Dumb Decisions
I thought I was smart. Smarter than this, at least.
That is what I was thinking as I sat on the edge of a cliff staring down into a verdant canyon.
The unfortunate fact (that I realized much later), is that all of my troubles in that moment stemmed from attempting to be smart, reason through my situation, and study out my next action. How had a well planned, perfectly timed, exciting early morning adventure become such a nightmare?
I suppose it had started the Friday before, when after a long and stressful week at work, I learned that I would have Memorial Day off to do with whatever I wished. Generally I wish to go horseback riding, but my friend was out of town. It was time to come up with a plan B. Plan B turned out to be a hike through a nearby canyon. There was a waterfall I wanted to see. I spent a good part of Sunday afternoon planning out the route to the trailhead (so I wouldn't drain my phone battery), and figuring out which trails I would need to take to travel safely.
It was also on Sunday when my mom learned I would be hiking alone. She told me to invite the "burly" angels like my Indian ancestors to walk with me. Her admonition, which was intended to remind me to be safe and alert, had the unfortunate effect of making me scared that I would lose my way and spend the morning wandering aimlessly. So I double checked the maps. All was in order.
Monday morning found me up early. 5:30 is the current time the light from my window wakes me up, so I seemed like a reasonable time to start out. A quick breakfast and double check of my camera equipment left me walking out the door at 2 minutes to 6. Everything was going right. My GPS told me it was 17 minutes to the trailhead and then less than a 3 mile hike round trip. My goal was to hike in and out pretty quickly so I could get home and still feel like I had the rest of my day ahead of me.
18 minutes later I stopped in front of a fence that blocked the road to the trailhead. The sign indicated a trail detour in effect due to construction. It wasn't a trail I was familiar with. After all of my study, this trail had me confused. I knew generally where I was. I'd travelled this area on horses multiple times. The lemonade house was a block behind me and the sewer road was off to my right. What I didn't know was where Claire's trail lined up with the trail I was looking for. At this point I was pretty sure my GPS was off and didn't actually know where the trailhead was. After all, I'd been through this neighborhood before and I couldn't remember a trailhead by the lemonade house.
I should note at this point that geography has never been my strong suit. I can't seem to keep a map in my head. Having travelled the hills near my home multiple times you'd think I'd have a better idea which direction to go to find the familiar trails. But I don't.
That's what's called foreshadowing. :)
Also remember that I was nervous about getting lost. I felt pretty confident on my own when I knew which trail I was on and where that trail connected to the waterfall trail, but Claire's trail didn't match my information. My determination? To approach the trailhead from the opposite direction. If my GPS map was wrong I just needed to find the actual trailhead. I'd read that the waterfall could be reached from a nearby landmark, so I turned my car around and continued to drive. Hoping that by reaching that landmark I would be able to find the trailhead I drove straight there, only to discover that the suburbs surrounding the landmark were wildly confusing. House after house left me winding to and fro through the city. At this point I knew I needed some outside help, so I pulled out my phone and searched again for the trailhead. I found coordinates! Excited I entered those into my map and began a new route. There were two travel options. One back the way I'd already come, through the fenced off area, and one that approached the canyon from the opposite direction. I was on my way.
I guess I was so excited I forgot to read the fine print. My map, helpful as ever (except when guiding me to false trailheads), mentioned that the route I was on had an area of unpaved road. That didn't really mean much to me until I reached a turnoff. With three miles left to drive, I started to realize what that meant. Unpaved didn't just mean dirt, it meant dirt and rocks. Sharp rocks.
I drive a minivan. It isn't really outfitted for off-road driving. And I suppose that driving up a rock strewn road on the side of a mountain wouldn't usually bother me, but recent events (aka - sharp rocks causing a flat tire in the truck I'd ridden in to go backpacking) had changed my perspective. Unfortunately, at the same time I realized the unpleasantness of the road, I also realized that I couldn't turn back. I was tragically committed to this road until I reached a trailhead. Dodging rocks and driving slowly, gripping the steering wheel and breathing to calm myself, I worked my way up the mountain. When I reached a point I could turn around, I had a choice to make. I had 4 minutes left before I reached the trailhead. 4 minutes. But I'd just spent a nervous half hour trekking up the mountain, and all I could think about was getting safely back without a flat tire.
And so I parked my car and sat and stared at the canyon. The canyon that I was practically in, but still couldn't seem to reach. And as I sat, I wondered. What had happened? How had my smart decisions landed me in an incredibly stupid situation? One wrong turn after another and I found myself and hour behind, trapped by rocks halfway up a mountain, and still not any closer to finding my trailhead. I found myself emotionally spent, ready to give up on any and all adventures.
