To Summit a Mountain, Fail Your First Attempt (Without Dying)

Posted: January 27, 2021

It was only when I noticed the highway billboards advertising an adult store, Lion’s Den, that I realized it was time for me to exit.

But I wasn’t looking for bedroom toys. I exited for a peak — and no, I’m not talking about that kind of peak.

It turns out, Lion’s Den was near the entrance of Picacho Peak State Park. I would be moving permanently to Southern California in the following month and I had yet to summit a mountain in Arizona. So I decided it was time. I figured it was the perfect send off.

At the hikers’ parking lot, I felt something wet in my underwear. Oh no, it’s that time of month again, isn’t it? I thought. The first days of my period are characterized by a feeble body, particularly my legs.

But my dad and I had already made the hour-long drive to the state park from our home in the greater Phoenix area. Plus, I had done multiday backpacking trips with untimely periods before. Let’s just give this mountain a shot.

On the Hunter Trail leading to the peak, only a few minutes passed before the first set of cables appeared. These steel railings were installed to help hikers up and down steep slopes. We donned our gloves and began scaling, gripping on the cables to hoister us up.

Eventually, we reached the saddle, the elevated crest creating the mountain ridge.

Then, we plunged down the other side of the mountain using more glove work and cables. Our arm work and backward steps fought against the overwhelming pull of gravity.

Man, would this descent ever end?! The cautious downward climb stretched on yard after yard. At some point, my trembling legs almost collapsed under my weight. Despite the weakness taking over, I continued until I reached the slope’s bottom where I was safe.

As we hiked upward toward the peak, my body was ripping apart, bit by bit. On this dry desert hike, I felt like trudging against the current of a river. Getting solid footing on the slanted slabs of rock was a damned chore. Although I was drinking enough water, the disorientation and exhaustion from hiking a difficult trail with a heavy period was too much to bear.

During a snack break, my energy bar gave me an even harder time. My weak arms and hands kept tugging at its stubborn wrapper until one final tear ripped it open.

My unfit dad was also struggling. He constantly had to take breaks and catch his breath. I worried about him finishing this trail safely.

I consulted the map. Aw damn! We still had half a mile full of cables and climbing to complete.

My dad and I were already feeling like tired lumps of shit. Our priority was preserving our meager energy for the return trip. So, we aborted the summit hike and turned around.

This would not be the day that I scale an Arizonan mountain from base to summit. My period left me physically weak. And the constant complaining in my head added to the fatigue.

What mattered was that my dad and I survived with our precious energy reserves.

As the month passed by and I prepared for my move to Southern California, that aborted hike kept gnawing at me. The idea that I was leaving Arizona without completing this goal, this southwestern rite of passage, really bothered me. I needed to do it before I got in my car and pointed it toward the Pacific Ocean.

With a meager few days before my departure, I drove back to Picacho Peak State Park, this time with more determination and without my unfit father tagging along on the hike.

Most importantly, I waited for the month’s period to end — I needed all the stamina and physical strength possible!

In the crisp chill of this early December morning, I set off with a different mindset and mental fortitude, as well.

Instead of getting worked up about reaching the summit quickly, I repeated a Swahili phrase to myself — “pole pole” (pronounced polay polay), meaning “slowly slowly.” Wise guides on Africa’s Mount Kilimanjaro would remind their hikers to maintain a slow pace up the mountain, although they had enough energy in the moment to hike faster. Hikers following the “pole pole” mentality had higher summit success rates than those who used up all their fuel early on. It doesn’t matter which mountain you’re on — you need to spread your energy evenly for the entire climb.

Small wins made all the difference. I imagined this daunting hike as a video game, a personal success concept I learned from Eric Barker. Each of my steps would carry me through video game-like levels. I would pick a landmark, like a cactus several yards ahead, and make that the end of the level. I need not worry about the entire video game, just the current level.

When I reached the cactus, I won one level of the video game! Sometimes, I would glance back at the path I’d traversed, reminding myself how much I had underestimated my progress. Then, I would repeat the process, level after level.

