Acsent

by Evan Cohen

The doors to the car locked. My family and I all stood, not sure who was going to take the first step. My dad wore a loose flannel and was carrying an old, bruised olive pack; my mom wore her brand new bright red pack that she had recently acquired form REI; my brother wore a dark blue backpack and a soccer jersey; I was wore a beaten up faded red pack that had seen better days, along with an equally faded plad shirt.

Zephyr, the family dog, scurried around the dirt parking lot chasing a stick. His black fur picking up the dust as he skidded to a stop. He turned and looked at us with his head tilted to the side, and one ear poking in the air.

“Off we go!” my dad exclaimed. He took the first step towards the trailhead. ‘Colorado Mountain Range: Mount Sneffels (14,000 ft’) it read.

As we all set off down the dirt road we all knew we were in for a long hike. The plan was to spend three nights on the round trip hike, reaching the peak in the middle of the second day, and walking back to the car on the third. As we continued down the trail the trees thickened. We had yet to begin our climb up the mountain, and the trees didn’t make it any easier to navigate towards the base of incline.

We came to a large field where flowers littered the ground everywhere. A small stream crept along beside the trail, flowing in the direction we had come. Surreal as it was, we all knew we had to be satisfied with only a glance. The trail took us out of the meadow and back into the trees. The altitude was starting to take a toll on our pace, and we all had to slow as the incline began to reveal itself. We walked wordlessly onward. The higher we climbed the more apparent it was that Mt. Sneffels was nothing to sniffle at.

After hiking for another three grueling hours through the dense forest, we emerged from the trees into a huge opening, which revealed a lake mirrored the overlooking mountain range. Hundreds of boulders surrounded the lake, which had formed form snow runoff, and made a great spot for lunch. The simple meal consisted of a few wheat crackers with cheese and an apple, a usual camping lunch. Then we all decided to dawn our swimsuits for a quick dip in the lake. Snow run off is colder than hell is hot. Or at least that’s what it felt like when I took the initial plunge into the sub-zero water.

A half-hour later we were all dry and on our way up the trail again. Our tired group made our way up the ever steepening hill, and one foot in front of the other we made it to where we would spend the night. Another lake. Our sleeping accommodations’ provided a spectacular view of the valley we had spent the day hiking up. From there you could see the lake we had lunch at, and the twisting trail that made its way down to the parking lot, which was hidden by the curvature of the valley.

“It’s beautiful,” my mom whispered under her breath.

“Spectacular,” I embellished.

It was spectacular. Form the tops of the snowy mountains to the lake below. Still in awe of the beauty, we unpacked our tents and cooked ourselves dinner. My brother and I spent the remainder of the evening filming Zephyr’s reaction to being in a tent, which was quite amusing. We all went to sleep tired from the days hike, and anticipating the next.

In the middle of the night I awoke. Something was outside the tent. I didn’t know what It was, but It was brushing against the side of my tent. My heart raced, there aren’t bears up at this altitude… are there? I didn’t think so, but the animal outside was really getting my heart pumping. I have never been a fan of things that go bump in the night. But there was no way I was going out of the tent to investigate. After some thinking, I decided the best thing to do would be just to wait It out, and trying to sleep. It was a long night.

I awoke the next morning to the smell of hot chocolate and oatmeal, an aroma of which I am accustomed too. I stepped out of the tent into the cool morning air; once again I admired the scenery. There was no trace of the animal form the night before, and I felt relieved that we were leaving the campground after breakfast.

Upon further inspection of the tent’s surroundings I learned that the animal from the night before was only weed blowing against the side of the tent. I laughed silently to myself. At that moment I was glad that I hadn’t mentioned anything to my family about my eventful night.

The morning went quickly, and we were soon on our way again. We hiked up. The path consisted of lifeless strip that wound its way towards the top of Mt. Sneffels. It was slow work because of the sheer incline; every step became more physically and mentally demanding. However we climbed on.

It took us the better part of the day to reach the summit of the trial, and we were all tired once we reached the top.

“Some hill.” I panted, trying to catch my breath.

“I could do a couple more of those!” my brother said while doing some poorly executed jumping jacks.

Although the view was stunning the summit presented us with a cruel reality. We had to hike the same distance we just had down, and then double back up to the peak of Sneffels. This is going to be a long day, I thought. We began our decent, knowing that every step we took down, we would have to take two up. Going down was certainly easier than going up, but this made it no less strenuous.

As we reached the bottom of Mt. Sneffels we could see that it was made up of large fallen boulders. We all took a moment to look up at the mountain we were about to climb. Looking back it was much taller from the top than it was form where we stood at that moment. We began our final assent to the top of the peak. There were a few other hikers that had come from another shorter trail, but they were just ants on the face of the mountain.

The mountain was quite deceptive, as we walked up every step became more difficult. Each step forward meant the rocks were getting smaller, giving us less traction, and it was getting steeper. I kept my eyes fixed in front of me so as not to miss a step. It was only half way up, and we were just level with or stop on the last summit, that the mountain gradually became dangerously steep. I imagined myself taking one false step and sliding down the mountain like a ragdoll down stairs. An audible sniffle came from behind me, and I turned around. My mom stood about ten feet behind me with tears streaming down her face.

