Mary's Got A Peak...

Marys Peak
 

Besides hiking a few hilltops in Corvallis, like Dan's Trail at Dimple Hill every week, we decided to include the only actual "mountain" within the immediate area in our hiking ventures. It's a 40-minute drive outside of where we live; in fact, it may be a shorter drive, but I, of course, got us lost on the drive up there. Our friend Carl came with us on this trip, and though he denies this as an indication that he'll be coming on the JMT with us (he's the one we're trying to convince to come), we feel it's only a matter of time before he gives in.




Marys peak is 4,097 feet and somehow, we managed to end up at the top of the peak rather than at the base of it. Instead of continuing to drive around like idiots (thereby proving we have no clue what we're doing yet), we decided we'd just hike down the mountain, then back up to finish her off, just to get it done and out of the way for that day. I was carrying a hiking backpack filled with our changes of clothing, water bottles and snacks as just a small blip of what carrying weight would actually feel like on the JMT. I weighed it later, and it was only 20 pounds, which is about half of my goal weight for my pack for the trail, but way too much weight for a three-hour trip -- yeah, we don't have the efficient packing tricks down yet. About half mile down the hill, we come across a "foot print." This has been debated among the three of us since this day as to whether it is a bear paw print (Kaity's thought), a Big Foot print (Carl's theory --I would like to think he was kidding, but he does watch that Finding Big Foot TV show), or a combination of a dog print and shoe print stepped on top of each other (my thought). The two of them swear it was something supernatural, but there was only one print... why would a bear be walking around on only one foot? And don't get me started on the Big Foot theory in general; that's Carl's baby to feed.



So, we manage to leave the print alone and keep making our way down. Our conversations tended to stick to one topic -- that being poop. I don't even know how it got started, so don't ask, but one story led into another. Just to clarify, we were not talking about our own (well, sometimes we were), but rather stories that involve poop pranks, revenge poop, etc. It's really quite fascinating how many poop tales one can have on deck to share with a small group of people. I'd like to keep it simple and say "halfway down," but let's be honest, we were only like a mile and a half into descending the mountain when, yep, you guessed it, I stepped on a rock wrong, folded my ankle in half and went down along with the extra weight of my pack. Kaity and I sat there for about five minutes assessing it and trying to will my foot to move, when Carl finally appeared to the scene.  Now, before you think he is just a big nonchivalrous jerk, he was taking a potty break (he will also kill me for using his name and "potty break" in the same sentence), and when he finally arrived to the scene, the three of us hashed out whether to continue down the hill, knowing we'd have to come back up. Being exercise science majors (all three of us), we of course knew the smart and logical thing was to return back to the car and try again next time, but being a stubborn-ass hypocrite, I talked them into letting us finish as planned. I figure, when we're on the actual trail, I will most likely do something stupid to myself then, too, and won't be able to just turn around and leave, so what a better time to practice this madness.

 



We made it to the bottom, then proceeded to come back up. Now listen, ending a hike by ascending it sucks. I mean, my opinion was slightly jaded because I was in pain, but handling all the switchbacks as you're three miles from being finished is really just like getting peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth: a little obnoxious and causes a very dry-mouth feeling. Despite all of this, we managed to complete the entire 8 miles in right at two hours (apparently, we like to haul ass up hilltops), even with our stops to analyze mud prints (yep, had to check it out again on our way back) and ankles.

We eventually made our way back down the mountain and found a place to eat. Originally, we had planned on going and seeing Argo after eating dinner, but we all realized we were too old and tired to sit through a movie afterward; not to mention the fact that I had no clue what it was about, and by this time, the pain of my ankle was finally settling in. By the time I got home, my ankle looked like the top of a femur bone and I started calling it "my chubby," which yes, I know what that also means; get over it.

 

So that was our Marys Peak journey. A breakdown of what we learned: Don't mess with Carl if you're ever his roommate (he has very interesting revenge poop stories), chubby ankles are no reason to quit, map out your route before you go, carry less stuff, and any food tastes good when you get done hiking.

“The mountains are calling and I must go.” - John Muir





...It started with a brown paper bag...

To kick off this blog, I suppose the most rational thing to do would be to talk about its conception and purpose. If you haven't already, check out the tabs above which will give you a snap shot of who we are and why we're here. 

So the birth of this bucket list item started about a month ago while talking with an adventurous friend of mine who is hiking the Appalachian Trail. I was slightly mortified when I came to the realization that I have never really done anything big like that with my life that was just for me. Sure, I have those achievements that I thought would be "it." I've ran marathon distances, even ran across states in relays, graduated from college, bagged me a man, etc., but meanwhile, I still feel like I have nothing under my belt except for very expensive jeans.  So thus came the idea that I should hike my own trail, and do it before I can talk myself out of it. I settled on 300 miles of the Pacific Crest Trail in California. I can't tell you why exactly I thought that one would be better than say, 300 miles of the PCT here in Oregon, but I think some of it has to do with the fact that the John Muir Trail is in California, it includes scaling Mount Whitney (the tallest mountain in the contiguous United States), and quite frankly, have you ever researched that guy? His words are beautiful and I like his beard. That's good enough for me.

A few days later, I suckered my friend Kaity into joining me. We met up for a beer the next evening and hashed out some details. Meanwhile, we got too excited to contain our thoughts (this happens a lot with us), so I got out the only thing I had to write on in my purse, which was a brown paper bag from my lunch, and we signed and dated it, then started adding all the random thoughts we had to prepare for this trip. Some are logical and smart, like saying we need to research and start hiking at least once a week; others are more representative of our personalities, since I'm just now noticing on the photo below that we think we should "buy a little dog, Rudy." 

All in all, the course of this journey has just begun and is continually playing out. We've managed to get in at least one hike a week (some weeks, we get in two or more), as well as changing our workouts to cater toward a month-long hike like this. We're also boning up on our anatomy (pun intended) and care for injuries, so you know, we can feel a little more competent putting our degrees to use. Currently, we're in the process of trying to sucker another one of our good friends into joining us, as he has been hiking most of our day trips with us so far.

But until then, it's just the two of us setting out to do something that nobody thinks we'll actually do; doing things that we never thought we'd actually do.

"If you never leave home, never let go, you'll never make it to the great unknown..." - Needtobreathe