Walk. Don’t run down the mountain.
Can you spot Liberty Lake?
Two days ago, I got my fourth rejection letter from a literary magazine. It came to my email just four days after my third. Normally, despite my abnormally high self-confidence, this would’ve shattered my ego for a while but in between rejection #3 and rejection #4 a lot happened. It started with a hike.
Four MFAers (Tyler, Jason, Leyna and myself) set off on a slightly overcast Tuesday headed to Liberty Lake National Park to celebrate being on Spring Break. We wanted nature! We wanted to move other parts of our bodies besides our writing hands and we wanted to prove that we could have wholesome fun (i.e Not imbibe alcohol). Or maybe those were my reasons for going. Anyways on the drive to Liberty Lake (LL), a light misting rain started but we shrugged it off. We thought: “We live in Washington. What’s a little rain, huh?” Tyler had his car radio on light Jazz which made everyone but me chuckle, which in turn made everyone laugh more. The banter in the car was light and relaxed. Jason noticed that despite Leyna, who sat in the passenger seat, Tyler’s car said the passenger seat airbag was off. I joked with her that she needed to eat more because that thing was activated by the weight of a normal adult. We all laughed.
It was a fun and short car trip. Then the roads got a little windy and the light Jazz Tyler had playing seemed like the last music I wanted to hear when we flew off the embankment but before I could pop him in the back of the neck, we’d arrived at park and I lightened up again. By now the rain, which was misting before, was falling steadily enough to make the three of us with hoods pull them up. We looked around and then looked at each other, doing that silent eye communication universal to humankind: “We going to do this?” “I’m down, if you’re down.” “I could go either way.” “Let’s do it!” So we set off into the forest.
The first forty minutes were peaceful and quiet. Look! A hawk! Look over there! A mallard! Mostly that was me, yelling. Actually, it was only me yelling but I couldn’t help it, I was excited. The path was flat and wide enough for us to walk abreast of each other. We hopped a little stream and walked over little bridges, having a great time. I didn’t think about anything important: not my impending thesis work, not my lackluster love life, not about being homesick and especially not about the rejection letters. Then we reached the first marker. Wait. All of that was just one mile. Okay. We tramped onwards and steadily uphill but the path was still wide and the increasingly soggy ground didn’t slow our progress too much, so we were still cheerful.
Before ish got real - Tyler, Leyna and Me
By mile two, my outlook had dimmed just a little. While my fellow MFAers had wisely worn hiking boots and jeans or cargo pants, I had on running shoes (commence face-palm) and black tights. As we started up the mountain (yeah, we didn’t know about the mountain, we thought circle the lake) the ground got murkier and I fell behind while trying to avoid the large puddles so I didn’t get my feet wet. I would find out soon enough it wouldn’t matter.
Up and up we went. The stream we’d crossed was now a river and moving fast. No more light-hearted leaps, instead carefully calculated jumps were required. Then there was the snow. We managed to drive away from Spokane’s spring into a place where winter was still happening. We crunched along, our conversations less about the what we planned on doing with our Spring Break and more about where the best hand holds were or theories on how far we’d gone. Despite the rain that was falling in earnest at this point, we were doing mostly okay, just working a little harder than we thought we would have to and then we got to the switchbacks.
For those of you who aren’t familiar, a switchback is a carved path, usually on a mountain, that goes increasingly up by going left to right and is supposedly an easier way to climb than attempting to go up in a straight path. I’m sure on a day without rain, or a day where the park crew could fix the trail erosion, those switchbacks would be really beautiful. Instead, they became the deadliest and scariest thing I have ever done voluntarily. First of all, those switchbacks were steep, Stairmaster on highest setting steep and narrow to boot. No more walking side by side - we’re now going one at a time, reducing the conversation to over-the-shoulder hollering or just plain silence when concentration was necessary. And then there was the ice and snow and mud, all of which made a mockery of me in my tractionless sneakers. After several of my near death slides, Tyler and Jason began taking turns walking behind me, less to catch me if I fell and more to be able to show Search and Rescue where my broken body landed.
Jason contemplates nature. He also watched my back. Literally.
