Back in the summer of 1990, Rob and I worked at a summer camp in Glorieta, New Mexico. One day we finally both had the same day off. So we decided to climb Glorieta Baldy. It was a 7 mile hike to the summit. No problem. 

We gathered our supplies (a bottle of water, a Snickers bar, and two packages of peanut butter crackers — you know the fake bright-orange kind with the peanut butter spread in the middle) and I wore my new hiking boots with the red laces. 

We met outside early in the morning in front of our respective dorms, set our sights on the top of Baldy, and struck out on our journey. We were set to go.

It was a beautiful crisp, clear day. 

We walked along casually, locating the entrance to the hike at the back edge of Glorieta proper, near the stables, and entered the base of the trail. 

This was going to be easy.

We were on our way. 

We walked and talked. 

And got passed up by some more focused “hikers” as well as, encountered a few more who were coming down from the top, some who were even jogging. Piece of cake. So we thought.

Our path took us along a gentle-flowing stream. 

Then through a long flat stretch of pine trees.

As we casually continued walking and talking.

Rob found a watch ring that we kept as a souvenir of the day. Literally a metal stretchy band that slipped on your finger like a ring and contained a watch face. 

Our flat path seemed to go on for awhile, then began to rise a little. Just then, lo and behold, the beautiful view of the entire camp of Glorieta came into sight just below.

We oohed and aahed. We smiled. We took pictures with our disposable camera.

We were loving it!

What a lovely view!

What a wonderful day!

On this little break, we also ate the crackers, the candy bar, and drank a bit of water.

Then we pressed on.

The slope began to rise. 

Wow, this is feeling more like a climb.

We started feeling the incline more as we walked up the now rocky path. 

I was walking in front.

I felt the need to focus.

Then it happened. 

I felt a quick, sharp sting on the back of my left calf. What was that?! I whirled around quickly to see Rob standing poised with another ROCK in his hands, wearing a sheepish grin on his face. 

What???

You just threw a ROCK at me?!? Who are you? Ernest T. Bass?

I was incensed. 

In that moment of  shocked rage, my anger boiled over and I threw our water — ALL of our water at him. Yes, at him. Did it land on him? No. But it wiped that sheepish grin off his face AND left us with no source of fluid intake. None.

I could not imagine the act of throwing a rock (okay, maybe it was a large pebble) AT someone so I foolishly threw all of our water at him. I was blinded by my rage.

Side note: I’m from the city and did not grow up with brothers or even any siblings within eleven years of my age. He grew up out in the country where apparently dirt-clod fights were the playful norm of the day. But, still …

We climbed on in silence.

The incline was steady.

Thirst ensued.

And hunger.

I kept my eyes on the top. The fire tower. I knew there would be nourishment at the top. I knew food-and-drink reprieve awaited us at the top. I was ready for the restaurant at the top of the mountain. For who would encourage people to climb a hill without giving them sustenance at the top? Who would think of such a thing?

… said the girl who less than two years earlier had eaten at the restaurant on the first level of the Eiffel Tower. If the Eiffel Tower had a restaurant and only required an elevator to reach it, how much more assuredly would there be a restaurant at the top of this tower after a long climb … thought the girl with her city logic …

On we pressed. Ever higher.

I was still mad. Maybe even enraged. It fueled me onward.

Almost there.

Getting closer.

Also another distressing sign: bear poop. Does a bear poop in the woods? Yep, it does. And if it poops in the woods, it lives in the woods. In my foolishness, I did not think much about this until later, but it has given me major chills since then. 

Still onward and upward. 

We finally reached the “bottom of the top” where the climb was now crazy steep. It was not a 90 degree angle, but it looked almost straight up to me. Almost impossible. Maybe in reality it was a 60 degree angle. But it brought us to a momentary standstill.

So close, yet so far away.

We had to continue.

We pressed on. 

We were determined. 

Literally we climbed this short last straight up rocky stint on our hands and knees.

But, we made it!

We made it to the top.

It was worth it!

The view was breathtaking.

I think apologies ensued and the anger was abated.

We climbed the rickety wooden fire tower. 

There was no restaurant.

There was no water.

There was no nourishment of any kind.

But, besides the unbelievable view, to our astonishment, there was an astounding sight to the right of the tower. A short bush was covered with hundreds, maybe thousands, of ladybugs. 

It was a sight to behold.

I’ve never seen anything like it before or since.

We had made it to the top (even in our super-unprepared state) and beheld a glorious scene. It was a moment to remember and relish.

The trip down was pretty uneventful. The trip took us way longer than it should have, but we learned an incalculable amount of life lessons along the way.

Many references to that “climb” have been made throughout our marriage. 

I am incredibly thankful for God’s protection and providence and provision in the midst of our lack of preparedness for our journey.

Our main take away from the day: persevere and carry on!

And don’t throw away all of your water!