Trying to decide if I should continue or turn back, I looked at my phone and discovered, to my horror, that its battery level had dropped to 1%. The device was my lifeline on the adventure. It was my link to my mom (should something happen to me), and also my guide and my map. That did it. I was turning around. I was going home. I would have to face my parents and admit that I hadn't actually gone on a hike. I'd have to walk my dog to get my exercise. I wouldn't get any photographs of the verdant life. But at this point, it didn't matter. I was just done.
On the way back down the mountain I thought about the dumb decisions that had gotten me there. The thing is, they had felt like very smart, informed decisions when I made them. I had a reason for every action, an explanation, a plan. And yet, I had probably placed myself in more stress and peril than if I had followed Claire's trail to see where it led me. It seems so strange that things that appear smart can be really, really dumb when you have more information. And the only way for me to find out about those dumb decisions, was to make them and end up feeling like an idiot on the edge of a mountain. I wasn't very happy about those deceptive decisions that felt so wise and looked really silly. But I was pretty fascinated by the idea of dumb decisions.
45 minutes later I found myself back where I had begun - at the fenced off road on the opposite side of the mountain. As I'd driven by, fully intending to go home, I felt I couldn't leave until I'd proved once and for all that my GPS was wrong and had gotten me into this mess. I parked and got out of my car. Hiking up a small rise, I looked down. . . at the trailhead. Now, it wasn't the trailhead I remembered. It was under construction. The helpful billboards with maps were missing and the restrooms were out of commission. Nonetheless, it was the trailhead.
And that is when those dumb decisions hit home. I was laughing all the way down the hill to the trailhead. I couldn't blame the GPS. I couldn't even blame the construction. Those decisions were my own doing. Caused by my own assumptions and fears. If I've learned anything today it's that a lot of things can seem smart and reasonable when you're letting fear and foolishness control your life. I could've saved myself a lot of time and gas money had I been a little slower to reach a conclusion, gotten out of my car, and looked around with a little more faith. The faith that I'd find myself on the right trail if I simply struck out in a logical direction.
Of course, without those dumb decisions, I wouldn't be sitting here writing this, and you wouldn't be somewhere reading it.
And hey! I did make it to the right trail eventually.
That is what I was thinking as I sat on the edge of a cliff staring down into a verdant canyon.
The unfortunate fact (that I realized much later), is that all of my troubles in that moment stemmed from attempting to be smart, reason through my situation, and study out my next action. How had a well planned, perfectly timed, exciting early morning adventure become such a nightmare?
I suppose it had started the Friday before, when after a long and stressful week at work, I learned that I would have Memorial Day off to do with whatever I wished. Generally I wish to go horseback riding, but my friend was out of town. It was time to come up with a plan B. Plan B turned out to be a hike through a nearby canyon. There was a waterfall I wanted to see. I spent a good part of Sunday afternoon planning out the route to the trailhead (so I wouldn't drain my phone battery), and figuring out which trails I would need to take to travel safely.
It was also on Sunday when my mom learned I would be hiking alone. She told me to invite the "burly" angels like my Indian ancestors to walk with me. Her admonition, which was intended to remind me to be safe and alert, had the unfortunate effect of making me scared that I would lose my way and spend the morning wandering aimlessly. So I double checked the maps. All was in order.
Monday morning found me up early. 5:30 is the current time the light from my window wakes me up, so I seemed like a reasonable time to start out. A quick breakfast and double check of my camera equipment left me walking out the door at 2 minutes to 6. Everything was going right. My GPS told me it was 17 minutes to the trailhead and then less than a 3 mile hike round trip. My goal was to hike in and out pretty quickly so I could get home and still feel like I had the rest of my day ahead of me.
18 minutes later I stopped in front of a fence that blocked the road to the trailhead. The sign indicated a trail detour in effect due to construction. It wasn't a trail I was familiar with. After all of my study, this trail had me confused. I knew generally where I was. I'd travelled this area on horses multiple times. The lemonade house was a block behind me and the sewer road was off to my right. What I didn't know was where Claire's trail lined up with the trail I was looking for. At this point I was pretty sure my GPS was off and didn't actually know where the trailhead was. After all, I'd been through this neighborhood before and I couldn't remember a trailhead by the lemonade house.I should note at this point that geography has never been my strong suit. I can't seem to keep a map in my head. Having travelled the hills near my home multiple times you'd think I'd have a better idea which direction to go to find the familiar trails. But I don't.
