September 25, 2017 |
“What’s the use?” Kai demands. The tears are not far away. “Don’t tell me we’re a hiking family. I know this is what you want to do. But just explain to me, what is the actual use of getting to the top of this mountain?”
We’re on a knife-edge ridge, mist billowing up the cliffs on one side, a clear view to rocks hundreds of meters below on the other. A misstep would likely be fatal. I can see his point.
“Snack break!” I call out to James ahead. My suspicion proves correct — Kai’s mini meltdown is not really about hiking. Sugar levels restored, he scampers ahead.
Kiran is a different story. He’s a great walker and seems to appreciate the scenery more than his brother. But unlike Kai, who loves scrambling and is fearless on cliffs, Kiran is not happy in exposed situations. Despite the rocks being dry and with many foot and hand holds, he had been anxious climbing up and not really reassured once on the ridge top.
Why do we put him in situations that make him so uncomfortable? More to the point, why do we put our kids and ourselves in potential danger just to reach the top of a mountain?
For me, it’s like the bear in the song — for to see the other side. Plus the satisfaction of achieving something, of having not given up. Failing to reach the top feels like unfinished business, like I need to come back to reach closure.
It’s the same for James, with a stronger element of needing to conquer the mountain. He loves to look around and count off the peaks he’s climbed.
I had assumed this was the case for all hikers . The trail to, and massive cross atop, most Swiss mountains supports this. I never saw any evidence against the need to reach the top during my time in Japan. Australia is a little different due to its geography, but look the flocks of people who climb Uluru and our highest mountain, Mt Kosciuszko. And the continued allure of Mt Everest.
Canadians, though, seem to be different. This summer we climbed three mountains in three different parks, and in each case there was virtually no trail to the top — and virtually no other people either. This, despite the fabulous trails and large number of walkers and campers lower down.
This lack of desire to climb any mountain was incomprehensible to me, but then again, some of our hikes are incomprehensible to many of our friends and family. And to be fair, I have no desire to climb some of the mountain peaks on James’ bucket list. I guess everyone has their own reckoning of “need to get to the top” versus “acceptable level of danger” — and for the moment at least, our reckoning tilts more strongly towards “need to get to the top” than the kids would like.
Once across the knife edge, both Kai and Kiran were fine and happy to reach the mountain top — proud even. They might complain, but I’m not too worried about any permanent childhood scarring. And who knows, maybe one day it will be them urging me to reach the top of something much worse. Yikes, now there’s a scary thought!