Pole pole.

This being the wintertime, the early morning’s cool temperatures and breezes refreshed me, especially when I hiked underneath the shade of the the mountain’s rocky formations. But whenever the trail was exposed to direct sunlight, I could feel the strength of the waking sun boring down and the dry heat rising by the minute.

A light brown leather fabric seemed to cloak the entire desert. The only color interrupting the brownness was the green scrawny bushes and towering cacti scattered everywhere. Some surrounding mountains had rounded domes, others had sharper tops. The air sent off whiffs of powered earth that tickled my nostrils.

I also practiced mindful walking from Thich Nhat Hanh’s Zen Buddhist philosophy by cherishing each step and paying attention to the present moment. I focused my mental concentration on listening to my feet crunching against the rocks and feeling my legs lifting up and down with each step. Rather than allow my mind to wander to a future moment at the summit, I appreciated any section of the trail I was hiking on. Every step was a true intention, not just a means to a narrow-sighted goal.

My mindfulness rewarded me. My ears picked up a cawing bird of prey overhead. A small, black dot with wings glided to its nest in a mountainside outcropping. Whereas if I was hurrying through the trail, such serendipity would be impossible.

Sometimes, I stopped walking, shut my eyes, and brushed my hand against the mountainside’s sharp textures of rock, ragged like shredded paper. In my mind, I imagined a 3D topographic map of my miniscule presence on this brown mountain in the middle of the desert landscape. I’m with Mother Nature, an unbreakable bond.

As I climbed higher, human landmarks came into view, including Interstate-10, the Union Pacific train tracks, and squares of green or brown farmland. Passing trains sent off a faint rumble that vibrated through the air.

The terrain that I struggled through last time didn’t tire me out as quickly today due to the combination of external and internal factors in my favor.

But today also had unique challenges… and fears.

I overestimated my knowledge of the poorly marked trail, so I knew I got lost when hikers’ footprints dissipated and wild brush dominated the area. I veered off into dangerous spots, including a cliff with a vertical drop down to the desert below!

My body’s natural warning mechanisms flooded in. Images of me splattering to the ground like a cracked egg and the rescue teams not finding my body off trail made the risk of death so near. My senses were heightened and on alert. Details of my surroundings processed accurately. Instantly, I knew the distance between me and certain death at the cliff’s edge.

Oncoming panic and fear would only cause more anxiety and mistakes. So, I inhaled a deep breath, recognized my body’s physical reactions, put them to the side, and focused on reuniting with the trail.

Those images returned at the last series of upward cables, which was more like a vertical ladder without any rungs for footing. The cracks in the rocks were so shallow, I struggled with footing.

I had to trust my arm and leg strength to pull myself up. I don’t have a fear of heights, but this hike disproved that for the time being. Gravity wanted to yank me down until I lost my grip and crashed on the rock-solid base of the slope. More cracked egg images came. Trepid breathing began.

Pole pole.

Many slow inches later, I finally reached an area with solid footing. And soon, there it was: the dome-shaped Picacho Peak, its bare brown dirt and black boulders perpetuating the deathly beauty of the desert. The brown landscape below stretched in all directions, divided by green, curvy lines of bushes from washes. The desert wanted to swallow me and the mountain.

Although my nerves were still shot from the harrowing climb, I made sure to rest and take in these views that only an Arizonan mountain peak could provide.

Summiting Picacho Peak was my grand, final farewell to Arizona. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. And my miserable failure a month prior made today’s achievement more possible and even sweeter!

At first, I didn’t know how difficult the trail conditions would be. A moody attitude and a surprise period topped off my failure. But this all led to a successful second attempt.

After waiting for my next period to end and my physical strength to return, I tried the Hunter Trail again, this time with familiarity, newfound mental fortitude, and a universal Swahili phrase that works with any mountain in the world.

It was time for me to pole pole to Southern California and see what other challenges lie ahead.