A Year Of Kindness (XXXV): The Secretly Kind

 

One of the most memorable fictional characters I can think of from high school is Boo Radley in Harper Lee's novel To Kill A Mockingbird.  Radley is a character most do not know about: seldom seen, shy and awkward, he is a silent presence looms as a sort of dark image throughout most of the bok.  By the end of the story, we find out that Radley was also a purveyor of small gifts and ultimately, the saver of a life. 

How often I mistake kindness as something that only comes from a certain kind of people, or do not expect it from certain people.

Kindness knows no personality borders.  There is no "base case" for whether someone can or cannot practice kindness based on their outward demeanor or personality.

Sometimes they simply struggle to relate to people.  Sometimes they can generally interact only one way most of the time.  Everyone is indeed fighting battle, and many times we know nothing about it.

So I have tried to rectify this in myself.  I have tried to remain neutral in terms of "if someone is capable of kindness" based on how they generally act.

Funny story that goes along with that:  people have surprised with their kindness in ways that I never might have imagined based on their general actions and personality.

Sometimes, we are our own worst enemy to people practicing kindness to others.

2026 Mt. Whitney Hike: Postscript: The Path Ahead

 Friends - Thanks again for coming along with me on my 2026 Hike to Mt. Whitney.

I offer that thanks sincerely.  I have become - since I started writing up my travels as part of this blog - a better writer and a better traveler overall.  Knowing that I will be writing about my travels makes me attentive to them in a way that I might not have always been. It is not quite "I have to explain my time away" as much as "Let me tell you what I learned while I was away."

For this, I am grateful.

I am also immensely grateful to our guide Rainbow Bright's initial admonition to "Be Present".  Making an active effort to focus on being in the moment where I was - and choosing to think about a different aspect of hiking every day - made this hike different in a way I have not experienced on other hikes.  Arguably, I have come away different in a way that has not happened in other hikes.

But - perhaps obviously, based on my mediations - I need to activate those musings in active awareness.

Having climbed Mt. Whitney for the second time (and endured less than ideal weather conditions), I need to remind myself of the importance of endurance (Vincit qui patitur: He who endures, conquers).  I am not capable of everything, but I am capable of far more than I think I can do.

The only thing that can impede our will, says Epictetus, is our will itself.

Also, having climbed Mt. Whitney for the second time (and endured less than ideal weather conditions), I need to incorporate that sense of being fearless in the face of people into my daily work and personal life as well.  People with their opinions and their feelings cannot hurt me; if nothing else, they do not have the possibility of casting me down from the mountain.

Am I a through hiker, someone who enjoys weeks or months on the trail?  Not really; this trip confirms that.  8 days is a long time (for me) to be out.  I love the outdoors and I love what I have seen; I likely will love it just as much with shorter excursions (but hopefully in the years to come, more of them).

Where to next year?  That is undetermined at this point. We have left the choice to The Fiancé as he was unable to come this year - although to be honest, if we had a hike with Rainbow Bright and Garbage Woman again, that would be amazing.  They are great and thoughtful guides; the fact they can keep me alive on the trail is equally appreciated.

I remain your most Humble and Obedient Servant,

Toridhealhbheach Beucail

2026 Mt. Whitney Hike: Day 8: Going Home

The end, of course, is not really the end.

Arrival at the Trail End is of course a reason for celebration:  This is a long, hard trip by anyone's estimation.  The van which dropped us off meets us there with soda, beer, water, and White Claws.  We also have salty and sweet (Potato Chips and Oreo Double Stuffed Cookies).  There is also the accompanying high fives, backslaps, and photos.

I forgo the alcohol, but load myself up with Oreos.  It is an excuse, I know - but justifiable in my mind.

From there, we repack the van and take the hour drive down to the nearest town, Lone Pine.  The descent is dramatic; the smell of 11 hikers after a week on the trail is probably only a little less so for our driver.

