Want to go for a hike?

I have been working for the Department of Defense for a grand total of 24 years. Almost all of my work has always been tied to the U.S. Navy, once in a while to the U.S. Marines, and just a few times with the U.S. Army. Throughout the years I have moved around a little, some times seeking greener pastures for promotions, some times for a change of pace to learn something new, and other times just running away from a job that eventually turned into more than I wanted to handle at that particular moment in life. My experience has been that who you work with is much more important than what you do, but of course, a healthy dosage of both is usually the best of all worlds.

I spent my first three years of my government career reading contracts and making sure that our nation was getting their money's worth from the builders of the guidance system of the most advanced ballistic missile in the world. I made some truly great friends during those three years, but there seemed to be too many other people ahead of me in line to be promoted so I changed gears and moved to another job that seemed more promising for my career. I was right, it did not take more than eleven months after my move when I was promoted again, and this time to a much desired level in my field. The new job was exciting and to my surprise the then unknown new people which I now worked with were amazingly nice, competent, and very supportive. The change was a true success in any measure I could calculate.

It was here that I met a nice group of people that enjoyed doing a lot of outdoor kind of activities. Soon I found myself whitewater rafting, climbing, and hiking almost every local mountain peak and even some not so local ones too. Even though I have always enjoyed playing sports, I was never that great at any one of them. This whole getting to the top of mountain peaks was not just fun, it was exhilarating.

Soon I found myself hiking more and more often, to the point in which it started to become harder to find someone that would want to accompany me on some of my outings. In a way I do not blame them, hiking for 8 to 16 hours in one single day can be grueling and what I find fun could also easily be described as torturing to someone else. So if hiking is such a arduous adventure, why you may ask yourself do I enjoy it so much? The truth is that I have discovered so many things about myself and some of the people I have hiked with during our long hours of ascending and descending mountains, which in my eyes makes it all worth while.

I have climbed many peaks with many friends, but some of the most memorable are with some of my family. Once, my oldest sister was visiting and had wanted to go on a hike with me and we had ventured to reach the peak of Mount San Jacinto at 10,834 feet. We took the challenge with one more hiker friend, but departed a bit too late and found ourselves coming down the mountain in the dark and without a flashlight. The bad news was that there was still a lot of snow on the mountain so it was getting pretty chilly on the way back. The good news was that because there was snow, other hikers had already made a muddy trail that was easier to follow by the only source of light, the moon. Not once did my first time sister panic at the idea that we could be get lost in the vast wilderness, not once did she even complain about the cold. I have always been incredibly impressed with her trust in me that long and cold night. That night I discovered that when life gets scary, it is much less so if you are with someone you trust and love.

On another occasion I took my other sister to climb the peak of Mount Baldy at 10,064 feet. At the time of the hike, my sister had overcome some considerable physical challenges in order to get in shape to do this, which in itself was pretty amazing. On this occasion several friends joined including my youngest uncle and a dear friend of my sister too. All the way up and down the mountain we shared so many memorable stories of our childhood. One of the themes of the day was to remember all the different puertorrican expressions that we use that make absolutely no sense to anyone else but us. Soon we were at the peak and as we looked down we all stood in awe at God's ability to impress us with what surrounded us and even ourselves. While on our way down we discovered that my sister's friend suffered from vertigo which made her grab on to my arm for a 45 minute stretch of the hike like a cat on a scratch post, as we descended through a narrow path that had a spectacular drop on one end. On this hike I learned that even if you are not one hundred percent fit for the occasion, the support of others can get you through the difficult paths and you can still make it.

There was one particular year that was extremely special to me. My brother came to visit and stayed with me for the most part of summer. We took advantage of his long stay to both get in shape by climbing Mount Baldy, Mount San Jacinto, and Mount San Gorgonio. Eventually we headed north to find our most difficult challenge, Mount Whitney, the highest summit in the contiguous United States at 14,505 feet of altitude.

The first time I climbed Mount Whitney I did so with a group of eleven other hikers. We did the climb in three days. The first day we drove and camped at the base of the mountain allowing ourselves to adjust to the altitude of 8,360 feet. The second day we hiked with our backpacks and set camp at Trail Camp at 12,000 feet. Finally the third day we ascended to the peak just carrying water and snacks, and then returning all the way back down to Whitney Portal at the base of the mountain.

This time, with my brother, it would be the third time I would intend to climb the giant in a single day, bringing my personal tally to four total ascents. We had carefully planned it so that we could start our hike on a clear full moon at around 4:30 a.m. The hike is 22 miles round trip, making a total ascent and descent of 6,145 feet each way in less than 14.5 hours total, an amazing challenge. Up we went telling stories, and endlessly chatting about so many things that we never ran out of subjects to share. We had done some incredible time and so we paused to grab some lunch from our packs near the lake at 12,000 feet after already passing half point and with less than 2,505 feet to go. Soon with our belly's content we rejoined the goal and started to hike up the final stretch which is full of switchbacks, ice, and some very cold wind. We were probably half way up this almost final part of our hike when my brother's complexion started to change colors. I had seen this before on the face of many other hikers, including the most expert one I knew at the time, my boss. He had been the one that had motivated me to start hiking in the first place, and truth be told, most of the times during our hikes together, the most I saw of him was the back of his boots while he whizzed right past me. He was and still was an extremely skilled and fit man for this kind of activity. As far as I can tell, there is not much you can do when you start to suffer from altitude sickness, other than turn yourself around and start to descend. My brother was wearing a green windbreaker that my sister had given each of us one as a gift. As I continued my hike, little by little I could see the green dot of his body laying over a huge boulder getting smaller and smaller. An older couple were on their way down and as they passed me I asked them if they would pass down my car keys to my brother in case he decided to go all the way down without me at least he would have a place to rest comfortably. They not only gave him the keys, but also hydrated him with Gatorade and words of encouragement. By the time I reached Trail Crest at 13,600 feet, the only thing I could distinguish of my brother was that of a small green speck at the bottom of the arduous switchback trail.

I stood there for less than one minute taking in the beauty of it all. Remembering how close I was to the top from the experience of having been there three times before. Then it all stopped making any sense. The reason to reach the peak was no longer there. What I wanted was to be there with my brother, not all alone. So I turned my soar ass around and started to go back down without reaching the peak in order to be with my brother. Going down used to be easier than going up, so I reached him fairly quickly. Nowadays it hurts both ways, age has taken its toll on my knees. The rest of the way down with my brother was even more fun than what we had already shared on the way up. The lower we went, the better he felt, and the easier it was to enjoy the view and our conversation. On this hike I learned more than on any other hike I have ever done. I learned that to succeed, you don't always have to make it to the top. I learned that what you do on the way up is actually more important than getting there. Some strangers deliver more than just keys, they also deliver hope, encouragement, caring, and oh, Gatorade. I suppose that the most important thing that I learned was that my brother means much more to me than any of my personal goals.

Dad