I’ll admit I was scared. I’d felt myself windmill out of control more times than I was comfortable with while being on the side of a mountain. Jason told me he was going to call me ‘Spidey” because more than once I’d had to use the superhero’s famous side lunge to catch myself. My hands were raw from the cold and grabbing at snow-covered branches and rocks while flailing around for something to give me balance. My ankles hurt from banging against fallen logs and being twisted in odd angles without support. We were all wet and Tyler didn’t have on a hood so rain sat like dew on the tips of his hair. In my head, this is all the stuff that was narrated in the voice over in an episode of “I shouldn’t be alive”. I started a will in my head, assigning things to my siblings: My little brother could have my stereo and my little sister could have my clothes. Mom, take my ashes to New Orleans and throw them over Lake Pontchartrain. But mostly, we kept these thoughts to ourselves, plodding faithfully forward, until I almost banged into Leyna, who had stopped walking. Her and Tyler were looking more concerned than ever, quietly arguing between themselves and I looked past them to see why.
The path seemed to have disappeared, except it hadn’t, I could see where brave footprints started up about30 yards away but between us and that path was nothing but rocks. I wondered how we could get from one path to the other? And then I got it. The rocks were a part of the path, adding a rock climbing element to the helltrail. Snow and ice on a muddy path was bad enough for my sneakers but could I climb on jagged, sloped, wet rock? I was calculating my chances when Leyna said, ” We don’t know if we’re halfway yet and we don’t know how much harder the trail gets from here. Maybe we should go back since we know how far and rough that trail is.” Tyler seemed bent on going forward but deferred to me, siting my lack of proper footwear and Jason ever stoic, said he would go with whatever I decided. I looked up at the grey sky and steady rain fell inside my hood. I looked again at the rocky path ahead us and looked off into the curve of the mountain where I could see Liberty Lake, pewter and distant. I opted to go back.
Going down was harder than going up. At least going up, I could dig my toes into the snow and make footholds for myself but going down, the snow and ice made the path as smooth as a roller rink but stopping was the difference between falling down a mountain or heading down the next switchback. Near the end of the descent, Jason and I quit switchbacking and started climbing straight down through logs and soggy earth on the side of the mountain. By the time we got to flatter ground, we were beat. Every inch of us was wet and as the adrenaline wore off I started feeling all my bumps and tumbles. It occurred to me that I was colder than I had ever been here in the northwest, even counting the night I’d walked home in below-zero temperatures from the bar after celebrating the new year. That night, icicles had grown in my hair and still I was colder on this 40 degree rainy day.
The car ride home was silent except for teeth rattles and sporadic sardonic laughter. Tyler could barely grip the steering wheel and stick shift with his frozen hands. Jason had saved an orange for an after-hike snack but he could barely hold the fruit, let alone peel it. I sat in the front seat and no one laughed when the airbag light didn’t come on. When Tyler dropped us off at out respective houses, we mumbled our goodbyes, “Thanks for driving. That was fun. See you around.” I rushed into my apartment and cranked up every heater. I stripped out of my wet clothes and proceeded to take a hot shower, then a hot bath and then another hot shower. Dinner that night was Thai food and it was the best I’d ever tasted. So the next morning, when I had an email from the literary journal Callaloo saying sorry but we can’t use your poetry at this time, I had enough perspective to be quite alright with their decision. I’ve got all my fingers to write better poetry and they haven’t heard the last of me.
Admit it, Monet. That hike was actually the most fun you’ve ever had in your entire life. You wish everyday could be filled with snowy switchbacks and unending rain. Aaaah, good times.
Monet: Liberty Lake is a bad memory for me. I feel you (MFAers) chose the wrong time to go hiking in Spokane. I would have turned around and went to the mall. First, you weren’t prepared. Second, did anyone research to see what to expect while hiking in treacherous weather? I enjoyed reading about your teams adventure, but it was scary to me. Now pick up your pen/pencil. Love ya
Interesting…As I read this entry I fully expected to read mindblowing metaphors throughout that paralled the hiking experience to the turns, twists and climbs of writing and rejection. However, I got lost in the hiking details (in a good way)and became more concerned about the journey than the outcome. When you turned around, I thought “oh no” don’t quit. Then I had a mild aha moment that this truly was about the journey vs the outcome. So as you did in the end- warm yourself,refuel and write on.
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