Arrival at Lone Pine is started by a shower at a local hostel.  There are not many ways at all that I can identify with folks that work long days or weeks in the field - the military, fire fighters, etc. - but one place I have a small intersection is the amazing sense that getting a shower after days of not having one feels.  The dirt sloughs off my body and my feet look marginally better (but not great).

After the shower, off to the final meal of the trip:  pizza and beer.

There is a fine art to discussing the first post-meal hike.

It is generally frowned upon to start discussing it within the first day of the hike.  When to start discussing is it a matter of delicate sensibility and conjecture and based to some extent on the hike.  For example, for this hike Day 4 is probably an acceptable time to start talking about "What I am going to have when I get back".  My go to meal is a burger and fries, and a vanilla milkshake figures prominently into the picture.

However, pizza and beer are also acceptable.  I eat five pieces, which is extravagant for me.

After lunch is consumed, the long drive comes to get back to the original drop off point.  For this hike it is almost 4.5 hours, since we need to drive South past the edge of the Sierras to the Tehachapi Pass and then head North towards our drop-off point.  Conversation tends to fall to minimum now as we are full and tired.  We are also in cell-phone range, so individuals are checking in and uploading things.  Up in front (I am in the far back, The Brit gamely wedged between myself and The Outdoorsman), there is a lively game going on.  I apparently take a nap, or perhaps more than one.

Midway during the drive, we stop for a fuel and snack break.  I get my milkshake.

 Another two hours or so and we get back to the drop-off point.  Here we grab our things, go through the somewhat odd and awkward phase of saying goodbye to our soon-erstwhile hiking colleagues, and saying goodbye to our guides (not nearly as awkward).  We wish each other well, knowing that - unless it is on another hike - we will likely not see each other again.

And then, another drive of about 3 hours to get back to The Outdoorsman's house.  He drives for the first part until we take a break for dinner (burger and fries, so I get both my meals); after which The Brit takes over.  Conversation ebbs and flows; we are starting to talk about the world again, mostly finance and work and upcoming events.  The time flies quickly:  something like 18 hours after we were close to being on top of the world, we are back into our ordinary lives.

The adventure, not quite abruptly but with a certain natural rhythm, ends.

2026 Mt. Whitney Hike: Day 8, High Desert Camp To Golden Trout Wilderness: Why I Hike

Day 8
Distance:  11.13 Miles
Elevation Gain:  895 ft.

Day 8 is an early rise at 0400 as we have a full day of hiking to cover as well as to get back home.  On the trail time is 0500; breakfast is a combination of snacks and breakfast bars, things that are left that do not require clean-up.

The traverse is a slow uphill in the granite and pine forests we have been walking through for the past day.  Headlamps bobbing in the dark, we make our way through the slowly lightening dawn.

(This is the only point where we see an actual sign for the Pacific Crest Trail)

Despite the threat of rain, it did not manifest on the previous night or in the morning.  That said, the wind is cold and brisk as we move purposely through the decreasing darkness.  For all of us in some way, home is calling.

Our inclines are easy this morning, long stretches of relatively straight trails that wend themselves along the edge of ridges, looking down on outer valleys and meadows below.

Our goal is Chicken Spring Lake, the halfway point.  We stop here for a pack off-rest; this is our last snack and rest before the final push.

While we are at our rest stop, we meet a man hiking West and North.  We get to talking with him about where he is going and our own trip.  When he hears the extent of our trip, he is amazed.  "You all are animals" he says in wonderment.

I do not know I am animal.  But my chest swells with pride none the less.

---

Why do I hike?

In my recent post on The Age Of Novelty, I lamented the fact that we as a Western Society seem too much invested in experiences for the sake of experiences.  We collect them as trophies or medals.  And then they immediately fade into the background to be replaced by others, stones that fall into a pond without a ripple.

I have been here.  I have done this.  I, too, have treated experiences as trophies, things to be gathered and then collect dust on the shelves of my mind.

I need to be different.

