The last summit of MBP for me was three years ago. Unfortunately I had broken a bone in my knee going down the old trail. It required surgery and subsequently has taken me YEARS to return.
While tepid about the possibility of acquiring a new injury, I felt like I had something to prove. This hike for me was not about speed, but about self-preservation, tenacity and overcoming it. MBP is such a beautiful trail, but I now carried the scar tissue to prove it can also be ruthless and needs to be respected.
The hike up was glorious with only a few patches of snow. A quick hydration stop before the boulder field reinvigorated my 1,000 ft. climb to the summit.
I never had to put on the microspikes, but trekking poles were a godsend.
The crowd (20-25) at the mailbox were all jovial. Somebody was bitching at someone else about feeding a gray jay and then someone else piped up, "O.k. Relax, Karen!" Everyone at the summit burst out laughing, even the food critic.
Though my thighs, ass, back and even muscles I didn't know I had, were burning upon return to my car, I couldn't help but silently sob in my heart. I realized it wasn't because I had accomplished my goal that I had a bout of melancholy, but rather it was that I was in an utter state of forgiveness of a beautiful mountain that earlier in the morning I resented.
Me and MBP are cool again. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the freedom of the hills.
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