The Thief of Joy has no Place in the Mountains

I was driving east into Joseph, Oregon, at the very beginning of fall for my first visit to the Wallowas and the Eagle Cap Wilderness. The farm and rangeland stretch almost entirely to the foothills of the towering granite peaks. I was on the phone as I drove into town and kept repeating how much this reminded me of Montana and Wyoming. The next morning, I drove to the trailhead up the Lostine River Valley. Ponderosa-dominated forests with rising granite cliffs on each side of the seemingly perfect creek. My mind instantly teleported me to Icicle Creek in Leavenworth. I started to look for the similarities. I stopped thinking about what was in front of me and shifted my focus to my feelings of Leavenworth, robbing myself of the unique experience of being in a new place for the first time. I started noticing this pattern in myself as I approached the trailhead, and the thought never escaped me.

After meeting up with Ira, a friend I have frequently adventured with, we decided to bail on our plans to sleep in the backcountry that night. The forecast said there was a system coming in, and we didn't have the gear to face a nine-degree (F) wind chill and potential snow flurries. We were hiking up to Mirror Lake from Two Pan Trailhead, where you follow the glacier-carved valley through the forest, into a meadow, and up to the granite lake basin under the shadow of Eagle Cap.

Although we made the decision to day hike, the thought of sleeping under the stars remained at the top of our minds. Each camp spot we passed that had a beautiful view, sandy tent pads, and water access tempted us to turn around, grab our backpacking gear, and set up camp, despite our committed decision to sleep back at the car. Yet, the comparisons loomed over our heads once again. Each passing camp spot caused us to compare what we were doing to what we could be doing if we were backpacking. So I brought it up to Ira, starting from my drive into Joseph when I compared it to Montana.

After bringing it up, we started noticing this pattern even more. In almost every conversation. So we made an agreement to stop the comparisons and hold each other accountable. So we did. At each camp spot, we would check it out, enjoy it as it was, in the moment, and keep walking. This shift in perspective had us focused on the steps ahead of us rather than the steps we wouldn't take. A break in the pattern that I was unknowingly so accustomed to.

We reached Mirror Lake, the decided endpoint of our day. It was magical, granite cliffs dropping straight into the deep blue water. Wind running across the surface of the water and whirling through the trees. There were always options of going further, up Eagle Cap, deeper into the basin, maybe a scramble to get a higher vantage point. But this time we were content just sitting and eating our Cascade Alpine. A fitting end to our secondary adventure of being content with the moment.

Now, I can better understand where my mind drifts away from the present. It's a skill that still needs tuning, but recognition is a key first step. I'm not sure how this will change my thinking going forward. I might still think of Montana the next time I drive into Joseph. Or maybe I will think about Joseph the next time I'm in the Rockies.