That's what's called foreshadowing. :)
Also remember that I was nervous about getting lost. I felt pretty confident on my own when I knew which trail I was on and where that trail connected to the waterfall trail, but Claire's trail didn't match my information. My determination? To approach the trailhead from the opposite direction. If my GPS map was wrong I just needed to find the actual trailhead. I'd read that the waterfall could be reached from a nearby landmark, so I turned my car around and continued to drive. Hoping that by reaching that landmark I would be able to find the trailhead I drove straight there, only to discover that the suburbs surrounding the landmark were wildly confusing. House after house left me winding to and fro through the city. At this point I knew I needed some outside help, so I pulled out my phone and searched again for the trailhead. I found coordinates! Excited I entered those into my map and began a new route. There were two travel options. One back the way I'd already come, through the fenced off area, and one that approached the canyon from the opposite direction. I was on my way.
I guess I was so excited I forgot to read the fine print. My map, helpful as ever (except when guiding me to false trailheads), mentioned that the route I was on had an area of unpaved road. That didn't really mean much to me until I reached a turnoff. With three miles left to drive, I started to realize what that meant. Unpaved didn't just mean dirt, it meant dirt and rocks. Sharp rocks.
I drive a minivan. It isn't really outfitted for off-road driving. And I suppose that driving up a rock strewn road on the side of a mountain wouldn't usually bother me, but recent events (aka - sharp rocks causing a flat tire in the truck I'd ridden in to go backpacking) had changed my perspective. Unfortunately, at the same time I realized the unpleasantness of the road, I also realized that I couldn't turn back. I was tragically committed to this road until I reached a trailhead. Dodging rocks and driving slowly, gripping the steering wheel and breathing to calm myself, I worked my way up the mountain. When I reached a point I could turn around, I had a choice to make. I had 4 minutes left before I reached the trailhead. 4 minutes. But I'd just spent a nervous half hour trekking up the mountain, and all I could think about was getting safely back without a flat tire.
And so I parked my car and sat and stared at the canyon. The canyon that I was practically in, but still couldn't seem to reach. And as I sat, I wondered. What had happened? How had my smart decisions landed me in an incredibly stupid situation? One wrong turn after another and I found myself and hour behind, trapped by rocks halfway up a mountain, and still not any closer to finding my trailhead. I found myself emotionally spent, ready to give up on any and all adventures.Trying to decide if I should continue or turn back, I looked at my phone and discovered, to my horror, that its battery level had dropped to 1%. The device was my lifeline on the adventure. It was my link to my mom (should something happen to me), and also my guide and my map. That did it. I was turning around. I was going home. I would have to face my parents and admit that I hadn't actually gone on a hike. I'd have to walk my dog to get my exercise. I wouldn't get any photographs of the verdant life. But at this point, it didn't matter. I was just done.
On the way back down the mountain I thought about the dumb decisions that had gotten me there. The thing is, they had felt like very smart, informed decisions when I made them. I had a reason for every action, an explanation, a plan. And yet, I had probably placed myself in more stress and peril than if I had followed Claire's trail to see where it led me. It seems so strange that things that appear smart can be really, really dumb when you have more information. And the only way for me to find out about those dumb decisions, was to make them and end up feeling like an idiot on the edge of a mountain. I wasn't very happy about those deceptive decisions that felt so wise and looked really silly. But I was pretty fascinated by the idea of dumb decisions.
45 minutes later I found myself back where I had begun - at the fenced off road on the opposite side of the mountain. As I'd driven by, fully intending to go home, I felt I couldn't leave until I'd proved once and for all that my GPS was wrong and had gotten me into this mess. I parked and got out of my car. Hiking up a small rise, I looked down. . . at the trailhead. Now, it wasn't the trailhead I remembered. It was under construction. The helpful billboards with maps were missing and the restrooms were out of commission. Nonetheless, it was the trailhead.
And that is when those dumb decisions hit home. I was laughing all the way down the hill to the trailhead. I couldn't blame the GPS. I couldn't even blame the construction. Those decisions were my own doing. Caused by my own assumptions and fears. If I've learned anything today it's that a lot of things can seem smart and reasonable when you're letting fear and foolishness control your life. I could've saved myself a lot of time and gas money had I been a little slower to reach a conclusion, gotten out of my car, and looked around with a little more faith. The faith that I'd find myself on the right trail if I simply struck out in a logical direction.
Of course, without those dumb decisions, I wouldn't be sitting here writing this, and you wouldn't be somewhere reading it.
And hey! I did make it to the right trail eventually.
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