Rocks, rocks, rocks. I’ve never seen so many rocks, rocks with dozens of sparkling garnets, rocks with marble streaks, and round golden rocks by the billions. I like rocks. I’m fascinated by them. Up here trekking, one has plenty of time to look at rocks. Going up, down, or flat, every rock in the path has meaning, as either a place to step or something to avoid. On a steeper uphill with no chance to look up, the six square feet of rock in front of you is your whole world, then the next six square feet, just a bit higher on the trail.
No matter how difficult or exhausting an uphill climb is, as soon as I catch my breath and my heart slows down, without thinking, I’d want to run! Kids run. This trip I often found myself running ahead just for the joy of it. For a flatlander, there’s no long distance running at 12,000’+, but it’s exhilarating for fifty yards.
The joy I felt was due to a palpable sense of freedom and being surrounded by such shocking beauty at every bend. Sometimes my feet simply wouldn’t move another step until I would stop and let it all in.