What I have found in this hike is something I had not anticipated initially:  learning things about myself.  Learning about the various aspects of hiking that I have discussed.  Enduring.  Confronting my fear of people, something that is coming up again and again in other venues.  

And if I am honest, I have learned something on every hike.  In 2021 in the Grand Canyon, I learned that I could hike and not fail.  In 2022 I did this same hike to Mt. Whitney and learned I could do a thing that seemed beyond the pale.  In 2023 I attempted to climb Mt. Goddard, fell sick with altitude sickness, and learned that one can still make progress up the trail, even in 50 step increments.  And in 2025 on Thunder River in the Grand Canyon, I walked away with Plato's thought on mortality echoing in my mind and guiding my actions: "At my age, I should not resent the fact that I have to die".

This, then, is why hike.  Not just for the experience and views - although those are beautiful and breathtaking.  I hike because the things I take away make me a different - and hopefully better person.

I hike to change my life.

---

As part of the final descent, we are broken out into individual hikers with a set space between us.  Our guides refer to this as a "Space Walk", a way for each of us to process our hike and its impending end.  I, at least, appreciate this offer.

I remember this part of the hike vividly from 2022: the long switchbacks downhill which change from granite and pines to different pines and meadows.  Rocks and gravel slowly transfer back into dirt.  The descent is quiet:  I am far behind the person in front of me and the person behind me is far enough away that I can be lost in my thoughts.

As I descend, I step aside more and more for ascending hikers (like driving, uphill always has the right of way).  We greet each other passing.  They look so clean and energetic; the smell of laundry soap and personal hygiene objects is particularly noticeable after so many days on the trail.

The last part of the hike is flat, a long dirt walk through pines.  The day is heating up.  I remember this as being far longer than I thought it should be.  But this is part of the journey as well: things take the amount of time that they take.

On and on I go, dirt and gravel crunching, pine trees falling behind me, eyes straining ahead.  Finally, after what seems like far too long, I catch a glint of something.  A manmade object, a windshield and part of a hood.

I am back.

2026 Mt. Whitney Hike: Day 7, Crabtree Meadow To High Desert Camp: Fearless

 Day 7:
Distance:  11.11 Miles
Elevation Gain:  2169 ft.

The rain which dogged my footsteps during the afternoon and evening continued throughout the night in a semi-regular pattern; I awake at midnight to discover that the water had penetrated portions of the bottom of my tent.  Some of my clothes - my pants in particular - are now wet in spots.  Fortunately my foam pad keeps me above the level of the tent.  I readjust my clothes - shirt and socks in the sleeping bag, pants hanging on my back in the tent vestibule, other items in the tent now confined to the edge of the pad - and try to go back sleep not haunted by the fact of wet clothes in the morning.

We have a leisurely rising time and period of getting ready this morning.  The rain had thankfully stopped over the night, so part of the morning's rising is getting rain flies shaken off and gingerly packing tents to minimize water in the backpack itself.  There is also an element, perhaps, of allowing us to reflect and drink in the victory of the previous day's achievement.

A quick breakfast of oatmeal, the final packing of the wet things, and we are off around 0900.

As we are getting ready to leave, a mule train comes through.  We have seen this group a few times over the last two days or so.  They are used, I believe, both to resupply the back country rangers as well as to support other kinds of hikes.  It is an interesting reminder of an earlier era.

We have a descent down from Crabtree Meadow and come to what to me is some of the most beautiful country of the hike: stark granite and pine trees.  I love this part of the hike for reasons I cannot fully describe; there is something both peaceful and clean and precise about this area that appeals to my soul.  It is made more enjoyable by the fact that the day is cool and overcast from the previous day's weather; hiking through this in the hot sun would likely not be as enjoyable.

Our last trail lunch happens at another stream; trail charcuterie.  One of our fishermen has one last go at a stream; this matters because this is our last water source until mid-day tomorrow.  We will have to carry water for the next 24 hours.

