My fiancé, our good friend, and I decided to climb Mt. Olympus here in Salt Lake City, Utah. We all met at Pete’s Point and began at 7am last Sunday.
The majority of the hike going up was in the cool shade of the mountain. We started laughing, talking, joking and shooting pictures. But as the morning drew on and muscles began to rebel, our teasing grew silent and the pauses to breath were without the camera.
This hike is about three and half miles up. And I mean Up. Stair climbers and stair masters have Nothing on this mountain. Even our amiable, good natured and mature friend looked a bit exhausted.
Although we were sheltered from the early morning sun, I sweated, gasped and coughed and at two thirds of the way up from the saddle, collapsed on a log blocking the trail struggling to breath the thin, sharp, fragrant air.
It wasn’t so much that I complained as I simply would fall further and further back from the two of them. My fiancé was my motivator. He took to hanging behind me to encourage and remind me to drink; coaxing me along, one step at a time. Our friend was patient with my weakness and heartened by their support, I pushed myself on despite my screaming heartbeat and frantic choking lungs.
We reached the ‘saddle’ and sat in the shade of a tree to munch on trail mixes and other snacks. It was Eleven Fifteen in the morning. There was the summit, looming a 1000 feet above us. We felt revitalized, invigorated and began to talk about completing the last half mile.
As I had started to follow them, I realized I would have to make the very steep hike down three miles but this time in the heat of a mid July day. The temperatures were already approaching the nineties, and as we descended and lost the altitude, the heat would be scorching at a hundred and six.
I had packed four liters of water in my camel-back, I had already gone through two. I decided to wait
The other two pushed on. I watched them from my little sheltering over hang as they scrambled up the sheer face and listened to the echoes of their voices. When they withdrew from sight I watched the dragonflies, a humming bird, bumble bees and flies. I watched the scattered hikers going by. There were a couple of dogs and as much as I had wanted to bring my dog I was glad I hadn’t. There was little water and shade for most of this. Even shaved, her black coat would have made this a cruel excursion.
They came back, looking triumphant and tired. It was Twelve Thirty.
The way back was brutal. The knees of both of my companions caused their faces to tighten under the glaring sunlight. Ankles threatened to roll as we picked our way down, each becoming increasingly separated as distance between us lengthened. Sweat rolled off as the body attempted to cool down, flies swarmed and I wondered if this was a bad dream. I felt lost in the swelling hot air, the ceaseless path, the tired throbbing in my hands and feet. I concentrated on my feet and the sound of my best friend’s breathing. He was struggling now. While I could do little but stay with him and touch his arm gently, I would be his motivator and ignore his protests that I should keep going and he would catch up.
We made it to the tiny stream in the little patch of shade we had passed earlier in the morning. Water trickles out of the mountain here, breaching the path to offer about an inch and a half of brutally cold water. Our friend made it there first. Shoes off, feet in, he half smiled at us and graciously offered us his seat.
Isn’t he kind? The one thought that crossed my mind before this was the relief that if we were all going to narrowly get ourselves into trouble, there are no other two people I would want to be in trouble with.
I don’t know how long we sat there. Maybe five minutes, maybe thirty. My best friend took my top tank (I had on two), soaked it in water and draped it around my neck and head. He rubbed water on my arms and face and legs. I shivered violently and offered the shirt to him and his face and neck. About then two young college girls came across us then. One chatted happily about birds and their calls, names, species. A pretty girl, with serious eyes and excited smile. She was from Montana and here for school.
At last we rose to face the last of the mountain. The refreshed looking girl advised that we were 1.4 miles from the bottom. We were just over half way back.
Protesting feet were re-stuffed, hats and visors re-soaked, sunscreen applied and off we went to continue down. I realized as we rose that I had drunk the last of my water on that 1.6 mile down. The dismay I should have felt was tempered by exhaustion. I knew the others were low.
I had thought that the first half of coming down was bad. This was hell. The world was an oven. My skin felt hot and tight and crisp. As if it would split open but if so it would only expose saw dust underneath. My mouth was hot and I kept swallowing without respite. I stopped thinking with the exception of two thoughts on repeat.
First… how did we go so far? I don’t remember it being this far. The trail went forever and I tried to stop looking ahead.
Second… thank God for these two men. They discovered I was out of water as I began to stumble and they shared the last precious drops they had. Their faces were grim and closed. I couldn’t feel the pain in my feet, legs or shoulders anymore.
My fiancé was once again my motivator. He reminded me to watch my step, held my hand when the world was fuzzy…
We made it to the car. We made it home to the cool dark house. At five o’clock in the afternoon, nearly ten hours from the time we began this venture, we climbed into showers and wearily fell into bed to restlessly sleep for an hour. We struggled to think about what we would want to eat and blankly stared at each other until going back to bed for the night.
Today and yesterday, our body’s have cried out their protest and in response we are trying to decide where to try out next weekend’s adventure!
