Explosion on the Mountain
by Nancy King
It was a gorgeous day for a hike--sunny, blue skies, comfortable temperature-perfect hiking weather. F suggested we hike up to the summit of the 12,000’ peak, taking our time, enjoying the profusion of wildflowers that had suddenly emerged after the night’s rain. She was used to hiking at lower altitudes, so we stopped whenever she needed to catch her breath or eat a snack. We climbed in companionable silence, finding the meandering path up to the top with no trouble.
Photo by John Fowler via Flickr CCL
When we reached the top, both of us feeling triumphant, she high-fived me and we stood, enjoying the panoramic view. When we noticed that the gray clouds were turning dark, we decided to have lunch lower down, where we had a great view of a mountain lake.
Almost as soon as we started eating, it began to rain. We put on our rain gear, packed up our food, and started hiking down the mountain. The temperature dropped. Balls of hail mixed with the rain. Rivulets of water poured down what we thought was the trail.
Suddenly she screamed at me. “I’m not doing this anymore. Why do you always have to hike? Why can’t we ride bikes? This is dangerous!”
I told her, “I look at it as an adventure.”
“It’s not an adventure, it’s dangerous.”
Habitually, when someone is angry at me, blaming me, I “check out,” go deep inside myself and wait for the assault to be over. Since I was so stunned by her anger, by her irrational accusations, by her acting as if I were to blame for the weather, I shut down and focused on finding the way down. I wasn’t sure what was a trail and what was water running down the steep slope, but I figured if we kept to the right and kept going down, we’d be okay. As I hiked, I tried to avoid the water gushing down the path. She followed me.
We passed a man with two children who was helping them put on their raincoats. I asked if he was going up and he said, “Sure, this kind of weather never lasts long.” His relaxed demeanor was comforting.
As we approached an outcropping of rocks where there was no obvious trail, I suddenly saw a man and woman ahead of me who looked like they knew where they were going. I followed them, relieved that I wouldn’t have to scramble to find my way.
The man disappeared and from behind, the woman looked like F. I wondered how she got ahead of me and figured she had found an easier trail to the side of the rocks. I followed her and when I got off the rocks I asked,” How did you get ahead of me?” When she turned around, I saw that it wasn’t F.
Discombobulated, I looked up at the rocks and heard screaming. “Nancy. Nancy. Where are you?” The man reappeared and shouted up to F who was now visible, halfway down the rocks, “You’re fine. You’re fine.”
When F came down she yelled that I had walked too fast, that I had abandoned her, that I was irresponsible. I tried to tell her that I thought she had gotten in front of me but she cut me off and snarled, “How could I get in front of you, I was behind you.” She started in on me again.
Although I have never said this to anyone in my life, something in me snapped. “I’m not taking your anger. It isn’t mine.” When she began to repeat her accusations I cut her off. “I’m not taking your anger.” With that she took off down the trail as fast as she could hike in the mud and roiling water. I watched her go, wondering how to deal with the situation. I hiked at my own pace, letting her disappear, not willing to walk faster than a comfortable pace.
I caught up with her. She was sitting on a log at a trail crossing, putting on dry socks. When she saw me she started attacking me again, accusing me of irresponsibility. I stopped her. She was too angry to even consider my experience, which was different from hers and therefore, in her opinion, not true. “I’m not taking your anger,” I repeated for the third time.
“You don’t want to hear what I have to say.”
“I’m willing to hear anything you want to say but you have to say it in a normal voice. But I’m not taking your anger. It isn’t mine.” With that, she pointed for me to start down the last bit of trail. I did, waiting for her when I couldn’t see her.
We rode down the mountain road in silence for about twenty minutes. She broke the silence by informing me she wouldn’t house sit for me while I was away, even though she had volunteered.
“Okay.”
More silence. We arrived at my house. “I’m sorry it ended this way,” she said.
“I am too.” I got my poles and pack from the back of her car and walked away.
I haven’t heard from her since. Ironically, she had previously loaned me a book about a man and his dog who did 96 hikes in one winter in the White Mountains of New Hampshire in snow and wind and ice and sleet and fog and hail—recounting their adventures with a sense of joy and pride.
The contrast between our going up the mountain where she was all smiles, frequently commenting on what a great hike we were having, and how she behaved toward me coming down, left me thinking about the difference between saying what she was feeling and blaming me for the sudden change in weather and hiking conditions. Had she told me she was scared or talked about what she was feeling, I would have reacted with compassion rather than self-protection. The experience was a breakthrough for me. I refused to accept her anger. I stayed centered and calm. I stood up for myself.
