Approaching the saddle
At last I complete my journey across the talus. A brief steep climb through a cliff band and the Emerald Lake trail joins the Timpooneke trail. A few yards further on the trail reaches the saddle and moves from the eastern to the western face of the mountain.
Many years ago Terry joined Steve, Marcus and I on a hike up the Timpooneke trail. She was a delightful and game companion, and though the hike was rigorous she never complained. But she became increasingly nervous as we approached the saddle. When we arrived and she saw the climb ahead, she sat down and announced she'd wait for us where she was. She'd go no further on the edge of the cliffs.
I knew Terry had a fear of heights, but until that moment I didn't really understand how strong it was. We tried to coax her on. We'd planned to descend the glacier and loop past Emerald Lake on our way home. And I really wanted her to experience the satisfaction of standing on the summit. It was only about a mile away, and she'd come so far. But she'd managed the last portion of the climb only by telling herself she'd be safer on the west slope of the mountain. When she saw it, her strong fears of falling kicked in and she could go no further.
I tried to tell her her fears made no sense, but of course that was a lie. Her fears made perfectly good sense. There was something in her past that had taught her to fear high places. And real fear is deeper and stronger than reason. So she sat at the saddle, on the high edge of Utah Valley, and gazed across the tiny distant world while we finished our climb that long-ago afternoon. It was the first time I returned off the mountain on the north trail rather than looping south down the glacier. I have never coaxed Terry back onto the high trails again. But there are many beautiful lower trails we have walked together.
I cannot explain rationally why the high trails call so strongly to me, why they make my blood sing and my heart soar. I do not believe it is just overcoming fear, nor do I think it is about "cheating" death. It doesn't feel like it's about proving anything, not once you're there. You can't prove anything to the mountain, anyway. And though you are proving things to yourself, it feels less complex than that. For me, it's a pure, simple joy to dance across the mountaintops.
But perhaps all trails are not meant for all people.