Did I tell you the story of a few of us seeing God on the trail this past summer up in the Sangres? Noah and I were talking about it again the other day and, well, we’re pretty sure we did.
It all came up because of the little photo book of our summer expedition that was gifted last week. All those great pictures told the story of all the stuff we did. There was Grandma up on horseback. There were Adel’s deer antlers he found. There we were on the train. And yes, we did talk about our UFO sighting. You kind of had to be there, but it was pretty cool.
Anyway, the section of the book that got most attention from Noah was that of the hike up the North Crestone Creek trail by just the guys where, as chance would have it, we met God. We think.
To get to the trail, we drove up a forest road a couple miles off pavement to a small, creekside national forest camp ground. We gathered our gear, cached our water, and up the trail we went.
Within the first thirty minutes, the trail narrowed, but it was evident that it was really just the forest road we had driven up on, which was now gated. Not too much later, though, the trail cut back onto a mountain side, got a whole lot steeper, and we were truly hiking in Colorado. The stones, wildflowers, the sound of the North Crestone Creek down below us, the guys up ahead. It doesn’t get much better than that, I have to tell you.
We stopped now and then to eat something and comment on the surroundings. Usually it was Adel and Bruce up front, most often out of sight. Noah and I pulled up the rear.
I guess if there is any message to this blog today, it has something to do with my willingness -- fear? -- of heading up forest trails up into the mountains.
At least that’s what the concrete piece of this is. The real internal piece, I suspect, is more about my fear of doing other stuff in the world besides hiking where nobody can help you.
What does that mean? I don’t know exactly. Does it mean I have to give more of myself to social justice issues? Does it mean I have to take more chances as a writer to learn more about what I need to write about? Does it have something to do with my spiritual salvation?
Could be. But back to the hike.
I am aware of walking Noah too far on the trail to where he has a miserable time. I am aware, too, of that gnawing in me that I might walk too far, cramp up, and embarrass myself in front of these macho guys. It was complicated. Probably more complicated than it needed to be, but there you have it. We were up on the trail -- 9,000 feet, maybe -- about two hours out. I was thinking Noah had enough. We talked and we decided that, yup, that was about it. We’d catch up with the guys and let ‘em know we were done for the day.
Not more than a minute later, Bruce came back down the trail to check on us. He encouraged us to forge ahead with the news of a beautiful vista just ahead. He knew what buttons to push! On we went.
Oh. And such a vista. Its picture is my favorite of the trip. It is the essence of what I had hoped for by bringing boys to the mountains. As brother John Muir wrote, ‘The clearest way into the Universe, is through a forest wilderness.’ I had recorded that portal with my camera, with two students standing by.
After a bit of a break and our soaking in the sights, we caught glimpse of a solo hiker coming down the trail from farther up on the mountain. He was an older white-bearded guy in shorts packing enough that it was evident he had spent at least one night up there. I wanted so much to hear more.
I don’t remember much that was said, actually. I’m sure I pressed him for details of what lakes he had seen. I’m sure Noah told him who we were. His parting remark though, as he proceeded down the mountain, would absolutely make our entire day.
‘There’s a little creek just up the trail, you know, not more than a couple hundred yards,’ he yelled back.
The creek was, in fact, delightful. The water was cold on tired, bare feet. Bruce went downstream a piece and did a full emersion, I think. We all listened to the water as it bounced over and ground the Sangres into sand.
Some time after we ate the last trail bar, the identify of the white-bearded one on the trail was questioned. Who was that guy who turned us on to the best part of our day?
Who else could it be? We concluded it had to be God. There he was, the bearded Godhead floating on a cloud -- caught taking a holiday in Colorado! We enjoyed that story so much it survived to be told again at Christmas. Family stuff, indeed.
So, gentle reader, what is the lesson offered here at the end of 2011?
Don’t be too afraid of things, I suppose. For the life of me it sounds just the opposite of what Dorothy told Auntie Em she learned in Oz. What was it, something like, ‘If you can’t find your heart’s desire here at home, you won’t find it anywhere else because you never really lost it anyway’...? (I loved the movie but thought that line was preposterously weak.)
Anyway, in 2012 I am going to try to be a little less afraid to do stuff. Writing, yes. Bucket list destinations, yes. Telling people I love them, yes. Being as honest with myself as I can, yes. Working for social justice in the world, yes.
Be brave in the new year. Thanks for reading.
Today’s Elder Idea: Don’t be too afraid of things.
your humble blogger
image: Boys @ 9000 ft.
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