Hiking Squaw Peak

Yesterday was positively beautiful here in Provo Valley. It was the first day in what seems like forever that the frigid, grey sky subsided for a while and the sun was able to send some rays down to warm the frozen earth and our cold bodies. After a morning of thorough apartment cleaning for me and lots of finance homework for Drew, we took it outside.

We've wandered up Rock Canyon on pretty Sunday afternoons before, and Drew had made the trip up to Squaw Peak with friends multiple times, but it was a first for me. It was a great day hike; we got started just after lunch and were back in time for dinner. 

Just as we got into Rock Canyon, Drew spotted these big fellas - Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep. 

Pretty quickly, the gravel ends and it's all trekking through the snow from here on out (or up. and up, and up). 

We came across a mostly frozen riverbed after a little while. Mostly frozen, but not completely. After staring at snow, it was refreshing to see liquid water and play around on the rocks for a few minutes. 

The moisture from that riverbed created some pretty muddy conditions a little further up the trail. Drew took a minor spill - his tractionless tennis shoes are probably to blame - and got a few scrapes and a dirty, wet leg. 

He quickly recovered and was back to being his tough, studly self in no time. And honestly, he's kind of fond of the battle wounds. 

Next, we wandered quietly through a wintry forest. It was such a still place, completely silent aside from us and the crunching snow. And white. I've never seen so much pure, white snow. 

Eventually, the trees opened up to a big, snowy field. Drew kept telling me this field was coming. And then when it came, it went on. and on. and on.

The snowfield finally ended, and we found ourselves at a vantage point with a 360-degree view of the entire valley.
<Gasp> Simply breathtaking.

Even though, at first glance, it looked (and maybe felt) like we were trapped in a frozen wasteland, the place was actually just brimming with life. Full of hardy little living things duking it out in some pretty intense conditions.

What seemed like suddenly, the peak was in sight. It can be both terrifying and exhilarating to be that high and that exposed, especially when you're standing on snow that you're well aware is completely deceptive in its solidness.

As the excitement and adrenaline of being at the top waned, we quickly realized that our toesies were wet, our ears were cold, our buns and calves were on fire, and our bellies were empty. Time to get the heck off that mountain. 

It's such an odd thing to walk and walk and just keep walking, with no idea how far you've been or how much farther you still have to go. And it takes a good deal of trust; it took trusting Drew (and the trailblazers) to know the way, trusting my legs and feet to get me there, trusting my own mind to be tough enough to persevere when turning around would be easier, and trusting that mountain to be sturdy and predictable. I thought multiple times during the day about the fact that that mountain was so much bigger, harder, and enduring than I am. I was simultaneously tackling it - overcoming its challenges to get to the top - and standing in deference to it - acknowledging and appreciating my relatively limited size, strength, and age. In many moments during this hike, I felt like my surroundings required reverence of me - the silence and stillness and permanence of it all was powerful. And in so many ways, experiences like this can be sacred for us, because in them we learn important things about our natures - who we really are and what we're truly capable of. I knew yesterday that I was a visitor in a wild place; a small thing vulnerable to falling, bleeding, getting lost, or quitting; and girl who's utterly mortal. But I also recognized that I'm built of the same stock as that big, old rock and those tough, spiky things that are at home there: I'm flexible and resilient at times, stubborn and unwavering at others; I'm capable of surviving and thriving in hard conditions; and I'm the product of seasons and years and generations of other sacred, defining experiences - my own and others'.

What a great day to be completely alive.