Big Point Disappointment

Death occupied my mind as I trudged up the steep mountain trail alone. 

Just the day before we had learned that my brother-in-law was diagnosed with stage four colon cancer that had spread to his liver. The prognosis was grim. I thought of him, his three kids still living at home and his wife. 

This morning I stopped at the cancer center for my semi-monthly “injection,” which is nothing more than a shot in my arm to fight a mutation of blood cells. I passed through the room with patients in large recliners receiving chemo treatments. One was Volney Morin, a patron on my mail route. He used to come out and talk at the mailbox, but that was before he was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. As I passed through I waved at his wife who sat lovingly by his side. Volney sat on the chair, hooked up to tubes, sound asleep with mouth wide open. 

I parked at the trailhead at 9:45 am. It was 75 degrees and as I began to walk along the sandy path, my mouth felt a dry sensation and I wondered if maybe I wasn't hydrated enough, or if I should have brought more water. I remembered the last time I hiked this trail and recalled the long, steep and torturous path. It's too late now, I thought. And I continued. 

This hike was part of my “peaks over age fifty” goal that I had set, hoping to climb 35 peaks in only five years. I had already knocked out two, and this one was nearly a fait accompli. All I had to do was put in the work. I had hiked most of this trail a few years ago, all but the last two miles. It would be an easy add-on, I thought. 

I kept my head down, looking for rattlesnakes. I had been on this trail twice before and saw rattlers both times. 

I chose to ration my water and not drink until I was an hour into the hike. At the sixty minute point the trail had taken on a steeper pitch and I sat in the shade of an oak bush and guzzled ice-cold water from my tumbler. 

It was at this point on the trail that I recalled another memory regarding death. Yesterday was the five-year anniversary of the death of my friend, Dave Bolton. His wife posted it on Facebook. Dave was the exact age that I am now. We went on many hikes together and it was on a hike (although not with me) when he collapsed and eventually died of heat exhaustion. 

Death was real. Death was all around me. Death demanded respect. 

I crested the steep slope and was now overlooking more rugged mountains. The modern world was now a long ways away. I thought of my cell phone and wondered how much battery I had left and cussed myself for not bringing a battery pack. Then I remembered that I didn't bring a flashlight either. I thought I would have plenty of daylight but then envisioned the scenario of myself trying to walk off the mountain using my phone as a flashlight and having only a sliver of battery left. Indeed I had been foolish. 

My intent was to hike to the top of Big Point, elevation 10,023 feet. Previously I had summited Mount Baldy, which is accessed by this same trail, but Big Point required at least two additional miles and an extra thousand feet of elevation gain. 

I took note that the trail was not well maintained. A few people had been up here, including someone on a horse, but tall growth covered many sections along with dead trees that had toppled over the winter. 

A rivulet of water crossed the path, which was a relief. I could refill my water bottles here on the way down if I needed to. I remembered this stream from my last hike, which was about the point where I departed the trail and bushwhacked to Mount Baldy. This time I would continue on the trail. 

From this point forward, the trail began to deteriorate quickly. Entire sections seemed to be missing. Large trees that had fallen during winter blocked the way with no effort from a chainsaw to remove them. This frustration reminded me of another time on another trail on Pine Valley Mountain when the trail suddenly disappeared. It made me wonder if I was really bad at route-finding or if the Forest Service was just really bad at maintaining their trails. 

The trail on which I now hiked gradually diminished, then completely disappeared. At this point I was in a little valley with hills all around. Each slope was choked with aspen and oak. Two little streams ran down opposing hills and coalesced into one. I had no clue which way the trail should go, so I decided to try the no-trail way. 

Bushwhacking proved to be ten times slower that walking on even the most pathetic path. I stepped over fallen trees, pulled myself up steep hills with sapling aspens, and cussed the Forest Service for not maintaining their trails. 

My goal was to get to the top of a very tall hill and see what was on the other side. Time was of the essence now and I thought very much of the battery life left on my phone and the fact that I had no flashlight. I have to turn around at 3 pm, I told myself. That would give me an hour. I couldn't risk it. The worst case scenario was that I turned around and couldn't find the trail, and then have the battery run out on my phone. And, yes, the thought of death crossed my mind. 

I spent the next hour pushing through a tedious forest. Once I heard a deer snort and take off without catching a glimpse of him. I was making very little progress, and by this time I knew I wouldn't make it to Big Point. At least I wanted to make it to the top of the hill. 

And at last I did. 

I scrambled up a final rocky knoll and there I found a semi-decent view of what laid ahead. I saw Big Point in the distance and determined I was still a couple miles away. What a disappointment. I wasn't even close! 

I descended the knoll and found a nook where I could relax and eat a sandwich. I certainly wasn't out of the woods yet, both literally and figuratively. I still had to return through that tangled jungle and hope to find the trail. 

