Some introspection on recent hikes

So, that nasty Gray's Peak hike I wrote about a while ago? I've hiked quite a bit since then, some with Tim and Heather, some with just Heather. Some longer distances, some higher and lower altitudes.

3 or 4 weeks ago, Heather and I hiked Gray's peak again. We made it to the top, it was fantastic. I took tons of pictures. It was truly an epic victory. I fully intended to write about it, because it is a damn good story.

But I just can't. I've already gotten out of the experience everything that I needed, and internally, writing about it adds nothing for me at this point. So instead of writing about it, I thought I'd write about writing about it.

I guess when I started the hiking, I didn't realize it, but I was using the mountains to push my own boundaries and conquer my own limitations. There were some easy hikes, but they were just for fun. Most of the hikes had an unusual challenge of some sort: descending in pitch black after sunset; almost getting hit by lightning (this happened often it seems); being hailed on. And each time, I refused to accept defeat. I pushed myself beyond what I thought I could do, and I left another part of me behind that says "I can't do that" when facing a challenge.

But I feel like I've reached the limitations of these adventures. With Gray's Peak, I did what it took, and I won. And then the week after I camped for 3 days and 3 nights with Tim & Heather at the sand dunes, and again almost got hit by lightning, and got hailed on.

My point is, the last 2 trips were far more epic than our first attempt at Gray's, but I don't feel any different after them. They're just things I did. They were challenging, but not internally.

They were closure.

Friggin thing bit me!

I did another hike today. Round Mountain, a 4.9 mile 3,000ft hike summitting at only 8,450 ft. Tim is away so it was just Heather and I, and our first time hiking without Tim as our guide, but it was nice. It was a very hot day, and fairly steep, and we were going through our water faster than expected; so it was a welcome relief when it started raining about half way up. It was still a warm day so we didn't bother with any protection and just enjoyed being soaked with cool fresh rain water.

At the top there was a pile of rocks with a thick, sturdy iron pipe on it. Unscrewing the end revealed a log book and pen, so we read some of the previous entries ("Nice run, 1 hour 1 second, gotta up the pace!" for example. Wow.) And we left a note there for Tim because he will inevitably re do this mountain at some point.

On the way back down, still in the rain, we came to a wonderful opening on the side of the mountain that looked out over the valley, Thompson river, and Loveland. FYI, Thompson river runs along HWY-34, which goes from Estes Park to Loveland. Anyway, we found different rocks and stood silently in the rain looking out over the valley. I would say how long we stood there, but I can only say it was long enough that I no longer knew if I'd been there 5 minutes or my entire life. I can't really remember the last time I felt so at peace.

Farther down the trail, I felt an incredibly sharp pain on the side of my hand and thought I'd waved my hand into a prickly plant or something, but in the midst of my cursing and waving my hand around in pain I managed to brush off the culprit: Some bastardly little flying bug. He was yellow, so I was afraid I'd been stung by a wasp, but as time passed and there was no swelling I decided it must have just been a horse fly. I had no idea they bit that hard.

So that was our day, excellent for the most part.