Nancy King is the author of the new book, Changing Spaces, coincidentally about a woman who wakes up one morning with her husband in the life she knew, and by the end of the day, she is alone, on her own, and in a different life.
12 Comments
Reader Comments (12)
Oh, Nancy - I truly felt for you through that story. (It brought me back to 1989, hiking in Wales with friend Paul - ending up with transferring all my belongings from communal backpack and into a plastic garbage bag to finish the trip! - sans Paul). Just goes to show that a very good friend may not always be the best friend to travel with!
You're right. Sometimes it takes a crisis to reveal the true nature of a relationship. This was a difficult piece to write and yet the experience ultimately helped me deal with and change my lifelong pattern of taking on other people's anger.
Nancy,
Great to read another insightful story from such a wonderful story-teller. We have all been in that place where 'perfect' weather quickly changes, and we have to remind ourselves to avoid drama and stay present. You said such a truism - your and her experiences of the same hike were quite different and kudos to you for not taking on her 'stuff'. Hopefully, you were still able to enjoy the beauty of the mountain.
Where do you get all that courage? Why are you surprised that you can control yourself in the face of such absurdity?With "friends" like that you don't need a whole lot of enemies I'm thinking.
Isn't it amazing that we don't know who people really are until we see them faced with terror? Maybe we don't know who WE really are until we are faced with terror. Do you now know who you really are? You should-brave, courageous, tough, determined, unconquerable, and able to face the unknown with equanimity-and then write about it. Bravo!
Nancy...Conqueror of All Sorts of Mountains...I am glad to hear that you have summited your own self, and yet I still hear a touch of regret that your friend was so out of control and you could not be of help to her. That's just who you are. You still wish you could have done more. The only people who can be helped are those who are willing to be helped. As a lifeguard, very long ago, the first lesson I learned was how to keep myself from being drowned by the person I came to help. You tell the story with the necessary self-preservation, but with the compassion of a real friend who did all you could to keep your friend in control of her fear.
Oftentimes it baffles me to reflect on different perspectives of the same event. Congratulations for refusing to take on your friends anger, like many of us, you are not a punching bag. Imagine how different the experience might have been had she looked to you as a "hiking buddy" and you could have been brave together. Although you cannot control the weather, you are one of the most powerful people I know! I enjoyed your story and applaud your courage. You are also a terrific photographer!
Dear Nancy
It sounds as if your hiking 'companion' (but not one exactly) was as fearful as angry, wrenching both emotions way out of context. She picked exactly the right 'therapist' for her explosion, since you treated her appropriately. But too bad you couldn't charge her the going rate for psychotherapy.
I hope she will at least think about how this progression up and then down the mountain (your steady pace throughout, her zig-zagging about in mud, stones and rivulets at various 45 degree angles) is also a humorous metaphor for your relationship---whether it resumes or not.
As always in these wonderful short pieces, you commingle pathos, astonishment and hilarity with such extraordinary skill.
Thank you again!
I appreciate all of your points of view and responses. SInce then I've been caught in two other hail/rain storms. In one, a friend and I couldn't even use the trail as it and the arroyos were flooded--more like rampaging rivers. We remained calm,despite lightning that was too close for comfort, bushwhacking our way, keeping to higher ground as much as possible. When we finally reached the trailhead, drenched and relieved, we both felt the same way--glad we had each other for company and comfort.
People yell at me all the time but I don't handle it as well as you did. Your calmness was essential in that situation. If you had responded in anger, if events had escalated and you had descended separately, it might not have gone well for your inexperienced partner. But this is about more than surviving on a mountain. You mastered something in yourself by remembering you are not defined by another's treatment of you. Thank you for taking us on your hike.
This story reminds me of our family's first family hike up Mt. Washington. It WAS scary, but still a lovely memory. ....in spite of rain, hail, wind.
Nancy,
You did absolutely right by not taking on her anger. Remarkable, isn't it, that after a long hike nothing feels as good as a refreshing shower, but let that shower come an hour before, outside, and suddenly all hell breaks loose! It's water, wet is wet, and yet your (former) "friend" is blaming you for the weather. There's nothing more to do. You've done all you can do. Impatience and unfounded panic can ruin a peaceful experience. Enjoy your next hike in peace and solitude, or with someone who knows that laughter is better than anger.
Thank you describe for describing the situation perfectly. Having been in hail, rain, and cold with other people, who dealt with it in a variety of ways, none with anger, hysteria, or blame, makes it even clearer to me that her anger was not mine. I have since enjoyed many hikes with friends as well as by myself, and I'm now clearer than before this incident, that how we choose to deal with a crisis situation reflects who we are, rather than who the other person is. Laughter always makes me feel better.