I don’t like being shut down by an obstacle.
It stabs at the ego.
So every time I fail to conquer the obstacle in front of me, I’m left with an unsettled feeling.
Could I have tried harder?
Could I have been smarter?
It’s easy to get sucked into these thoughts. It’s easy to be hard on myself, to sink into feelings and ideas that if only I had given it another shot, I could’ve made it to the top.
Deep thoughts… the kind that come to an individual out on her own, facing the various obstacles present in these mighty mountains.
Deep thoughts over an itty bitty loaf of sugary scree somewhere remote in the San Juan Mountains.
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I’m staring off at a little peak above me. It wouldn’t stand out – it’s really quite small – except for color and texture are nothing like the peaks that surround the basin.
The basin. Highland Mary Lakes, to be exact.
I’m down here, staring up at the peaks I was up on earlier this morning.
From here, Sugarloaf is a small peak, much shorter than those around it.
But I didn’t know that earlier today.
Earlier today I set off without much planned – just the knowledge that two trails took off from the trailhead at which I had camped. I had already followed the left trail – to Mary Lakes – twice (one of those trips being the previous night).
And, I knew that if I followed the trail to the right, I’d hit Spencer Basin, and from there, there was access to a couple of ridgelines and a number of peaks. From one of those ridgelines, I could potentially summit Sugarloaf Peak, whatever that was.
It wasn’t a fully detailed plan, but no matter. I had some ideas, I had a backpack full of water and some snacks, and my shoes were tied.
I was ready. For what, exactly, I wasn’t sure. But whatever it was, I’d be there for it.
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Sugarloaf
Spencer Basin to Sugarloaf Peak – hat’s what the trail description had read, and that’s what formed the base of my loose plan.
I arrived in Spencer Basin just after sunrise, and instantly I was a bit disoriented. I saw several peaks surrounding me but none of them aligned with the trail description.
By the time I made it to the ridge I understood why. There were many mighty peaks around me, but Sugarloaf had been hidden. It was, after all, quite small.
I instantly knew why it was called Sugarloaf. Its grainy choss covered the peak, making the ascent look nothing like fun. However, I had come all the way up to the saddle and there was a peak to my right. Therefore I would attempt it.
Instant regrets. Steep scree is no fun, and being out alone left me a wee bit terrified. I tried a couple of different times doing my best to pick different lines up the mountain. Nothing worked. Everything was so loose. In a couple of different moments, the entirety of the ground moved below me.
I had to make a call. This wasn’t safe. I decided to call it quits and head down.
This peak looked mighty, and it had bested me.
If only I knew, in that moment, how it was really just a tiny speck along an otherwise tall and majestic ridge line capped with high peaks – a ridgeline I would spend the next hours running, topping out on a peak high above while soaking in some of the most incredible views I’ve witnessed so far.
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Sitting where I am now, a dozen miles and one hell of a journey later – I’m staring up at Sugarloaf, and I’m a tad frustrated for the fact that the right line – the north side – of Sugarloaf is far steeper than the left
That extra bit of steepness is what sent the ground below my feet shifting far too perilously. Maybe I should’ve tried to go up and around the other side
Maybe an attempt up that left side would’ve gotten me to the top.
But then I look just to the left, and a wide grin spreads across my face.
There was no need to battle my way up sugarloaf! The decision to turn around and head back down had been the right one.
For just the left, the trail continued, and from there, an incredible journey continued, one that led to some even higher highs and some of the most spectacular views of my life.
The decision to turn around before the summit of sugarloaf kept me safe and led me onward to an unbelievable and incredible day.
So why did looking at Sugarloaf, standing up there high above me, leave me with an unsettled feeling?
Read on to Part 2 and that journey…
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Reflections
A couple years back, I found myself deep into stoic philosophy. Along with Ryan Holiday’s “The Obstacle is the Way” and some other books and podcasts aligned with this ancient philosophy, I found myself resonating fully with the idea that the best path through life is the hard and focused work that is taking on the obstacles in front of you.
It’s about the obstacle right in front of you. It’s about taking that one on fully.
That’s a big piece of why I love climbing mountains. Doing what it takes to reach the top – while soaking in the fantastic scenery – is what sets my heart afire.
That’s the path to success and fulfillment.
That, in part, is why whenever I start a journey to the top of a mountain I finish it (as long as I can safely do so).
But what happens when you get shut down? And what happens when, in getting shut down, you risk your very own safety?
At what point do you call it quits?
At what point do you choose another path?
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Of course, there’s no clear answer to this question. Which is why I find it a particularly interesting one to continue to attempt to answer.
As for those answers – you can find pieces of them from the outside – from others who have lived through experiences and come out the other side to tell you how to push through.
Or, perhaps you find answers from individuals who pushed too hard and suffered serious consequences because of it.
Answers that come from the outside are always useful.
However, what I have found to be most important is this: that whatever you take on in life, you do so with a serious intention to stay clearly tuned in with you own self – to listen to those fears and other feelings that arise within you. To look clearly at what they mean.
And to respond with action that will lead you forward in your own way.
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Pushing through fears to summit a peak or complete a hard climb is something that has brought me the greatest sense of fulfillment of my life, and I’m honored to be able to spend so much time with other individuals who share the same belief – that it’s in pushing through those difficult and scary moments that the brightest path forward exists.
That’s why turning around on Sugarloaf bothers me so deeply.
But, once again, there’s another side.
That in the moment, while standing (as carefully as possible) on the steep and loose mountainside, I looked out and saw a better way to spend my precious time that day.
It’s a constant dance, one I will continue to work through.
Often looking for answers from those around.
Always taking care to look clearly in at my own self for the final answer.
That, at least, is how I live a life chasing upward slopes.