The entire adventure left me plenty of time to think. Was this a waste of time? I think not. I gained valuable experience and my legs got a workout. I learned lessons that I hoped to correct next time. And most of all, I learned to enjoy being alive. Each day is a gift. For some people, their days are numbered. For others, their days are done. For myself, I didn't know what lied ahead. 

Luckily for me, I found the trail and made it down the mountain before sunset. The entire hike I passed no one. I was alone. Except for at the very bottom, about half an hour to the end, I passed what had to have been a homeless man pushing a bicycle up a rocky gully that was a sorry excuse for a trail. On his bike were strapped about four gallons of water and other bags with aluminum foil and whatever he might need to survive. He stopped and talked with me for a minute, asking me for a smoke and cursing some of the previous landowners in the area. I felt bad for the man. Now it was his turn to trudge up the steep mountain trail alone. ♠ 

 

 

On the Shortness of Life

You would have thought I had already learned my lesson. 

Eight years ago I did that which no parent should ever have to do. I buried a child. 

Brittany passed away at the age of fourteen after a brief bout with illness. It left us all in shock. One day she was there, the next she wasn't. For months after her passing I could still hear her voice as if she were in my presence. I expected to see her in the bedroom or sitting on the couch. But I didn't. 

When we knelt for family prayers or sat at the dinner table, there was an obvious void. It felt as if our family had been slashed in half. It was like a bad dream that you hope to wake up from, hoping that the day in the hospital and the funeral were just cruel jokes. But that bad dream continued, and our world of denial became a world of reality. 

Brittany.

I remember my relations with my wife and kids in the time immediately following her death. I hugged them more. I wanted to be with them. Any contention or small squabbles or attention paid to their shortcomings seemed to vanish. In short, I showed them more unconditional love. 

It also made me ponder much on the fragility of life. Brittany didn't deserve to die. No one does. But she did. 

My Grandpa Shumway was killed at the age of 40. My Uncle Jim was only 39 when he passed. And one of my best friends from high school, Nathan Winder, was killed in Iraq at the young age of 32. 

So no, life's not fair, and all of us will die at one time or another. It may be in 70 years, or it may be tomorrow. But it is up to us to take advantage of this life and not squander it. We should reevaluate our lives and decide what is most important. That is the lesson I learned from Brittany's death. 

But life went on and like many of life's lessons, it became lost and forgotten in the jumble of our mortal existence. 

A high mountain lake in Colorado.

About a year later I had a close family member attempt suicide. It was a terrifying experience. Had he not been found at that exact time, he too would have died. It was one of those experiences that traumatized all of us. Even though he would have a long road ahead, we were grateful he was alive. 

But once again it sent my mind back to the day that Brittany died. I remembered those feelings of unconditional love, and then I felt ashamed that I had let them slip from my fingers in less than a year. I wanted to do better. 

That is part of the battle we have while on Earth. We go up and down and struggle to always improve, but there are so many distractions, so many false-roads that we travel that it is difficult—and nearly impossible—to always stay on the strait and narrow. 

Summit of Wilson Peak, 14,023 feet above sea level.

Now it's happening again. But this time it's me. 

This past year has been a difficult one. In addition to all the chaos and inconvenience placed upon us by the Covid-19 pandemic, I have experienced a lot of pain and sickness myself. 

In October I was diagnosed with Polycythemia Vera, a rare blood cancer that affects the way my body creates red blood cells. In short, it creates too many and that causes problems with other areas of my body. The disease is progressive and there is no cure. But with proper treatment I can live a “near normal” life according to my oncologist. 

That last fact is reassuring, but my pain still hasn't resolved. I am also at higher risk of blood clots and strokes. Someone in my category has an expected life span of 25 more years. But I am only 47. I was hoping to make it to 100. And with my continuing discomfort in my stomach, there are more procedures and surgeries to be done and we can't completely rule out the possibility of a second cancer. 

My whole life ahead is uncertain. I don't know how long I'll live, nor the quality of life I will enjoy. It has forced me to sit down and reevaluate those same lessons that I learned after Brittany passed. I must decide and live my life based on what is most important. 

Seneca.

In the year 49 A.D., the Roman philosopher, Seneca, wrote an essay entitled On the Shortness of Life. He argues that life gives us ample time, it's just that we waste much of it in vain pursuits, or just idling it away. Consistent with his stoic philosophy, he recommends we be disciplined in how we use our time. 

His views are summarized in this excerpt from the opening paragraph: “It is not that we have a brief length of time to live, but that we squander a great deal of that time. Life is sufficiently long, and has been granted with enough generosity for us to accomplish the greatest things, provided that in its entirety it is well invested; but when it is dissipated in extravagance and carelessness, when it is spent on no good purpose, then, compelled at last by the final necessity, we realize it has passed away without our noticing its passing.” 

