meh.

The pack is heavy. The sweat spots on my shirt become indistinguishable from one another, ten miles into a hike and I am soaked. With every step the lakeshore gets further away and the sun gets closer. I have been walking at no less than a forty five degree angle for about two hours now, following the trail as it switchbacks up the base of the mountain. The trees begin to thin out as I grow closer and closer to the end of the tree line. As I saw the rocky top of the mountain peeking out from behind the trees, I walk a bit faster, I run, full pack, I run. I am eager to escape the birch forest and the path. I explode through the trees, into the clearing, before me the peak was only 100-150 feet up tops. I glance at the trail, I glance at the rocky slope, I glance again at the trail. I hurry to the rocky slope. I was in an instant painfully aware that I was without technical climbing equipment and the slope was almost eighty degrees. I paced around, looking for a more practical face to climb, and then at last I spotted it. I was ecstatic. It is maybe a seventy degree slope and it is gravel. Without a minute to spare I am forty feet up. I press on, the gravel disappears I am rock hoping. I pause for a moment and take my boots off so I have better grip. I continue until it seems that I can go no further. I am about fifteen feet from summit, and I can just reach the next, “landing,” with my hands, the edge of the next landing sticks out above my head. There is no way I am brave enough to try that with a pack on. Defeated for a moment I begin to look for an alternate route. There are none it is either up or down, I take off my pack and grab a drink of water. If it wasn’t for the pack, I be I could make it, I thought. Then it hit me, I attempt to toss my pack up on the “landing” above, I hit the edge. My pack starts to fall; I just barely catch it and lose balance due to its forty five pound girth. I regain my footing and toss again, it makes it. I grip the edge as best I can, lean back and walk up the rock, until my knees hit my chest, then I push myself up, scraping my knees terribly in the process. I drag my legs over the edge. I stand up brush the gravel out of my knees and off my feet, lace up my boots and scope out the highest point. I make short work of reaching it. I am rewarded with a 360 degree panoramic view 2500 feet in the air. My knees are bleeding, I am sore, drenched in sweat, exhausted, and trying to catch my breath, but never happier. I just stand there in awe, lake superior to one side, a smaller mountain on another, a winding river, all encompassed by a sea of birch. It is by far not the most impressive mountain, but it is mine. I sit on my thrown, the highest point in Minnesota, and bandage up my knees, remove my boots, rehydrate, eat peanut butter and jelly, the breakfast, lunch, and dinner of champions, and wait for my group. They were probably just now reaching the base of the rocks and opting to take the trail.