Squaw Peak

A little more than four years have gone by since I was in the Missionary Training Center getting ready to head Mexico.

With the exceptions of a walk to the temple each week, and the brief walks between buildings, I spent the entire nine weeks inside.

I don't know how I didn't go crazy.

From my classroom window I could look up Squaw Peak, a limestone prow that rises nearly 3300 feet above the city of Provo to 7862 feet above sea level.

I spent more time than I probably should have just staring at that peak. It represented adventure, excitement, and freedom. And it stared back down, daring me to tear off my tie and run, run, run until I collapsed in a sweaty, satisfied heap on the mountainside.

Like I said, spending nine straight weeks indoors was hard for me.

I vowed that when I finished my mission, I would climb that stupid mountain, stand on its summit, and yell like a wild man.

This Thursday I did just that.

I set out from my apartment just before 9 a.m. and rode my bike to the parking lot at the mouth of Rock Canyon. A trail leads through the canyon and up the back side of the mountain to the summit. But I wanted to climb my own route, not the trail.

From the parking lot I traversed about a hundred yards north and started right up the mountain. I followed an indistinct, narrow trail as it rose steeply toward the peak. 45 minutes later, I estimated I was about halfway to the top. My legs and lungs felt like they were on fire, and the trail came to an end.

From the valley floor, it had looked like patches of snow dotted the upper sections of the mountain. Now, standing halfway up the mountain, I saw I had been mistaken--the snow lay not in patches, but in fact fully blanketed the mountain.

As I continued upward, the snow grew deeper and the slope grew steeper. My feet would slip easily on the snow-covered gravel and scree. My hike turned into a scramble, and then into a climb.

When the grew deep enough, I picked up a two-foot juniper stick to help me climb. Over and over, I plunged the stick into the snow on the slope above me and used it to keep from slipping or tumbling backwards while I kicked steps into the snow for my feet.

In this way, I inched upwards. As I neared the top the ground gradually sloped back until it flattening out at the summit. I reached the summit exactly two hours from when I started.

15 minutes, one banana, several photos, and one barbaric scream later, I started down again, plunge-stepping my way down the snow-covered back of the mountain until I reached the main trail of the canyon that brought me back to the road and my bicycle.