Kathleen, Tom, Paul and
I are standing on the street. We’re loading my gear into the car, the sky is
overcast and the first drops of rain fall. We leave Santa Fe shortly after
noon. It rains steadily, all the way to Taos, at times coming down hard. We
encounter high winds in the Española Valley. Turning off the main road for the
Taos Ski Valley, in Arroyo Seco the rain changes to snow and we see
accumulations of it on cars coming from the direction we’re going. Rain mixed
with snow turns to snow which turns to heavy snow, and soon the road is covered
and we begin to see vehicles off in the ditches. Even with the advantage of
all-wheel drive, it is touch and go, we make way with caution. The windshield
wipers are coated with snow and slap heavily back and forth.
After getting settled in
the condominium we’ve rented for the weekend, we relax in the living room,
share tales of past adventures in similar conditions and wonder if we’ll make
it to Wheeler Peak, our objective for tomorrow. Tom looks out the window and
exclaims, “Whoa!” We all turn to look. Visibility is zero, it’s whiteout
conditions. Snow blows and drifts wildly in all directions. It’s not looking
good for tomorrow, but c’est la vie,
we have dinner, we have wine and we have each other’s company. Especially in
the mountains a plan, in reality, is merely a suggestion.
The dinner Tom and
Kathleen have brought is pure comfort food. Tom is the best cook I know, and I
know quite a few very good cooks, myself included. Turkey meatloaf with gravy,
rice with chopped peppers and corn, and a tossed salad with walnuts, sections
of tangerine and a vinaigrette dressing. We take seats around the table, each
of us expectant as children and dig in. Everything natch, is home made.
Everything is delicious. For dessert, Tom treats us to a banana cake with cream
cheese frosting. On second thought, the banana cake is better than delicious,
it is sublime. As my friend Linda, one of the very good cooks says,
“food is love.” With stomachs full and hearts content we fade, and turn in for
the night.
I’m the first up in the
morning. The sky is thick overcast, the light is dim grey monotone. The cloud
cover however, is uneven. Perhaps it will break up. I make some tea. Sipping the
steaming tangy liquor is a comfort. The rest of the crew gets up, all of us in
our own morning fog, we stumble around. I brought ingredients for breakfasts.
Tom and I set to preparing eggs, bacon, home fries and toast with jam; there’s
coffee, tea, milk and oj. In short order we are sitting together for another
first class feast. We are deep in the valley so even on a clear day it would
take a while for the sun to appear. We postpone a decision on hiking until
after breakfast.
The air is unstable and
the cloud cover continues to break. Now individual clouds roil over the steep
slopes. These are good signs, and the decision is made to climb Wheeler.
Kathleen and Paul get into cleanup mode and we all hustle around, dressing,
getting our boots on and putting our lunches and gear together for the day. And
we’re off. Again, we are thankful for all-wheel drive. The road to the trail
head is steep with tight switchbacks and is hard packed snow and ice.
Starting out on the
hike, the clouds part and we are treated to sunshine, pure air and a deep blue
sky. Fathomless, deep blue. We hike up the valley to Williams Lake in a fairy
land of snow covered trees and mountain slopes, we have the trail to ourselves
and all are in high spirits. The trail climbs a series of ancient glacial
moraines, we crest the final rise and there’s the cutoff to the summit. Kathleen
and Tom and I decide to hike the short distance to the lake and Paul opts to wait
for us at the cutoff.
We are met with a small
group of people, a man and woman sit close to one another off to the side. They
stand up. We say hello and the woman says, “we just got married.” We offer our
congratulations, and she exclaims, “just ten minutes ago!” With this we all
break into hugs and handshakes and laugh and talk about how wonderful this is.
They beam, they glow, it is inspiring to be in the presence of something so
brand new, so full of hope. The couple introduces the Justice of the Peace, a
friendly fellow, who like everyone else is in hiking attire.
“Anyone else want to get
married?” he asks.
“Eventually,” I say. The
question, and my answer pulls a string in me. It has been one of my life’s
great hopes to be married, and one of it’s greatest failings that I am not. You
don’t always get what you want, but for better or worse, there is hope. We say
our goodbyes and well-wishes and are on our way.
Paul is waiting
patiently at the cutoff, and we start climbing the steep slope to the summit.
