and there we were going to make it to the upper lake because we “weren’t failures.”
By then it was nearly 2 p.m. and the estimated time to reach the upper lake was about three hours. We began hiking, with me still feeling slightly dizzy. The trail starting from the lower lake turned muddy, forcing us to wade through swampy terrain. We continued hiking for nearly an hour, eventually coming upon a river crossing with a felled tree acting as a makeshift bridge. On the opposite bank was a fellow hiker. He must have been in his 60s, and we decided to rest and visit. When we asked him how long util we reached our destination, he responded, “Twoand- a-half hours.”That sure took the wind out of our sails. It turned out we had seriously underestimated our arrival time. When the other hiker left, massive backpack in tow, we sat and deliberated. Should we continue to the top? Or should we turn around now?
We ended up turning around. We quit. By definition, we were failures. But maybe not.
Knowing one’s limits, in my opinion, is almost as important as a good work ethic. If we had continued up the mountain, we would have had to turn around immediately at the upper lake (no fishing), and it would have required us to hike back to the start of the trail in near darkness. Dusk was approaching quickly, and with a thick covering of foliage overhead, the situation could have become perilous.
We were disappointed we were unable to make it to the upper lake, but we chose to look at the positives. Because we made a smart decision and acknowledged our limits, we still saw the beautiful lower lake, and enjoyed bonding.
When striving to reach a goal, it is important to avoid “tunnel vision” and be unable to see limitations and drawbacks. Sometimes the real successes are the lessons you learn about yourself and others along the way.
