The Climb

Don't panic, this isn't about a song by Miley Cyrus. 

When was the last time you looked at something and your inner voice said, "You can't do that.  It's too hard!"  Every fiber in your being laughed at you for even contemplating it, and you mentally shook your head at the folly of even attempting it.

This summer, my mother & I drove to Newfoundland to visit with family.  In addition to seeing members of my family I hadn't seen in ages, I had a request.  I wanted to hike.  My mother, who has the energy & ambition of a 20 yr old on a sugar high, threw out the idea that we climb Gros Morne.  I agreed, but inside I was secretly terrified.  There was NO WAY I would be capable of something that physically demanding. 

I didn't tell her I was that terrified of the hike.  I think she figured out that I was uneasy, but I'm not sure she realized how much I was hoping to get injured before we got there so I would save myself the embarrassment of failure.  I did NOT want my lack of success on Gros Morne to become another reminder of my physical ineptitudes.

The morning after our arrival in Newfoundland, Mom & I went on a walk down into Corner Brook.  It wasn't intense, though certainly hilly.  I could feel my muscles swearing at me, and my breath was somewhat laboured.  I kept thinking, "geez...if this is hard, there is NO WAY I was going to be able to complete Gros Morne".

I wanted to do some "tester" hikes out before we set a date for Gros Morne.  When Mom was out in Corner Brook earlier in the year, she had heard of a lovely hike in Bottle Cove.  We looked it up, and decided to make a day of it.  We'd stop in on a cousin on the way down, and then do Bottle Cove.  If we were out there, why not do another hike in the same area?  The Outer Bay of Islands Enhancement Committee had some YouTube videos of hikes in the area, and wanting a bit more of a challenge, we settled on Little Port Lighthouse Trail.  

Though rated difficult, the video didn't scare us off as the hikers seemed at ease & relaxed.  There were ropes in places to help with the decent (they took the trail counter-clockwise) and it was only 3 km long.

Enjoying the scenery @ Bottle Cove

The hike along Bottle Cove brought us to a beautiful lookout at the entrance to the cove.  The beautiful mountains in the background seemed so lovely and I couldn't help but take a moment to appreciate the beauty.  It was a peaceful moment that now seems somewhat comical in my mind.  While I was enjoying the moment, my next challenge was staring me straight in the face.  Hint, take note of the furthest mountain in the picture.  It becomes quite significant later.

After a nice walk back through the woods, we stopped at a picnic table by the beach to enjoy our lunch.  The wind was just right, the sun shone brightly, the water was calm, and there wasn't a bug in sight!  Quick side note, if you are often a mosquito or black fly's beverage of choice, hike by the ocean.  They don't like salt water!

With lunch finished, we headed off to the Little Port Lighthouse Trail.  It's only 5-10 min away and when we arrived, I couldn't help notice the "hills" around us, the same ones I had marveled at from Bottle Cove.  Surely we would only be hiking around the bottom of those.  No one could climb that monster in a day.  Not to mention, I couldn't do that.  Not a chance.

The view out into the ocean at Cedar Cove

The video we had watched suggested doing the trail in a counter-clockwise direction which would leave us with the option of doing Cedar Cove at the end, if we still had the energy.  As luck would have it, oops...we did it clockwise.  The hike to Cedar Cove was just the right amount of elevation, in my mind, and it was a great way to work off a bit of our lunch.

On the way there, we walked by the start (or finish?) of the Little Port Lighthouse Trail.  A sign indicated the trail was to be used at your own risk.  "Okay," I thought to myself, "they're being safe as it was rated as difficult".

Hiking up Little Port Lighthouse Trail

After Cedar Cove, Mom & I headed back to the trail head.  The first 300m put a false sense of security in my mind.  Hmmm...not so bad.  Then it started to get steeper...and steeper...and steeper.  Then came the ropes.  Not nice little guide lines so you can steady yourself going down, but rather lifelines.  Letting go at the wrong time meant scary consequences.  As much as we depended on those ropes, there was also a deep sense of loathing.  Ropes meant very steep hill, rock, shale, and whatever else we might slip on.  I'm not trying to be dramatic when I tell you I lost all sense of time.  The only thing that mattered was getting to the top, one step at a time.

This picture is deceiving.  It looks like a little jaunt in the woods...it wasn't.  My lungs were screaming, my muscles fatigued, and in the back of my mind, all I was saying to myself was "I can...I can...just one more step.  The top of this trail MUST be around the corner.  There's no way it goes all the way to the top.  It has to even out somewhere soon".

We were only partly up the trail

At last, there was a break in the trees, and it seemed as though we must be arriving at a level spot.  I watched Mom pull herself up on a flat rock and I hoped we'd reached the top.  Hmm...not so lucky, we were only part way.  At this point, what do you do?  The trail was so steep that going down seemed like asking for injury.  A certain song about a bear hunt came to mind..."can't go over it, can't go around it, must go through it."

So up we went.  There were slips, scrapes, scary moments, and parts of the trail where I only went 3-4 meters before I had to stop and catch my breath.  It's one of the hardest things I've ever done physically.  I just kept saying to myself, "Well you have two options.  One, you stop here and give up, or you keep going."  Since option one was stupid (I couldn't give up; what were they going to do, airlift me off the mountain?),  I had to keep going.  No point in whining about it either.  Neither Mom, nor I, wanted to hear it.

The view from the top

Then it came...the top.  I can't remember the last time I felt that much satisfaction.

The climb seemed absolutely impossible at the start.  The going was rough, my legs screamed, my hands hurt, and then I saw the view from the top.  I have never seen such beauty & experienced such wonder.  Aside from the unobtrusive trail markers,  there wasn't anything else man-made up there.   There aren't words do describe it and I think everyone experiences it differently. 

Looking down into the valley below, we realized just how high we had climbed.  The car was a speck of bronze in a parking lot and tiny toy boats floated in a little harbour far below us.

Looking back at the start of the trail (by the parking lot)

 What goes up, must come down.  We headed across the top of the mountain with Mom in the lead.  The mood was lighter and more comical.  I wonder if both of us, having succeeded in the climb up, were in better humour.  "If I see another rope, Steph, I'm going to scream "F...K"!" (note, the word was not Freak).  Mom really didn't like those ropes.  At times it looked as if she was about to walk off the side of the cliff, the climb was that steep going down.





I paused to munch on some wild blueberries and Mom trail blazed ahead.  Soon after, the peace of the moment was disrupted by the loud exclamation of a certain swear word.  Hmmm...guess there are ropes going down. 

Thanks to a friend who got me into doing some indoor wall climbing a few years ago, I found the decent MUCH easier than going up.  Still, it was challenging and at times you really had to concentrate on where you were putting your hands & feet. 

Mom was a trooper.  Going down was more difficult for her going up, but she never complained.  She swore a lot, but she was pretty positive. 

It was much faster going down, than going up.  The trail ended with a hike through the forest at the base of the mountain, and at times, more ropes.  We came out near the stairs we had first climbed to start the Cedar Cove Trail, and I looked back at the mountain.  When we first got there, my thought had been, "Not a chance.  I can't do that".  Driving away from the cliffs by the ocean, the thought that dominated my mind was...


I DID IT!


We never climbed Gros Morne this summer.  On the way home, Mom told me that this hike was more challenging that Gros Morne and that if I could do Little Port, I could do the other.  We agreed that it would be the hike for the next summer we go back to Newfoundland.  Next time, I won't be going with the attitude "I can't", but with the thought that "I will".