From this point onward, the nature of the trail changes entirely - this is no
longer a pleasant little walk in the woods. Our elevation is well over 11,000 feet and
we will climb another 2,000, all above tree line in the next 2.25 miles. “Taos,”
as they say, “is a four letter word for steep.” Between the cold, the thin air
and the extra exertion of hiking in snow, Paul has reached his limit and
decides to turn back. With almost any other hiker I would insist we not break
up the group and call it a day, but Paul is a seasoned outdoorsman and knows
the area well. He turns and heads down, and suddenly, alas, I realize no one asked
he stay out of what’s left of a very good Meritage until we get
back to the casa. I couldn’t blame him if he gets into it.
Kathleen, Tom and I
continue. Today I take the lead. Hiking the high peaks has always been very
special for me. I find a pace, usually a slow one, which meets the conditions
and rarely do I stop. Walking becomes a meditation, my footsteps, my breathing,
the light, the burn in my legs all in synch. The last time I was here, more
than a year ago was with R. Even then, things between us were beginning to
disintegrate. I recently found photographs from that hike. It did me no good to
look at them, old wounds just beginning to heal were reopening so I put them in
the trash. I focus on the trail and place each step with care. When I
get to the apex of a switchback I pause, look back and check on Kathleen and
Tom’s location, I study their forms and gaits to make sure they are ok, and I
look at the landscape and sky. I check the new direction of the trail and the
terrain, my pulse has slowed and finally turn and continue up. Kathleen and
Tom are strong and level-headed hikers. I feel safe with them, I know we can
count on one another if the chips go down. These are key components in people to share the mountains with.
There is a moderate wind
from the west. Clouds race over the ridge. We are in sun one moment and shadow
the next. As life goes on and experiences accumulate, more and more I find our
collective human endeavors look to be madness. So many things no longer make
any sense, and being a part of it all is wearing on me. Here in the mountains
however, I find peace and rejuvenation in the order of nature. Overall,
conditions are favorable to reach the summit and we go on.
I am wearing light
polypropylene gloves. Walking, walking, slowly, in pace with my breathing, I
put my palms together to pray. The warmth where my hands touch surprises me. My
body is putting out a lot of heat. I pray in memory of my friend Franz, who
after a long life, died last summer. Franz and I shared many summits. He was a
great and humble man, a great friend. I also pray for R, for her health, her
happiness and her recovery. I meditate on my memories of these people, images
of the times we shared flash through my mind. They are bittersweet, the memories
which end in loss. Onward I walk.
When I get to the ridge
I wait for Kathleen and Tom. Wind compresses as it flows up the slope,
and streams at high speeds over the ridge. There is a large cairn covered with
rime ice on the windward side. I am cold and my feet hurt. Despite the exposure,
this is the time to stop to put on more gear. Stripping off my wind parka, the
cold instantly turns to flames stabbing at my torso. Kathleen and Tom arrive
and start bundling up. I yell and hoot at the wind and hustle on my heavy fleece
sweater and hat. On goes my wind parka, the hood goes over the hat and then I
don windproof mittens with fleece liners. Tom says he may not make it to the
summit, his hands are cold enough they are giving him problems. He waves his
arms around to get circulation to his hands. I help him fasten a buckle on
his pack. “The summit is just up this ridge,” I shout. Adjusting our stances
constantly to the wind, we three look at each other and decide to go up.
The way is shrouded in
cloud which glows in the sun directly behind our view. We can see one or two ice
covered outcrops of rock, the trail then fades into the mist. Otherworldly, the
ice glistens. Neither Kathleen or Tom have been on the summit, so I encourage
them go before me. I want them to have it first. I watch their forms as they go
ahead, picking their way with care into the clouds and the light. I reflect on
our friendship.
Last winter when things
with R were going around the twist, Tom once pulled me aside. “If there’s
anything you need, just let us know.” This is all he said. It’s all he had to
say.
And one night I called
them. “I need you to cook dinner for me,” I said.
“Well, come on over
then,” said Tom. The relaxed ok-ness of dinner and company with them that night
was the salve to my ravaged heart. Every once in a while in life, we find
people who are steady at the helm, who are there with us through the thick and
the thin. This is our greatest good fortune. It is immeasurable.
I watch Kathleen and Tom
climb, solitary figures, yet together. There is the bond.
When we reach the summit
we give each other a three-way bear hug. It has been a test of body and will to
get here. The experience is rare. We hunker down behind a wind break made of
stones, find some warmth and have a bite to eat. The clouds break and we are
treated to sun and views. This is not Mount Everest, nonetheless, we are on top
of the world.
Gordon Bunker
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