I treated this hike like an epic solo quest of personal redemption. Just me and the Twin Peak(s), I’m gonna kick your ass even worse than last time when my mental state was the opposite of its improved status, when I struggled and had to take plenty of rest breaks but now have another year’s endurance and several thousand miles behind it. Just you and me, mountain… who the hell are all these other people? Black Lodge escapees? Transplants from Camel’s Hump to remind me how much more training I need to be a true blue blood long-distance hiker? Inception-like projections before I drop my totem in the moss to make sure I’m not supposed to swan dive off the top to get back to reality?
Or I’m just not the only person who doesn’t mind hiking in the rain, but that’s not nearly as ridiculous and hyperbolic, now is it? It’s not anything truly unforgivable, like not wanting to dodge horse-based scatological landmines on a Hiking Club trail, but it’s in the conversation. (Sorry to keep picking on you, random person commenting on my Fort Ridgely review, but it’s the most random thing I’ve ever been called out for.)
I was more prepared for this hike than any other I’ve ever done. I had snacks, motivation, my expiring Washington State Parks pass that I’d gotten to use all of once before my life blew up. I had the motivation to redeem myself for reasons created only by the antagonizing, self-depricating villain in my own head. Fuck the rain, let’s beat this thing like a superpowered fist with BOB’s face on it, and film it!
Of all hikes to forget the damn holster screw, really?!
Guess I’ll see how much balance I’ve gained after another 2500 miles in a year? Turns out, quite a bit, it only fell once. Not bad for someone who almost always almost falls.
This trail sets unreasonable expectations for other mountain hikes. Extremely well-maintained, perfectly-designed switchbacks, rest areas to stop off and wonder why you’re doing this to yourself on purpose... But it’s also like growing up near Gettysburg, going on a field trip there every year, and then thinking “oh, all historically-preserved battlefields must be this amazing!” Oh, Naive version of me I only made up for this anecdote, you’re so silly.
The last little bit of boulder clinging to get a real summit view is no joke, even if I still did it to have even less of a view of nothing than the first time, but I also look legit enough that younger hikers now ask my advice by saying “listen to the professional.”
Or I’m old. Who knows?
Now, did I get near the bottom and go back up a few hundred feet just to beat my elevation gain record also?
I didn’t not do that.
Even “professionals” gotta be unnecessarily ridiculous sometimes. It’s good for ya. A little “but did you die?” for the road, it’s healthy in moderation.
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