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Note: I published this article on Substack a few days ago with over a dozen pictures that I couldn't be bothered to upload here and squeeze into this HTML file. The text is of course the same here but I'd recommend checking out the Substack version of this article so you can see the beauties I describe here.
I have lived most of my life in Reno which sits inside a beautiful valley near the eastern border of the Sierra Nevada Mountain range. The mountains that surround the biggest little city are, at least to me, Reno’s defining feature and one of the reasons that makes Reno a hard town to leave. I’ve done a fair amount of hiking in my life but I recently realized that, while I’ve stood atop more peaks than the average person, I haven’t been to the top of any of the mountains that have served as the backdrop to much of my life. That was something I needed to fix and Mt Rose was the obvious place for me to start being the most iconic mountain in the area.
I found the trail to the summit on the map and the hike was obviously one that could be done in an afternoon being a bit less than eleven miles from the trailhead to the peak and back. Most people would have probably planned out a day at least a week in advance to hike a trail like that but my schedule doesn’t really allow for scheduling. If I am to have the time to do anything like that I have to head out spontaneously whenever I get the chance. The chance came on Wednesday the first so I threw some gear into a backpack and drove up to the trailhead.
Getting off 395 to drive up Mt Rose highway is always a treat. You have a few miles of driving straight towards the mountain letting you take in it’s beauty. Reno gets well over 300 days of sunshine per year, meaning the mountains are usually clearly visible. Wednesday was not one of those days, the sky was grey and as I approached the mountain over half of it was hidden by clouds, adding an element of mystery to the quest I was about to embark on.
When I got to the trailhead I found myself inside the cloud as it was raining on me. I had to brush cobwebs off of my raincoat before putting it on reminding me that it had been too long since I’ve gone on an adventure like this.
The fog remained thick as I hiked the first mile, I imagine on a normal day people would spend that length of trail taking in the views of the surrounding peaks, mountain lakes and of course Tahoe off in the distance. I couldn’t see any of that, instead I got to focus in on the detail of the plants and rocks around me and, of course the trail ahead.
Eventually the fog did lift a few hundred feet, by that time I had already gone around Tamarack Peak so there was no chance of me getting a glimpse of Lake Tahoe anytime soon but I decided it was fine if I didn’t see any familiar scenery, maybe even preferable. The first few hours I was there the farthest I could ever see was a mile, taking away the sights I’ve seen thousands of times along with the sort of weather I am used to made me feel like I was a lot farther than the fifteen miles I actually was from home.
The scenery I was treated to on the north side of Tamarack Peak was a small valley filled with bushes beginning to turn to their fall colors surrounded by steep walls covered with rocks and scattered evergreens. The trail took me around the edge of the valley gradually lowering me down to the bottom where I’d stroll past a waterfall just before crossing over Galena Creek and later under an old power line that made me wonder what it would be like to work in such an environment every day.
Once I was on the other side of that small valley the trail took me up around some cliffs and up a gap in the mountains eventually taking me to a nice small clearing at the saddle of Mount Houghton and Mt Rose.
The climb up to that point had taken its toll on me, mentally much more than physically. A back injury from two summers ago forced me into a season of inactivity which caused me to lose a lot of muscle. I can walk along flat ground for days but hills are a battle. By this time I’d been on the trail for around two hours and the summit I’d been trying to reach was covered in clouds, I never saw the top meaning I didn’t understand how far I still had to go. I pulled out my phone to check my elevation only to find that I was much lower than I thought I was, this was discouraging but, despite that, I turned onto the trail that would take me up the thousand feet I still needed to climb.
Hiking alone is a much different experience than hiking with friends. When you are with friends you push each other through the hard parts, even if it is only subconsciously, your desire to stay with the group is your motivation. When you hike alone, like I was here, motivation is something a lot easier to loose.
As I climbed that last mile the temptation to give up and turn back entered my head. I found myself thinking things like, “You don’t have to do this, you won’t loose anything by quitting,” “You won’t be able to see anything through this fog at the top, so getting there is pointless,” and “You’ve already had a better adventure than everyone else on this random Wednesday, you can be satisfied with that.”
