I once read that an adventure is not necessarily (in fact not usually) exciting at the time it takes place, but it does make for a good story to those who were not present. In my opinion, my friend Steve and I had an adventure. In sticking with that definition of an adventure, though, you will have to decide whether or not it in fact qualifies as such.
Steve and I spent about a week in Switzerland near the beginning of June. That week was couched between some significant travels through central Europe and a relaxing time in Paris following the humiliation at the USA vs. Czech Republic World Cup match. Being ambitious and perhaps a little too naïve, we set our sights high and decided that we should take full advantage of what Switzerland had to offer by trying out our hiking shoes.
The deck at the hostel afforded a beautiful view of the Alps and so, sitting there one evening we decided that the next day we would hike to a certain peak that was clearly visible from the deck. The logic was that we would be able to take a breathtaking picture of the peak and say, “that’s where we hiked.” That seemed good enough reason at the time. There were some objections from the our fellow hostel-residents, but an older couple offered to buy us each a beer if we made it and so it was settled. My assumption was that “making it” meant hiking a round trip to and from the hostel with that peak being the half-way point. Looking back, I was all wrong.
Recent graduates of LeTourneau University in East Texas with degrees in aeronautical science, we figured we couldn’t be more prepared for a trek in the Alps. That older couple was sitting at a tiny café near the hostel drinking coffee when we embarked around 8:30 a.m. I pointed out the peak again and they wished Steve and I good luck. “Hah,” I thought, “I just bought this Camelback at REI and it is called the Rim Runner. With that and my college degree, what do these people think I need luck for?” I vaguely remember some sort of discussion regarding our lack of maps or really any direction whatsoever, but Steve and I were not dissuaded. After all, you could see the peak from the hostel, how could anyone get lost?
Two hours later we were still headed away from the destination. The trail that had been our guide was obviously failing its task and so I suggested we start thinking for ourselves – the first mistake of the day. A valuable lesson learned that day was that slopes are always steeper than they look. Of course at this point we had not learned that lesson. The plan was brilliant: we would simply cross the snow bridge formed by a past avalanche then scramble up the loose gravel a few thousand feet until we reached the ledge that we could traverse until it would practically dump us onto the coveted peak. It seemed so easy I considered bringing my grandmother back next summer. Any doubts were quelled by Steve’s reminder that we had been training for this on the streets of Prague, Vienna, Florence, and Rome. Right now I fail to see the connection, but at the time we both agreed once again that we couldn’t have been more prepared.
Two more hours of literally scrambling on our hands and knees grabbing every root and bush that looked somewhat connected to the hillside and we arrived at that traverse that was supposed the last step before the destination. Right about then three realizations came to mind. 1) We could not possibly go back the way we came. 2) We had grossly miscalculated the ease of the route. 3) From this perspective we weren’t even sure anymore which peak we were headed towards. The only logical option was to continue up and somewhat northwest. Northwest was really just a term used to make the situation seem planned because the digital compass Steve bragged so much about was apparently napping back in the hostel.
This was the point at which a skewed optimism took over and our motto became, “Once we get to that flattish area, we will be able to see where we are headed.” Whenever one of us felt discouraged, we would just repeat the motto and heartily agree that we were practically right around the corner. After a few climbs I would be nervous to attempt even with ropes, we found ourselves trapped on a bit of a ledge. Both forward and backward progress was hindered by threatening drop-offs. In all seriousness, we were both scared and Steve suggested that maybe we had made a wrong turn. This seemed to make complete sense and so we came up with yet another brilliant plan. This plan was to find the real path and follow that to the peak. I am just glad we attempted this after finishing college rather than before when we most likely wouldn’t have been smart enough to come up with such an intelligent course of action.
After some deliberation I can’t even begin to describe, I concluded that the more forward direction was the best way to the path and so I jumped. Right before I jumped, the thought entered my mind that I must be an unusually brave and daring person and if only my friends could see me now… About a microsecond later and maybe six vertical feet I found myself cushioned on the soft hillside just beyond that impassible ledge. It occurred to me that I would have probably had a harder landing falling out of my bunked bed at school. Remember, though, that this was the insight of someone looking back and Steve still sat upon the ledge experiencing very real fear. He tossed me his bag and requested that I take one last snapshot of him sitting on that infamous ledge. “You know, just in case it is my last.” That could have been a very significant picture for me to show his mother as I tried to explain that I had done everything I could to help him – at least he was smiling. Since Steve made it alive, I have titled the picture: “this is Steve thinking he is about to die.” I laugh only because the same idea crossed my mind.
After about seven hours and numerous other “near death experiences,” Steve and I arrived at a clearing that provided a clear view of the path up to that peak. I was a little dismayed to also see in that clearing a barn and a herd of cattle. This was quite a disheartening sight because not only had some daring builders toted the materials and tools to build the barn all the way up that mountain that nearly claimed our lives, but some cows had followed them. The cows probably didn’t even have hiking shoes. In order to save my ego, I convinced myself that the cows were dropped in by helicopter and the pilots flew away talking to each other about how only the most serious hikers should even attempt to get there on foot.
When we finally arrived at the peak, it proved to be all that we hoped for and more. After snapping a few pictures to use as proof we headed down talking about how this would be an experience we would never forget. I learned that even a perceived pushing of the limits can help one gain confidence. Upon arrival at the hostel, we were greeted excitedly and asked how in the world we managed to complete a typically five hour hike in a mere eleven hours. Of course the adventure was exaggerated and the evening was spent basking in the praise and congratulations of those lesser outdoorsmen who used maps and carried compasses.
| 
