The World From 13,000 Feet
What I learned about nature and friendship summiting Wheeler Peak in Great Basin National Park
Humans are social creatures. Having a tribe is an instinct, because there’s safety in numbers. A community can protect you, sustain you. It’s so deeply engrained in us that it’s part of the foundation of our hierarchy of needs.
That can be a problem when you’re a solitary nomad. Social interaction is necessary for psychological health, but what does that look like when you’re in a different community every week? Or when you’re in a community of temporary travelers, like in the National Parks? How do you connect with strangers in the post-COVID world?
Human connection has definitely been something I’ve worried about, especially in the last couple of months as it became clear that social distancing wasn’t going anywhere soon. My ability, or inability, to connect with people has had a major influence on my problems with depression in the past, and I worried that the challenges the road poses on this issue would be a serious detriment to all the progress I’ve made.
But I guess when you’re open to opportunity, sometimes the universe will line up the shot.
Like the overly ambitious optimist that I am, I decided that my first day on the road would be best spent conquering the most difficult climb in the park: Wheeler Peak.
Well, that isn’t entirely true. I debated doing Wheeler Peak first to knock it out while I was fresh, or warming up with an easier hike to a bristlecone grove and then tackle Wheeler after a rest day. And the night I arrived here, I decided to go with the latter option. But the morning of my first real day out on the road dawned, and I was a little overenthusiastic, so I found myself driving to the Wheeler Peak trailhead instead.
It’s a good thing I did, because otherwise I would have missed out on meeting Austin, Liz, and Sir Jake (as he specifically requested to be known).
It still probably wasn’t the greatest idea I’ve ever had. The only hiking I’ve done in the last year was a short jaunt along part of the PCT a few weeks ago. Which is nothing compared to Wheeler Peak. It’s only 8 miles round trip, but the top half of the trail is a total nightmare. When they say “strenuous,” they absolutely mean it. Calling it a trail is generous. It’s basically just the pile of rocks that everyone before you has climbed over, as opposed to the rest of the pile of rocks. And it isn’t just rocks, it’s a gnarly blend of boulders that are reminiscent of those stairs at the gym that are really high and smaller rocks that slide easily and come with that extra exertion that you get when you’re walking through an unstable substance, like sand. The top half a mile is practically vertical, and you get most of your elevation gain in that top half of the trail, while you’re battling the 13,000-foot-altitude.
It isn’t a great choice for first hike of the season.
The bottom half is really beautiful, with an array of aspen and juniper and a smattering of alpine lakes. You get stunning views of Wheeler Peak and Jeff Davis Peak.
Jeff Davis Peak, left, and Wheeler Peak, right. Wheeler Peak sits at 13,063 feet (3982 meters).
A little over a mile into my ill-advised trek, I passed some other hikers. When they caught up to me again about half a mile later, we stopped to chat for a few minutes. And when we all got started again, we happened to be going at similar paces, so the conversation continued as we made our way up the mountain.
Somehow, without anyone having to say so, we teamed up for the trek to the summit, and it’s probably thanks to them that I actually made it. Chatting took my mind off the trail, and I knew if I gave up, my new friends would know about it, so there was an aspect of accountability. They all made it before me, and cheered me up the last few switchbacks to the summit.
Me on top of Wheeler Peak
When I arrived at Great Basin National Park, all the campsites had long since been snatched up. And wanting to get an early start on the climb that is advertised to take anywhere from 4 to 10 hours, I didn’t stop to check if there were any freshly available spots that morning. So Austin, Sir Jake, and Liz invited me to join them at their campsite, where there was plenty of space for another vehicle.
When we finally made it down from the slope (my ankles were killing me from managing the slippery, uneven terrain), we capped off the day with chocolate and a couple rousing rounds of Uno.
The noise, teasing, and laughter was a balm soothing a lot of my fears about finally starting out on the road. And I found that I had a lot in common with this group, too. From favorite podcasts to nerdy TV shows, we were able to make connections. They’re all really cool people, and I loved getting to know them (and really loved getting to show off my van a little bit).
All in all, it was a great first day of this adventure. The views from the top of Wheeler Peak are well worth the difficult journey (and next-day aches and pains). It’s hard not to feel invincible standing at the end of the crest, the mountain dropping straight down on nearly every side, the world unfolding before you like a butterfly spreading its wings. You feel at once as minute as a dust mote and as immense as a mountain, and the whole world feels tangible, like you can stick your hand out into the air and feel the sands of Morocco, the walls of Rome, the waters of the Amazon. You feel like you can scream at the top of your lungs and no one could hear you, and like you could whisper a secret and be heard by every person in the world.
I am empowered and humbled, exhausted and energized, inspired and speechless, and so happy to have been able to share the experience with friends.
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