i need you so much closer

(july 11)

They say that everything tastes better when you are camping, and while I believe this to be true, I contend that Ken is just a really good cook because the french toast I had was perfect. Warm, soft and chewy on the inside but crispy and sweet on the outer crust. It took me awhile to get out of my sleeping bag though, regardless of what was waiting for me on the other-side of the metal zipper on the tent. After breakfast the crew plowed up the slope to see Peggy's Pond but I stayed at camp. I was apprehensive about the trek back on my foot and decided to save my energy. While I am sure the trip was worth it, when the troops returned telling us everything was frozen over, I was fine with my decision. We took an easy morning but eventually began disassembling the tents and repacking the bags, listening to Parker sing Bon Iver beyond his headphones. We toured through the snow fields once again on our way out but I know that Lydia and Christina we a bit nervous about crossing the Ridge of Death again and I wondered how far up it was. Sooner than later we approached it and with the same technique as before cross over it. Now aware of what we were doing, it seemed even more threatening than before, especially a certain quick pass that provided no real foot support besides slippery snow and I know, for one, that my hands were crammed into the snow along the wall next too me as hard as they could be. At one point Ken stopped and urged me to twist around as the clouds parted and Mt. Daniel was revealed behind the curtain of clouds that just as suddenly covered him back up. Later, far enough ahead of Parker and Ken but enough behind the rest of the crew, I was alone groping the rocks over the pass and that experience enough was exhilarating, but nerve racking as-well as my imagination ran wild on what could happen. I stopped many times to just stare into the view that was smashing into my face. Crawling up and out of this pass was done quickly because each person was busy concentration on the next step, the next hand hold or next weight shift of the pack, but once we pulled out of it and all met at a clearing on some flat rocks overlooking a stunning view of the mountain lakes and peaks above I heard Ken laugh "its all downhill from here.."
It was too. Besides brief stints in low meadows and a few remaining snow fields we spent the next hours leaning back into our packs, thumping down the rocky path at a hunched over angle and taking big steps down like going down a lopsided staircase. The only thing that was clattering through my mind was "We went UP!!! this?" All afternoon it was a steep steep downward slant, switching back in and out of the woods. Each step down was calculated on my bad ankle as it hopelessly drug behind the other, I even avoided putting my weight on it as I slipped on the ice once and plopped right into the snow on my butt like a little kid.
It was wearing in its own way, coming down. Hard on the joints and the back but with each descent the accomplishment of going up was emphasized, and moments when the trail did flatten out and you went pleasantly along, with the pack snug around your shoulders and waist was a reminder of how satisfying hiking really is.
Slowly, the trees got thicker and we passed over the same streams again and again as the trail's switch-backs urged. The lush ferns reappeared and peering into rocks that water was pouring over revealed mossy carpets over the stones. As the land gradually leveled we knew that we were getting closer to the end. We ran into traffic on the lower level of the trail, and had to step to the side for horses to pass, but the next thing you knew, there was the car, waiting. I was the last one out of the woods, not quite ready to leave and met the group hearing sounds of laughter and excitement. Taking deep breaths and smiling we arranged the packs on the top of the car and one by one, with a sigh of relief eased into the leather seats.
Stopping in town, Steve wasted no time hitting up and espresso drive-up and we all eventually left the parking lot with mochas and treats in hand on the way to the cabin.
We shook what we could from our gear and laid most of it out on the deck to dry and all sprawled out on couches and easy chairs around the home. Upstairs Parker surfed through channels on the TV and I heard Lydia, Christina and Steve laugh at a movie from the basement. We gathered grimy socks, sweaty T-shirts and smelly pants and throw them together into the washing machine and lined the poor boots out on the deck to dry.
Before long we were feasting on pasta and potato soup, sitting around the table, already turing our stories into legends.
I am proud of what we did. What I did. But even more I am proud of my life, of my family and of my friends. That this is what we spend our time doing and we bond over wildflowers and wild cliff passes. I am proud of a dad that takes his beautiful girls into the mountains to see what the world has to offer and know that they can do it. He gushed that we were incredible, eating up the trail and trudging on and on. More though, I am happy that this is my life, that I am given these opportunities.