Mt. Thielsen

Two months! It really has been two months since I pushed myself beyond my comfort zone and achieved something I never thought possible. I've been sitting on this post, unsure how to describe what this accomplishment means to me. But sometimes, sometimes, it's just a matter of sitting down, typing, and using the words I can come up with rather than worrying about how the perfect ones may never come.

Ever since our trip to Bend last September, I've had Mt. Thielsen on my mind. For almost ten miles on a perfectly straight road, one stares at the majestic grandeur of this mountain as they approach it on the highway. Once I learned there was something of a trail to the top, I was sold. I had to come back and give it a try. I couldn't think of a more fitting final adventure on our Oregon road trip.

Mt. Thielsen, Labor Day weekend 2014

A sunny day dawned, crisp frost clinging to every surface. I peek out of the tent, both anxious and excited for the day's hike. Once I become fully awake, a nervousness grows in my gut. Our guidebook and several online sources tell us this isn't the hike for anyone afraid of heights. Huh. It's not often that I begin something knowing that my chances of failure strongly overpower those of success, but I'm cautiously optimistic. Even if I don't make it to the top, the views below the summit should be nothing short of spectacular.

Diamond Lake

The first four miles pass quickly as we rise through the forest. Through periodic breaks in the canopy, we're offered brief views of our day's mission: the intimidating vertical spire of Mt. Thielsen's final approach, towering thousands of feet above the surrounding forest. They don't call this mountain the "Lightning Rod of the Cascades" because it's a gentle climb to the top. Her summit rests at some 9,128 ft. above sea level.

It's not long after we pass the final pocket of trees that our efforts turn into a scramble, one of climbing boulders and picking through the scree. Every step is tentative as I test my weight out on the footholds before fully committing my entire body weight to them. It's another mile to the top but I try not to let that discourage me.

I stop taking photographs on the way up because as soon as I turn around and notice how steep the slope is, that uneasy vertigo sets in. I haven't always been this afraid of heights. As a child, I regularly climbed trees, jumped into lakes from tall rocky cliffs, and never had a reason to be afraid. It wasn't until I faced the reality of my own mortality during cancer treatments that I realized how fragile my life truly is. Now, my fear of heights ranges from mild fear to sheer panic, depending on whether there's a firm surface on which to place my death grip. Trail running has helped me become more comfortable on trails with steep drops, but bouldering still gets to me.

Of course, this is exactly what I want to find when I'm already nervous. RIP dude.

Matt and I debate turning back several times, but with a few breaks, we are able to calm ourselves and resume climbing. Staring at the pile of rocks directly in front of me, I focus all my energies on them. Deep breath. Continue. By taking my time, forcing myself to relax and focus, it’s a lot easier to manage than thinking all about how I’m up too freakin’ high. Left foot here, right foot there, steady myself. It’s all a puzzle and I'm fitting it together.

My arms and legs ache as I make the final approach, which is more akin to finding ledges and notches within a single rock wall than bouldering, but I'm exhilarated. I'M DOING IT!!!

We head back down a little bit to get out of the wind, a couple with a dog is already there, enjoying the gorgeous fall day and perfectly crisp views. I pull a PB&J out of my pack and for the first time, check out the view. A wave of vertigo washes over me and all I can think about is how I have to go back down.

Umpqua and Winema National Forests carpet the landscape

I glance at the rocks nearby. Where will they land the rescue helicopter? Every time I climb something outside of my comfort zone, my mind goes here. I imagine how long it will take for the rescue crew to arrive and the shame I will feel as they pluck me from the mountaintop. I had this same thought on Flattop in July. At least I know what thoughts to expect so I can work to overcome them. Haha.

The brisk wind forces us to retreat back down the mountain. It's not any easier going down. Scree slides out beneath my feet and I spend most of my energy trying to remain upright. Most of the time, I catch myself, but by the time we reach solid trail again, I've fallen almost a dozen times, more than I have in all of my five years of trail running. My backside becomes a little sore, but I'm mostly annoyed that I keep slipping. Quit it with the falling, legs, I think to myself. It isn't funny anymore.

Yup, that looks about right.

We reach the car just before sunset and point our car west and head for Roseburg. I'm so proud of my accomplishment and Matt agrees that we need some DQ to celebrate. Instead of camping as planned, we decide to reward ourselves with a bed and hot shower, too.

But first! Trailhead quesadillas!

While inhaling our banana split, we search for nearby hotels on Matt's tablet. We've got enough points saved up for a free night at a newly renovated place right down the street. Wasting no time changing into swimwear, we make a beeline for the hot tub.

Thinking back to the day's hike, I can't help but smile. When can I do that again?

Stats: 10 miles, 5:26, 3,856 ft. gain.