When we piled out of the van and into the parking lot and felt the cool of the morning we were barely 25 yards from the trailhead. I shouldered my pack and began to feel the weight of the adventure before me. Unlike the sprawling blanket of development and asphalt suffocating the Texas Hill Country, I was now face-to-face with the Santa Fe National Forest. Wilderness in its most pure form. The end of the road. I stood for a fistful of seconds, surveying the immense wilderness and unknown just off the front bumper of the van and turned to identify the other members of my group chatting in nervous anticipation.
From that point, our group followed the winding trail up through the aspens and rolling meadows. Between the trees, glimpses of the mountains, sharp-shouldered peaks, small postcard-like patches of snow scattered along the slopes played to the imagination. The further we hiked the trail narrowed. We reached a sign, an intersection of trails, where we stopped to take in the scenery around us. Hanging back a few extra seconds watching the clouds roll over the peaks, hearing the wind rustle the leaves I soaked up the moment. A few miles further, as we closed in on the mountain, the trail curved to the left ahead of us and disappeared by the lakeshore below us.
After a chilly night we emerged from the tents facing the brisk morning pulling on hats, adding extra layers, stowing water bottles and gloves in daypacks, tying up boots and snacking on breakfast- the group of us fell into hopeful, impatient, nervous chatter about the summit and the immensity of what we were about to witness.
But in this moment I felt decidedly, suddenly, disconcertingly underprepared. Packing lists, advice, 6 AM cups of coffee and long hikes only to get you to the base of the mountain. Steps along the snow and onto the steep icy slope rising to the top of the pyramidal summit would be my own from this point. Intentions, intuition, instinct and mis-steps would be my own. The world had narrowed more than the trail we hiked in on. My mind was down to what lay in front of the beam of my headlamp in a wilderness of its own. I was used to feeling inconsequential- a residential hazard of my roots where everyone is holding on to their own small, posted patch of heaven in the face of taxes, development and manicured suburbia sprawl. Our wild, undeveloped places seem to be growing smaller despite everything done in their defense. But in the grand scheme of the Pecos Wilderness, the Santa Fe National Forest and its thousands of acres and immense presence- my inconsequence had more to do with realizing just how small my existence on this planet really is. I was reminded of how I had felt at so many times when I was lost in my life and God had pulled me back in. I closed my eyes and returned to the quiet wonder of those moments feeling how small I was, how big God is, and understanding more fully the grace I experience in that.
The more I let myself embrace the weight of my existence vs. the magnitude and beautiful unknown of this place and this moment, the bigger I felt. I grew with each whistle that echoed into the primeval growth and pierced the brilliantly dense wilderness where the sheep and deer wandered always hidden, and each step I took that found the hard packed snow, alive and ever shifting. As I found myself on the summit of East Pecos Baldy I began to understand that my steps here, or anywhere else on this planet, are not, in fact, inconsequential. Under the vigilant sidelong eye of a hawk floating on the thermals and stoic indifference of the peaks in front of me. I discovered the end of my own road. And the narrower it got, the wider my horizons became.
J.D. Wilhelm
For information on wilderness trips visit http://campeagle.org/wilderness/