---

Throughout this hiking day, all I can reflect on are my experiences from the previous day on Mt. Whitney.

I find myself in a curious purgatory of joy and regret:  joy that I made it to the top at all (and a second time; the amount of hikers that do it more than once is likely higher than I think but still much less than do it once) and regret that I did not have more time up there and was not up there with the rest of our group.  That is what it is: I cannot go back and change the weather or even my speed (I could increase my endurance, but I have a short step base which helps nothing).

But I also spend a great deal of time thinking about the weather coming down.

It is not that the weather coming down threatened my life in any way; at no time did I feel I would blow off the mountain.  But it was a challenge:  wet, miserable, windblown, picking my way down 2,000 ft. of path.  Only one or two moments did I have an experience of true fear when I stumbled in a step before I caught myself.

Fear.  There it is.

Fear has come up a lot recently in my personal writings and the work I am doing in counseling.  Specifically, fear of people.  Or rather, fear of people and what they think of me.

This has been a challenge for me as long as I can remember:  as a person who is a people pleaser, one becomes incredible sensitive to the nuances of personal interactions and potential issues.  One becomes almost hypersensitive to the possibility that someone will become angry - or perhaps worse, someone will simply dislike you. And maybe judge you.

But I have just come down off a mountain in snow and rain and wind.  That, my mind tells me, is a real and potential existential threat.  People's opinions of me, not so much.

And so, as I hike through the day and then sit, chewing my lunch,  I find a certain sort of fearlessness.

This is a new feeling for me, one I examine with a sort of wonder.  But as I examine it, I realize that it is a real thing:  I can picture specific individuals that I find challenging because of an internal fear I have of them and their opinions (or their reactions).  What, this new feeling asks, can they really do to you in real life compared to the challenge of coming down a mountain in a storm?

I am not quite there on my journey to overcoming my fear.  But now I find I have a powerful weapon in my hand, an image of blowing snow and rain - and continuing on.

---

After lunch, water bottles are topped off and the water jugs filled and assigned out - there are more people than jugs, and so I am spared (This is all Rainbow Bright's doing; she has been very clear every day about what bear can of food I am to carry.  I am apparently struggling more than I know.).

With that, we set off uphill.

We start another ascent and then enter an area of lesser ascents and descents and even areas of level walking.  I (once again) quickly enter my own bubble of the hike - like many other portions of this hike, I am part of a team but often on my own.  The granite sand crunches under my feet as the sun makes places of light and shadow on my path as I trudge on.

Around 1600, I reach the last camp of the trip.

We carefully choose our campsites with an eye to another evening of potential rain as the sky is threatening - and given our previous experience, no-one wants to spend our last day out hiking cold and wet.

Dinner (pictured above) is a sort of Thai Ramen mix.  It is delicious beyond words.

After dinner and suitable digestion, we set off at our guides' insistence for a low hill a several hundred feet away - the sunset, they assure us, is worth the walk.

They are absolutely correct.

They also do a sort of ceremony, one I have come to expect on these hikes.

Everyone that participates in a TSX hike gets a trail name.  This is based on the guides' observations of the individual during the hike.  They are all offered in good grace (and good humour) and are taken as a sort of token of having successfully achieved a hike. They are awarded on the last full day of the hike.

We go through this ceremony; the rule is that if you have a trail name you keep it.  About 50% of us already have one; the other 50% are offered theirs.  They are all spot on; our guides (along with everything else) are great observers of human nature.

My trail name, you may recall, is Survivor.  It taken from the fact that at the end of each day we have to recount a rose (something we liked), a thorn (something we did not like), and a bud (something we are looking forward to).  My first rose for every hike I have been on is "I am grateful I did not die today".

It is amazing how such a thought can transform one's life.

After the sun sinks below the horizon, we head back to our camp under threatening skies.  Wake up time will be very early tomorrow as we have a full day of hiking plus a full day of getting back.

The twin thoughts of "Survivor" and "fearless" wander through my mind as I drift off to sleep.