Climbing

Yesterday I was bored. I had managed to waste an entire day doing nothing — in other words, a typical Saturday in my world. But by evening, I was overcome by a sudden attack of guilt for having idled around all day. I realized a sixth of my summer here in Skagway was gone and I had little to show for it. There I was surrounded by mountains and I had barely used the $20 hiking boots I bought the day before I left North Carolina. I felt a rare sense of urgency, an urge to do something now.

So I shed my sneakers in favor of the boots, put on my jacket and at precisely 8:12 p.m., with the sky still illuminated, I set out to climb something.

I headed directly for the mountain one block away from the newsroom. I see this mountain every night as I look out my bedroom window. Its jagged peak is dusted with snow that reflects the moonlight. I had no idea how far I'd get, and in fact I knew I'd get nowhere even approaching the summit, but I wanted to know this mountain intimately.

So I approached the mountain and began walking up the dirt trail. And it was steep. After 30 seconds of walking at what seemed like an impossible incline my muscles burned and I discovered exactly how out of shape I was.

It was also at the 30-second mark that the path took a sharp turn. Hikers are presumably expected to turn left at this juncture and continue on the forest trail, but directly in front of me was a jungle gym of rocks that extended upward to what must have been halfway up the mountain. It was an expansive immovable staircase. An ocean of dark gray. A much more entertaining prospect, I decided, so I Robert Frosted it and started pushing branches aside.

I immediately learned the thrill of climbing. In a sea of rocks, some more stable and supportive than others, every step is like an equation. One must analyze every edge and every angle before continuing upward. You grasp tree branches and run your hands through soft moss each time you lift yourself up.

I eventually reached a wide platform of a rock, elevated above the others. I climbed on top and used the moment to rest. My heart was beating out of my chest and my jacket was no longer necessary. I turned around and saw, clearer than ever, the snowy peaks of Skagway. Down below was the town, a collection of bright buildings that looked like toys. To my left I heard a rushing stream, to my right a chorus of crickets. And somewhere between all the noise and nature was me, standing on the precipice of everything and deciding this might just be the most beautiful place on earth.