“Mom, are you OK?” I asked, trying to be tactful in addressing whatever was going on.

“I’m just scared, that’s all.”

A quick look at my brother confirmed that my mom was experiencing a common case of Acrophobia; I knew this because I too shared an unfortunate fear of heights. Watching my mother cry didn’t help the pounding heart inside my chest, or my aching legs. But I had no idea how bad it was going to get. Every step her crying intensified, along with my uneasiness. By the time we made it another quarter of the way up the peak she was reduced to silent sobbing. I was surprised that she could even see past her tears to see where she was going, and maybe she couldn’t, perhaps it was for the best.

At this point I was beginning to feel a bit too far outside of my comfort zone. Not even taking deep breaths of the ever thinning air could help. We were still a quarter away from the summit, and our plan to climb to the peak was starting to sound a bit outlandish.

We climbed forward, over the sliding rocks. Every two steps up the hill resulted in one step sliding down. My uneasiness was beginning to amplify. DO NOT FALL! Was all I could think. My mind and body were only focused on two things – Keep going and Don’t fall – self preservation was the only thing keeping me going. Adrenalin had run out three slips and a fall ago. It must have been an act of god, because as soon as I felt that I would rather just fall down the mountain than keep climbing the footing underneath me began to level out.

I dropped my pack with a thud and then joined it on the ground. My brother sat down next to me with matched exhaustion.

My mom and dad took their time coming over the ridge as my brother and I got our lunch. Apple and cheese. Again. We sat and gazed up at the remaining climb. Snow covered a 10 foot wide crevice that looked like a sled run. I had finished my apple and was beginning to become worried about my parents when I saw my mom’s head peak over the crest of the summit. Her face streaked with tears as she crawled towards us. As troubling is it was, I could tell she was relived to be on the summit. My dad followed her with a grin, a facial expression so out of place I didn’t know what to make of it. How was my dad smiling at the same moment my mom was crying? Then I looked around.

We were sitting on the top of the world. I locked eyes and matched his grin with an even bigger one. Another quick glance up at the peak wiped the smile off my face. It was steeper than anything we had attempted all day, not to mention the ground looked like the slipperiest combination of icy and snow. They both sat down across from me and my brother.

“How’s everybody doing?” My dad asked cheerfully.

“Good!” My brother and I responded in unison. It’s not so much that we were good, but any other answer would have been unacceptable.

We all looked at my mom, expecting some kind of complaint. But she just sat there, having recently dried her face of tears she seemed happy that we were no longer climbing. We eat the rest of our lunch in relative science. The air was thinner than we were used to, and we were all still trying to catch our breath.

After a long silence my dad piped up, “who’s ready to go to the top?” it was more of an exclamation than a question.

I raised my hand as if I were in a classroom, and began to pack up my things.

“I think I am staying”, my brother said.

I was surprised. He had been the one that wanted to do this climb in the first place. Why would he not go to the top?

“I don’t feel well”, he said in answer to my silent question.

Without pause my mom chimed in, “I am staying too.”

Off we go then!” my dad said with a determined look, as he turned to me.

With that we both turned to the last stretch and set off. Right from the first step I could tell that it was steeper, and form every step afterword I had to worry about slipping. There were footprints in the snow leading us up the crevice. Each step had to be carefully chosen, so as not to fall. One small miss step… I thought as I glanced down the hill behind me. We were only 10 feet up and I was already feeling skittish. Another twenty steps and I looked back again. Maybe I should have stayed with mom.

One foot after another we climbed towards the top of the craves. All I could think about was that each step we took was one more foot to fall. As we climbed a bolder came into view, blocking our path. The only way to go was up the steep wall that curved above me. I turned to my dad.

“Is this a good idea?” But I already knew what he was going to say.

“Oh, you’ll be fine.” He stated matter-of-factly.

So hand over hand we climbed the 15 foot wall, hanging by nothing, over a drop so far I found it hard thinking about anything else. My heart raced as I continuously glanced down. It wasn’t time to question my ability as a climber, but I wasn’t feeling too confident. Triumphantly I pulled myself over the top and stepped onto a small rock platform. I could see everything. For hundreds of miles in every direction I could look down on everything. Every fear or doubt up until that moment became obsolete compared to the feeling I had. Overcoming physical and mental limitations for a glimpse of the world form an entirely different perspective. There was so much to see that it felt overwhelming.

“Hey Evan, check it out.” My dad said, interrupting my thoughts. He healed out a small metal cylinder. “Open it”

Curious to see what was inside, I obliged. It was a rolled up piece of paper. A guest list of everyone who had ever climbed Mt. Sneffels, and inside that was a pen. I took the pen, and at that moment I felt part of something bigger than myself. Every step had been worth it, everything that compelled me forward had prevailed over any weakness.

With that I wrote ‘Evan Cohen – Berkeley CA’. Signing that paper was an extreme relief, as the overwhelming tension of the day melted from the pen into the paper.

And now to get down.