A year or two ago Michael Easter author of The Comfort Crisis had an AMA on Substack. I asked him how to convince unwilling people that there is benefit in doing hard and uncomfortable things, I think I had other people in mind when asking the question. In his response (that I wish I saved) Easter reminded me that it is completely natural for us to want to avoid the uncomfortable. Humans have been optimizing for comfort since the beginning of time. Convincing someone to go against their natural instinct and embrace discomfort is understandably a hard thing. It wasn’t until recently that I realized the person I’d have the hardest time convincing was myself. The battles we fight in our own heads could be some of the most demanding in history.
The temptations I was feeling came from the natural man within me and the thoughts placed in my head mostly expressed truths but they were peppered with lies. Sure I’d already had a more exciting Wednesday than most people, but there is no satisfaction in turning back. Yes, the chances of me being able to see anything other than grey on that peak were slim, but the point of a hike like this is the accomplishment not the views. Of course it was true that I didn’t have to keep going, nobody really has to do anything hard in our modern age, but the relief of quitting also comes with the bitterness of failure. That mental battle was much harder than anything physical I faced that day.
Of course that doesn’t mean that final climb was a walk in the park, that last stretch of trail had an average grade well over fifteen percent which is no joke. As I climbed higher the wind came and seemed to get stronger by the minute. The week before I had been enjoying the sunshine in short sleeved shirts but up there my gloved hands were holding my hat on my head as I wondered if my snot would freeze to my face.
While barren and dangerous, the landscape I found myself in was quite the enjoyable sight. It is always interesting to spend time in environments where almost nothing can live and when surrounded by fog it might be the closest one can get to feeling like they are on another planet. The fifty mile an hour wind gusts felt more like a feature of the alien world rather than normal earthly weather.
Eventually a pile of rocks came into view along with a man in an orange coat standing eating an apple. Tired, I asked him if this was the end, he told me the trail went on but this was the summit. I was instantly relieved that I had reached my goal and found shelter in the rocks.
For weeks I’d had the idea that it would be fun to cook myself a meal on that summit. Looking back that would have been a better idea on a sunny day, but I had set out to eat lunch on top of that mountain so I took out my stove and cooked myself some broccoli beef (from my updated recipe) as I rested my legs.
The warm food gave me some much needed energy but the realization that I needed to get off that mountain quickly was what really fueled me on my decent. I had struggled to get everything put back into my pack since my fingertips had gone numb from the cold and both my phone and my watch were running low on battery. I needed to get back to the trailhead before it got too cold and I had no way to contact the outside world and no way of knowing what time it was.
As I hiked back blood eventually returned to my fingertips and the skies began to clear. After a few miles I was able to turn around and finally get a good look at the mountain I had just been on top of.
After I exited the valley that Galena Creek ran through and got around Tamarack Peak I was able to take in the much of the landscape that had been covered by fog, including a glimpse of Tamarack Lake which looked like a good destination for another little adventure.
At one point I also heard a loud crack which caused me to stop and watch a dead tree fall down on its own. I can’t tell you if falling trees make a sound when nobody is around but they sure aren’t quiet when someone is there. That was a sight I don’t expect to be lucky enough to see ever again.
When I was about a half mile from the trailhead there were no longer any clouds blocking my view of anything, I stopped to appreciate the scenery that was hidden from me hours before. I almost didn’t turn all the way around to get a look at Lake Tahoe, I thought I’d go the whole day without seeing it but I’m glad I didn’t. The mountains on the opposite shore were covered in shadow making it look as if Tahoe’s clear blue waters extended to the ends of the earth.
Soon I found myself sitting in my car, turning the key and cranking up the heater. The modern luxury of a 2001 4Runner is quite nice compared to the harsh winds of the mountaintop. Despite that a part of me wished I could have stayed up there longer. Nature has so much to offer us mentally, spiritually and physically, especially when we challenge ourselves in it. When we are out there we are able to see our problems from a different perspective, we can hardly feel them and our minds become free to think about the things in our lives that are truly important. I need to get out there more and so do you.