He continues by elaborating: “All that remains of our existence is not actually life, but merely time. We are besieged by vices that encircle us, preventing us from rising up or lifting our eyes to contemplate the truth, and keeping us down once they have overwhelmed us, our attention fixed upon lust.” 

I considered this. What are the “vices that encircle us” and “lust” that our attention is fixed upon? The first thing that came to mind was media and how much time we waste watching television or scrolling the internet on our phones. 

Much of our attention seems to be fixed on how to make more money so we can buy more and more things of this world. These are things that we see our neighbors and friends have. What happened to the world just a few generations past when we had much less and our lives were more simple and happy? 

Seneca denounces a lifestyle that has too much leisure or pleasure. He mentions people who “have spent their lives engaged in chess-playing or exercise with ball or the practice of roasting their bodies in the sun.” He goes on to condemn “useless literature,” stating that “no benefit will accrue from such knowledge.” 

A common theme in modern society is how busy we are. Seneca hits on this: “It is generally agreed that no activity can be properly undertaken by a man who is busy with many things.” And then he wisely adds: “Nothing concerns the busy man less than the business of living.” 

Marathon in the Tushar Mountains.

He also advises on living in the present. “Live here and now!” But he also stresses the need for balance in regard to the past and future: “Should a period of time have passed, he embraces it in his memory; if it is present, he makes use of it; if it is to come, he anticipates it. By combining all times into one he makes his life a long one. But those who forget the past, ignore the present, and fear for the future have a life that is very brief and filled with anxiety.” 

Reading the wisdom of Seneca, as well as that of other sages, has given me a boost in dealing with my new prognosis. I have also learned a lot in observing great examples of people who surround me. One bit of advise I have learned is to stay positive and only worry about those things that are within my control. 

London in 2008.

In regard to the shortness of our lives and the uncertainty of my own point on the continuum of life, I have narrowed my priorities into three categories: 

One. Seize the moment. There are so many good things to do and see on this planet that I can't waste time or miss opportunities to do things I have always wanted to do. I have huge lists of countries I want to visit, mountain peaks I want to climb, hikes I want to take, books I want to read, people I want to interview, food I want to eat, pictures I want to take, history I want to learn. The more I focus on not wasting my time and seizing the moment, the more of these activities I will check off my list. 

Here's an example. I've got a brother-in-law with whom at one time we had a plan to go to a remote canyon and explore some archeological sites that had been hidden from the public until recently. Unfortunately, he and my wife's sister got a divorce and life led us in paths where we lost most of our contact. But I've always enjoyed his friendship and just last week we made contact and decided that this summer we are doing our excursion—after about 8 years! 

Somewhere close to home.

Two. Family. Nothing on this Earth is more important than family. My wife and kids mean everything to me. But do I act as if they do? Do I listen to them, hug them, kiss them, and make time for them? I mentioned above some of the things I'd like to do. But nothing in that category is more important than my family. What does a person have who travels the world and has climbed all the highest peaks, yet loses their family? Nothing. 

I still can improve in this area. I'm trying. Last summer my wife decided to get a large new patio in our backyard. What a great opportunity to make dinner on the grill, roast smore's over the fire and play card games around a table, creating family memories that will last a lifetime. Seizing the moment includes taking advantage of opportunities with your family. 

For me, the temple is one of the best places on Earth to come closer to God.

Three. My relationship with God and preparation for death. I am a religious man. I believe we are sent to the Earth for a purpose. I believe our actions during this lifetime will have eternal consequences. Instead of fumbling through life, being tossed to and fro by the fads and popular ideas of the world, we should be focused on a deeper pursuit. As one scripture puts it, “This life is the time for men to prepare to meet God.” 

Jesus, while he lived on the Earth, practiced unconditional love, charity, service, humility, patience, forgiveness, virtue. He invited all to “come follow me.” Shouldn't we be striving to be like Him? 

If I believe in God, then I should live it. 

Also, if I believe in a life that is eternal, then I should not fear death. Death is just a step, a portal through which we all must pass. As one man said just days before dying, “Now it's time to put our faith in eternity.” 

If I can exercise faith that death is not the end, but another step in our eternal existence, then my actions on Earth will have deeper meaning. I will be less likely to waste my mortal existence and will strengthen my bonds with those people that are most important. 

Quoting Seneca: “Withdraw, then, to these more peaceful, safer, greater things! . . . in order to discover what substance, what will, what manner of existence, what shape God has, what fate is waiting for your soul; where nature gives us rest once we have been released for our bodies. 

“Now, while the blood is warm, we must step out vigorously on the path to better things. Many things worth knowing wait for you in this manner of life—the love and exercise of the virtues, the ability to forget the passions, the knowledge of living and of dying, a state of deep repose.” ♠

 

Bottom of the Grand Canyon.