At the last minute on Saturday night, I got inspired to check the weather on the other side of Mt. Hood: Sun and clouds, low wind, high of 50. Just three weeks from my potential Mt. Hood climb attempt, I really wanted to revisit my epiphany point and to share it with one of my best friends.
I thought I knew what to expect. My first time hiking up Tom, Dick & Harry Mountain in July, 2020, was a piece of cake. I woke up with first light and zoomed from the campsite up to the top in 45 minutes, just missing the sun cresting over Mt. Hood. On Christmas Eve, I set out from the parking lot trekking over a slightly snowy, though still obvious, trail quickly ascending in a couple of hours.
Both times I stayed at the top for a long time gazing at Mt. Hood—the first time remembering my dreams, the second time fully committing to them. I imagined myself there, though still had no idea how to actually get there.
Still dreams, not yet realities.
Four months later, it was a totally different hike—hours of continuously stepping over downed trees, through deep snow, and across steep hillsides—following the footprints ahead of us winding randomly through the forest.
Were we actually on the trail buried beneath the snow, close to it or worse winding aimlessly on someone’s random path through the forest?
I just read about “situational awareness” in my Mountaineering: Freedom of the Hills, 9th Edition textbook while learning about navigation in my 2021 BCEP program last week. It is the key to staying found, not getting lost.
There are four steps: Observe, orient, decide, act.
“Start by observing the surroundings and updating your mental map of the landscape. Where have you come from? Where are you now? Where are you going? What are the dangers?”
There we stood with cold fingers and cold feet—cobalt blue sky above us, but trees all around. The wind was picking up. We had plenty of daylight but were running low on energy.
I took out my phone to check our GPS location on Google Maps. It had 1% battery left. The blue dot blinked on a blank map. I thought about pulling out my compass that I finally learned how to use last week. Alas, I had the topographic map printout for the original trail we had planned to do, not the trail we were actually on. So much for getting our bearings.
Finally, a map showed up on the screen. I zoomed in: we were exactly on the trail, but still had a bit more to go. Weighing my previous few days’ efforts—a six-mile, 3,000-foot trial run (up the first 2/3rds of the climb route) and an all-day rock climbing session—with our unsurprisingly low energy levels, I decided to compromise. Committed to the intent, but not a result, we would continue for 10 more minutes before turning around if we weren’t there yet.
Luckily a few minutes later, the trees started to thin exposing more and more blue. Then, the grey of rock at the top. Excitedly, we found some spring in our steps and hurried up to the top—gasping exactly as I’d expected: “Oh my gosh! This is amazing.”
There were mountains popping out of the horizon in every direction.
And then there was Mt. Hood nonchalantly standing right in front of us. Giant clouds drifting past, casting shadows on the forest and on the glaciers like on any other day in its half-million-year-old life.
As we sat on the rocks, ate our lunches and gazed at the mountain, I explained in detail—where I would come from, where I would be, where I would go, what the dangers were.
This is what happens by staying found.
Dreams become reality.
Four steps at a time.
May you update your mental map this week to match your surroundings.
Love,
Jules
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How to live an intentional life: Observe, orient, decide, act.
Totally, Jon! Love it.