Tag: hiking

No Question

On By Peter WatkinsIn 2014Leave a comment

Dear Will:

A couple or three years ago a friend of mine sent me the following note:

When you are feeling up to the challenge, there is a place, not far from where you live, that feels like a million miles away, that you must experience if you haven’t already.  Yesterday . . . I hiked up to Black Star Falls with some neighbors. It was a very rigorous climb following the stream bed, but once we hit that 40-foot falls, I couldn’t believe I was still in Orange County and only a few miles from home.  A definite must-see.

Black Star Falls

No question.

When I finally decided to go in search of Black Star Falls, I headed off on a whim, with not much more information than the memory of her email. But the road and trailhead were clearly marked, so I assumed it would be easy enough for me to figure it out along the way. Black Star Falls, 4.1 miles, the sign read. How hard could it be?

The beginning of the hike was simple enough as I meandered along the partly shaded dirt road I shared with various other adventurers. And it was lovely. I like this hike already, I thought to myself. Eventually the shade disappeared and the road began to climb. And climb. As it got harder and harder, I found myself alone but for the occasional mountain biker. When I huffed and puffed to the top of one particularly steep hill and saw that the road continued onto another, steeper one, I discovered a sign marking the entrance to the Mariposa Reserve—about five miles from my car. A passing biker paused to comment: “Wow. Did you hike all the way up here?”

Clearly, I had lost my way. Somewhere “back there” I had turned left when I should have gone straight—or something like that. In any case I had expended a whole lot of time and effort getting farther and farther from my desired destination.

As I retraced my steps, down and down the winding dirt trail, I eventually came to a bend in the road where another man stood. He confirmed that I had (at last) arrived at the turn-off I had overlooked several miles of needless detour ago. Worn out but determined, I trudged off along a new sort of trail: A mile-and-a-half up and over boulders taller than I am. A mile-and-a-half of old-man punishment and light-headed humiliation. “Rigorous” does not begin to describe it. But I persevered, knowing that a pair of beautiful waterfalls awaited. Was it easy? No. Was it worth it? Yes. Did I make it harder than it needed to be? Absolutely.

As I think back on that exhausting Saturday morning, I can’t help but ask questions that you have likely asked yourself: Where do I really want to go? What path am I on now, and where is it taking me? Am I making the journey more difficult than it needs to be? Who do I know who might be able to point out a better way? In the end, will it all be worth the effort?

No question.

PW

Little Did I Know

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20112 Comments

Dear Will:

Today I took a 6-mile hike through Peters Canyon. Although I have hiked there many times, this was the first time that I walked the full loop.

I couldn’t have picked a nicer day for a hike: clear, blue skies, a light breeze, weather in the low seventies. It was glorious. And although the trail was busy, it was not so crowded that I couldn’t enjoy a little solitude and the chance to be alone with my thoughts for a couple of hours. I thought about my children and their various challenges. I thought about my great wife and the many ways that she blesses our family. I thought about the weeks and months ahead and some of the difficult decisions we’ll be facing.

And of course I thought about my health. Today was a bit of an experiment—an extended hike following several months of forced inactivity. But over the last 30 days or so, I have really been feeling good—like myself again—good enough to take on a long hike and not worry that the paramedics would have to rendezvous with me at the trailhead. And I’m proud to say that I completed the trek without the assistance of the medi-vac unit.

It used to be that when someone asked “How are you?” I would respond “Fine” and give it no further thought. But now when people ask, I tell them I feel great. I don’t necessarily feel a lot better than I used to, but I have come to appreciate the profound blessing of vigor and energy that I previously took for granted. I have experienced firsthand why it is that “it must needs be that there is an opposition in all things” (2 Nephi 2:11). After all, without bad health, how could I ever truly understand what it means to be healthy? There was the time a few weeks back when (I kid you not) I watched an elderly man walked nonchalantly across a waiting room and thought, “You have no idea how fortunate you are.” Now when I walk casually across that same room, I notice. Imagine.

When I first learned of my cancer back in August, I shared with you the poem “Pied Beauty” by Gerard Manley Hopkins—a poem in which the poet glorifies God for “dappled things . . . With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim.” I shared it in advance of any real physical challenges.

Little did I know. Now I sit here cancer-free, having been hospitalized four times, with seven new scars on my abdomen and anti-coagulants running through my body, and I appreciate the poem more than ever. For I have since tasted the sour; I’ve seen the dim. And having done so, I am so much more grateful for the sweet, so much more dazzled by the light.

Walking the trails in Peters Canyon is a small thing—something I thought little about in my previous visits. But today, as I stood high atop the East Rim Trail and looked out over the reservoir and the eucalyptus, as I walked the Creek Trail and delighted in the cool riparian habitat created by the ground-fed stream, as I felt whole again, pain-free, normal even, I finally understood what prompted Hopkins to close his poem like this: “He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him.”

Praise Him indeed.

PW

A Letter to Myself

On By Peter WatkinsIn 2010Leave a comment

Dear Will:

You know that feeling you get when you are working too many hours and getting too little sleep? When you have too much to do and too little time to do it? When you do none of the things that matter particularly well? When you arrive at the end of the day—day after day—feeling as if you haven’t accomplished half of what you needed to or any of what you wanted to?

That’s how I feel.

I’m reminded of a backpacking trip I took several years ago over Piute Pass in the High Sierras. We were planning to stay for a week beside the Golden Trout Lakes, a breathtaking spot some 11,000 feet above sea level. Because of the length of our stay, we were all carrying 35-40 pounds of gear and supplies. The hike in would take most of the day.

It wasn’t so bad at first. Fortunately, the incline was not steep, so we never found ourselves working extra hard. We stopped frequently to enjoy the view or refill our water bottles, none of us in a great hurry to “arrive.” The trouble was that some in our party were not in especially good shape. Their stops became more frequent, and as the “sweeper” in our party I couldn’t go any faster than our slowest hiker. Consequently, the load on my back began to take its toll. By and by, I wanted nothing more than to drop my pack.

I remember the almost out-of-body experience I had when we finally arrived at the Golden Trout Lakes. When at last I could remove my heavy load, I felt like I might float away. I felt almost like an astronaut on the moon, so light was I after carrying that load for hour after hour. What a relief! What joy! What ecstasy!

I have often thought of how many lessons on the Atonement were contained within that hiking experience. Above all, I have thought about how Christ’s suffering for us is in very fact a promise to carry our burdens for us—as if he were offering to shoulder our pack, to give us the gift of relief. His life and death embodied his eternal invitation: “Come unto me, all ye who labour and are heavy laden, and I shall give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). Ultimately, it was Jesus’ compassion—his willingness to suffer with us and for us—that best expressed His great love for us.

These lines from a favorite hymn also come to mind, offering good counsel to one such as I who is weighed down by life:

How gentle God’s commands! How kind his precepts are!
Come, cast your burdens on the Lord and trust his constant care.
Beneath his watchful eye, his Saints securely dwell;
That hand which bears all nature up shall guard his children well.
Why should this anxious load press down your weary mind?
Haste to your Heav’nly Father’s throne and sweet refreshment find.
His goodness stands approved, unchanged from day to day;
I’ll drop my burden at his feet and bear a song away.

Hmmm. That’s excellent advice for someone like me. Perhaps this time I should mail this letter to myself. . . .

PW