Uphill
One of the most striking features in my town remains the large hill that lies on the other side of the river to the east. Halfway up the face of the hill someone had arranged spray-painted rocks to spell out something, but I hadn’t been able to figure out what. For this and various reasons I asked the other Americans if they wanted to hike up the hill with me on the weekend. We kept putting off the adventure because none of us were free at the same time, and I wanted it to be a group event. I finally gave up on pulling that off and instead got one other American to agree to tackle the mountain, with the understanding that we might just turn around after an hour if it was too difficult.
We started out at about 11 on a brisk, sunny Saturday morning, and we warmed up quickly. I talked with Becky about the height of the river and the different animals I’ve seen grazing along its banks. The last time I’d climbed the mountain I’d kept looking for the perfect gully to start up, but this time I just settled on the first goat trail I could find and tried to make my way up. Even though I wasn’t quite sure of the contours of the hill, I didn’t have to go up and down any ravines and we made steady progress, stopping as needed for water and photographs. As we reached the last steep slope and stumbled through the loose rocks, a herd of sheep and goats came around from the other side of the hill and watched us calmly. I felt they were taking bets on whether Becky or I would fall first, but we managed to stay on our feet and get up to the ridgeline.
I celebrated with cookies and after some photographs of the town we headed back down towards the painted rocks that I had been squinting at for months. I was surprised to find that I could hear the city noises growing as we got closer to the town. I generally think of my town as very quiet, but from far away we could hear sounds of construction and announcements from the market. We did our best to follow the curve of the mountain, and it helped that the goats seemed to have worn a few paths that ran horizontally along the mountain. Exactly what they were eating off of the rocky soil was hard to say. When I finally reached the sign it proclaimed the glory of class 10A, and we discussed the likelihood that it was Becky’s school as opposed to one of the other three high schools in town.
Descending was fast but a little scary as we often slid. We agreed that the rocks were bigger and more stable in a dry gully, so we tried to stay inside of it. We posed with a herd of yaks grazing by the river, but I failed in my attempts to find an easy way to jump all the streams separating us from town. We doubled back and we took the bridge again. We agreed the hike had gone well and hoped we could convince the other two to participate next time.
We started out at about 11 on a brisk, sunny Saturday morning, and we warmed up quickly. I talked with Becky about the height of the river and the different animals I’ve seen grazing along its banks. The last time I’d climbed the mountain I’d kept looking for the perfect gully to start up, but this time I just settled on the first goat trail I could find and tried to make my way up. Even though I wasn’t quite sure of the contours of the hill, I didn’t have to go up and down any ravines and we made steady progress, stopping as needed for water and photographs. As we reached the last steep slope and stumbled through the loose rocks, a herd of sheep and goats came around from the other side of the hill and watched us calmly. I felt they were taking bets on whether Becky or I would fall first, but we managed to stay on our feet and get up to the ridgeline.
I celebrated with cookies and after some photographs of the town we headed back down towards the painted rocks that I had been squinting at for months. I was surprised to find that I could hear the city noises growing as we got closer to the town. I generally think of my town as very quiet, but from far away we could hear sounds of construction and announcements from the market. We did our best to follow the curve of the mountain, and it helped that the goats seemed to have worn a few paths that ran horizontally along the mountain. Exactly what they were eating off of the rocky soil was hard to say. When I finally reached the sign it proclaimed the glory of class 10A, and we discussed the likelihood that it was Becky’s school as opposed to one of the other three high schools in town.
Descending was fast but a little scary as we often slid. We agreed that the rocks were bigger and more stable in a dry gully, so we tried to stay inside of it. We posed with a herd of yaks grazing by the river, but I failed in my attempts to find an easy way to jump all the streams separating us from town. We doubled back and we took the bridge again. We agreed the hike had gone well and hoped we could convince the other two to participate next time.