Mountain Therapy

Last weekend Husband helped me pick out hiking boots that cost more than my first car to ensure that I'd be ready for... stuff.  In Alberta.  Apparently stuff in Alberta is going to need it's ass kicked. These boots could knock a hole through a wall.  When questioned, Husband said that we would likely be doing some great hiking trails and wouldn't it be great if I had great gear to get started with?  He said the word great about four more times before the sales lady asked us to leave. 

This weekend 'we' decided to take a practice hike. You know, for Alberta. At 4560 ft, Mt Becher is not what I would consider a practice hike unless Alberta has Alps I don't know about. 

I'm going to interrupt myself here and just clarify that I hate climbing mountains.  It is enough for me to know that the mountains are there and look lovely topped with snow.   Most importantly, it is enough for them to be distant.  I don't need to stamp to the top in serious boots and declare them my bitch.  I can say this because I have climbed three mountains so far and each and every one has handed me my ego and sent me slouching to the bottom on shaky legs, dehydrated and vowing never to let Husband win the coin toss again.

Hiking up the approach to Mt Becher has effectively changed that opinion. It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny, and we could see for miles around us. The view of the  Straights behind us and the peeks of peaks we could see ahead were all the motivation I needed to keep going. Slowly. Up and up and up. 

You can learn a lot about your partner when the trail is hot and steep and you are tired and sore and maybe just a little less inclined than usual to be jollied along by the mountain goat masquerading as your spouse. 

Seen here: Husband, telling me to quit stalling.

Husband learned that I have excellent hearing because I heard the bear in enough time to avoid meeting it altogether.  I learned that Husband can read maps like a champ.  We both learned that we have very different definitions for the word 'rest' and that Jesse thinks glaciers make a tasty treat. I learned that Husband is a far better hiker than I in that he has the physical stamina of a robot, the ability to conquer anything through sheer outraged will and is disinclined to notice pretty butterflies or interesting mosses.  I am not a good hiker but, while I don't read maps well, I can apparently navigate by interesting clumps off moss since otherwise we would have completely missed our fork on the way back. 

After three hours of climbing Husband gazed back to me with his beautiful smile and exclaimed, "Look!" while pointing to the crest ahead. Overjoyed to have reached the summit I gave it my all and struggled up the last few meters to stand beside him. Proudly, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders as we gazed at the beautiful view of the mountain range beyond. It was a perfect moment.

"Are you ready?" he asked, breaking the silence.  

After three hours of hiking straight up, through heat, snow, sun, mud and bears, we had reached the base of Mt Becher. And after three hours of hiking straight up, Husband learned that if you call it a summit, it's a summit.

No matter what the damn map says.