By Casey Young
“If someone ever asks you how much longer to summit, you always say a mile or a mile and a half. It’s some unsaid hiker thing, all a mental game so you don’t give up and keep pushing forward,” Curley joked as we got out of the car. Our excitement clouded our judgement as we immediately went down the nearest trail to where we parked—mistake number one.
“At least we found a cool spot to camp.” I tried to make light of wandering down a path that obviously didn’t lead to Ampersand Mountain. It had already been a long Monday filled with classes and meetings and we just added a mile to our adventure. That should’ve been a sign of imminent doom, but we ignored it and pushed forward.
Winter had just broken, and for the first time in months, it was warm enough to wear lighter clothing. I needed to get rid of my hibernation weight and getting into shape via hiking seemed like the best move. Moving water that ran next to the trail seemed to bounce from its place and into my cells, completely centering and energizing me. As we progressed, I could even see a change in Curley. Nature heals, and getting out was something we both needed.
“I think I’m going to put my spikes on,” Curley said as we looked up at the patches of thick white ice ahead of us. I popped a squat on the stump across from him as two high school-aged kids slid down the snow in fashion boots, Chucks, and no packs. They just braced themselves and let gravity pull them down the mountain. Surely the trail wasn’t too bad.
It only took about 5 minutes trying to walk on ice to realize my spikes were completely worn out. They’d been fine on Mt. Baker about 2 months prior, but their expiration date had come. I felt completely failed, but there was no turning around now. I used trees, ice and rocks to slowly (very slowly) pull myself up the mountain. When there was nothing else to grip, and my stubbornness wore weak, Curley would take my hand and help pull me up steeper spots. Being exhausted, anxious, and stressed that I could fall down the mountain at any given point really weakened my will to keep going. I fell down McKenzie Mountain once, rolling down about 20 feet before hitting a tree, and the flashbacks just kept coming.
“How much longer?” I asked Curley about every 20 minutes (I became one of those people).
“About a mile, mile-and-a-half.” I would glare at him, we’d both chuckle, and push on. After about 2 hours crawling up the ice, we finally made it to summit. It was a gorgeous night. The sun poked through the clouds, causing lines of light to cascade across the land. The sun hadn’t yet begun to melt over the surrounding mountains, and the wind was insane. It pushed my cheeks open, like a dog with its head out the window in the car. I took a few pictures and joined Curley at the summit marker.
“A bit windy, don’t ya think?” Curley shouted. We looked at each other, mutually deciding to head back down before dark. I slid my snow pants on over my muddy shoes and legs. It only took a few meters off the summit to be greeted by the snow, again. I looked at it, exhausted, and hatched an idea. I sat down in the snow and let go. I had no gloves or plan to stop. Possibly the stupidest thing I’d ever done. I screamed as I slid about 25 feet down the mountain, my body being tossed into the mud and ice. Finally, I managed to turn myself around and stop.
“Well, that was dumb,” Curley mocked as I let out a whimper and stood up, brushing snow and mud from my shirt and face. I decided to pretend that didn’t happen and waited for Curley to walk down to me. Luckily, my spikes seemed to work about 5 percent better going downhill. My feet were soaked and aching, but I was so concentrated on not dying that I barely noticed.
Staying low to the ground, I did my best to stay vertical. I found that bouncing from tree to tree was the best strategy. Curley stayed ahead of me, easily striding down the mountain. I envied his confidence. Then came something I didn’t think I could make it down. There were no rocks, no open mud, and no hope. I grabbed onto a small branch, then realized that the base of the tree was my best bet. My whole hand wrapped around the tree as I stuck my dull spike into the ice. Curley braced himself against a tree and turned towards me, ready to catch me if I fell. I moved my other foot and immediately felt the weight of my body fall onto my arms. My feet slipped beneath me and my body dangled down the drop. Terror filled my entire existence as I desperately tried to pull myself to a tiny ledge to plant my feet. I guess those last two weeks at the gym paid off, because somehow, I managed to pull myself up and gain stability.
“How much longer?” I asked, trying to keep my cool, full well knowing the answer.
“About a mile, mile-and-a-half.”
We smiled and kept walking.
“You know, I’m really starting to trust these crampons. They’re super nice,” Curley announced, poking at my jealousy. I had gotten ahead of him and found a flat spot to turn around to check his distance. Just as he came into my field of vision, his feet slipped from beneath him. I watched in horror as his body tumbled over itself, sliding, rolling, and bouncing down the trail. I didn’t know what to do as one of my closest friends just kept falling. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he landed on a root, back first. As he laid there, I kept thinking that he had broken his back, that there was no way he could walk, and I was going to carry him down the mountain. I rewound through the CPR class I had just taken on Saturday, and knew the only thing I could do was call 911. Good thing my phone battery was at 9%. Then a miracle happened. A moan escaped from Curley’s mouth as he slowly sat up.
“Don’t move. Just sit for a minute. I’ll come to you and grab the Crampon that fell off your foot. Are you okay?”
“Ugh that was painful. Am I bleeding?”
He stood up and lifted his sweater to reveal his lower back. I watched crimson slowly fill the scrapes on his back.
“Not really, I think you’re good,” I lied for both of us. We stood there for 5 minutes, collecting ourselves. “Well, the good news is, we only have a mile, mile-and-a-half.”
I saw the outline of a smile on Curley’s face as we began the last leg of our journey. I took everything in, trying to shake out my adrenaline. The birds were singing into the night and the sound of rushing water kept us company. Every time I heard a bird that sounded unique or extra charismatic, I asked Curley what it was, hoping he’d be able to identify it.
Little by little, we found our way back to the mud. At the start of our trip I had thought that the ice was such a better trade for the mud, but I was very, very wrong. I wanted to roll in it when I saw it, grateful that I didn’t have to worry about my feet slipping under me anymore. Although I did slide a few more times, I generally managed to stay upright.
We used the moon to light the rest of our way, trying not to ruin our night vision. Although I will never verbally admit it, being outside, in the dark, alone, is something that had always freaked me out. There was probably a bear or fox watching from a distance, thinking I’m an idiot for being paranoid.
“Dude, I think raccoons will be the next to evolve to our level. They are wicked smart and have opposable thumbs. Almost human level, but in the woods.” I tried to lighten my own worries. “But, hey, only a mile, mile-and-a-half more.”
That joke never got old as we started to hear signs of civilization. I saw the headlights from a car about half of a mile off.
“I SEE THE LIGHT,” I shouted. I had never been so excited to find the trail head. We turned on our flashlight and signed out. The most traumatizing hike of my life was finally over, and by some miracle, Curley and I were both able to hobble to the car, still, grateful for the fresh air and adventure.
Casey Young is an Environmental Science major from Feura Bush, New York. She enjoys poetry, exploring the world, staring pensively into the distance, and cracking terrible jokes at the worst possible times. Read her bio here.