Wild call of the soul

19th May 2012

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Summiting Mt. Marcy

Last week, on May 11, one of my closest friends and I summited Mt. Marcy, the highest peak in the Adirondack mountains, also the highest point in the state of New York. When I first saw Mt. Marcy almost 3 years ago, I dreamed of hiking to the top. We decided to do it more on a whim than anything else. There are 46 mountains in the Adirondacks that are considered High Peaks (mountains over 4,000 feet in elevation) and though Mt. Marcy is not the most difficult of all the hikes, it was certainly a test in endurance. Hiking the 14.8 miles (which turned out to be 15.3, due us taking a wrong turn), over root-laden paths littered with boulders and then snow, my friend and I fluttered through conversation and silence, at times overcome with awe for the wild beauty that surrounded us.

We woke at 5am in our tent in Saranac Lake, already dressed and ready to take on the mountain. It was my birthday, and we were greeted with an incredible sunrise that had us pull over several times on the side of the road to photograph:

As we drove to Lake Placid, the High Peaks seemed to wake up around us, morning light dancing on the raindrops that had fallen all night long. Mt. Marcy came into view, snow-capped and magnificent.

I had all kinds of expectations of what this hike would mean. I was hiking to the highest point in New York on my 35th birthday. I had visions of overcoming painful past events, hope for triumph, strength, integration, unity. But the mountain was large and all these things seemed to dissipate as I became present to the wildness that surrounded me, to the test of endurance and mindful concentration with each step I took.

There were streams, rocks, roots, moss, birds, and a steady, moderate ascent. All of these things pulled at my soul, calling me out of the expectations I had set for this hike and into the present moment.

Reaching the first clearing, I was overcome by the massive beauty of the Adirondacks. No matter how many mountains I climb, no matter how many times I have been to the Adirondacks, at some point, I always become drawn into the the magnificence of the place. The Adirondacks are powerful. There is a constant hum, a vibration so powerful you can hear it reverberating off the peaks and trees.

At the final approach to the summit, my head began to fill with doubt and anxiety. I was reaching an edge within myself I had never approached before. What if I feel nothing when I reach the top? What if reaching the top doesn’t matter? What if I still feel the same? My expectations were dwindling to the shadow side. It was uncomfortable. But it was what pushed me forward, kept me moving, step by step, up the mountain, towards the summit.

Moving above the tree-line, the winds were fierce and cold. Ice crystals stuck to the rocks and alpine-zone trees. It was all about presence now; not a place for doubt.

I remember: the summit was about 100 feet up. It was all rock, the trail marked with yellow lines and cairns. The cairns felt ceremonial — me, a hiker silently ascending this enormous mountain, contemplating the hikers who have come before. As I looked up at the 100 feet left to reach the summit, I remember thinking that I didn’t want to finish the hike: I didn’t want to reach the top. I stood for a long time, feeling something inside of me that was determined to hold me back. Again, an edge to explore: the fear of completion and what’s on the other side.

But I did it. I hiked to the top. There was no space for the expectations I had set for reaching the top. There was only silence — this sense of just being. Tears streamed down my face: it was a subtle cry, the kind where you don’t even realize you are crying.

The tears dried up when my friend reached the summit. We rejoiced in the fact that we had made it — we climbed Mt Marcy! We ate lunch and began our descent.

Descending down the mountain, I wrestled with what I thought I should be feeling. I expected triumph but was left with an unexpected dissonance.

The dissonance was temporarily assuaged by the trek down the mountain. Trudging through melting ice-packed snow demanded presence and brought me back to that simple sense of being.

Mt. Marcy taught me to surrender all expectations and be open to the flow with which I experience my process. So often, we take on challenges and set expectations of how the outcome should look. I was faced with unexpected edges that increased my awareness of where my fears lie. I was invited to simply be with my experiences instead of overcome them; to hold and honor them. Mt. Marcy taught me about endurance — about bearing the capacity to tolerate discomfort. Though the hike did not leave me as victorious as I thought I should feel, it did allow me to push some edges, to recognize the resiliency I hold, and appreciate the practice of simply being present — present not only to the beauty and richness of life, but to the discomfort and discord, too.

So, thank you, Mt. Marcy. Your enormity has humbled me and kept my ego in check.