I have nothing to say except that I still keep hoping that it was a bad dream. If there is a stronger word than incredulous, I'm there. Total stats for the disaster: 11.3 miles, 5 hours, 2 horrific stream crossings (4 if you count both ways), almost 8 hours of driving, two days gone, and 0 summits. We never even made it truly above tree line. I feel like something straight out of the pages of Dumb and Dumber (Floyd, you idiot, the town is that way!) I feel like I'm suffering a minor form of PTSD from my stupidity. I hear running water and I'm envisioning the streams; I see a sock and I have flashbacks to Mary ringing hers out; I see a rock and suddenly I'm back on the trail--the wrong trail; I see the trail mix on the counter and I want to vomit; I see a picture of the mountains and my throat tightens. I still don't know whether to cry or to put my fist through a wall. I'd rather laugh about it but I don't see that happening for a good long while. I lay awake last night just picturing it over and over in my mind, trying to figure out how I could do something that wasn't even on my radar of how to screw this up. I'm hoping that writing about it will help me process, because I don't want another night like that.
|Still dark, still stupidly naive, already on the wrong trail.|
|Mary wringing her socks out after the second stream crossing. See video on facebook for why her socks were wet.|
|Above my head is Mt. Massive. This is shortly after the nice campers looked at us like we were morons and pointed behind us saying, "That's Mt. Massive" when I asked where the trail was.|
|A better view of Massive from the back side. Not the side you are supposed to climb.|
|And Massive from the front side (after we were back on the road). This is the side you are supposed to climb. And also, you can see why it's called Mt. Massive.|