Lookout Point

I had a difficult conversation with our son recently. During that talk he said there was no sense starting something now because it would take a long time to reach the result we were talking about. I told him he was looking at taking a long path, not reaching a destination. I’ve been thinking about those words a lot since then. Plus thinking about how far down that path he would be if he’d stepped out on the journey three years ago. It doesn’t help to dwell on ‘what might have been’.

*A trail we’d walk, now changed from a forest fire.*

My husband and I used to go for walks together. When we did, there had to be a destination. He isn’t one to just go on a ramble with no known end in sight. Where we used to live, you could head out into the trees and walk as long as you wanted. There was the road, there were trails, there were logging roads. By myself, I could walk until I was done, then turn around and go home, whether I’d reached a goal or not. But that used to drive my husband nuts. He needed to know where he was going. Which was fine with me, too, because for me the goal was walking with him.

*That’s the baby sister by the way, not me.*

I think about all the actual paths we’ve walked, and of course I think about the metaphorical paths we’ve walked. Most of those metaphorical trails we’ve followed in our lives still have no known destination. We’re still meandering along wondering where this rough path is going. Maybe hoping for a log to sit on and rest some day.

*My friend Jenni is always game for a walk.* *Here she is in Erin’s Wood.*

There have been so many paths that I have turned around on before I got to the destination. But I loved doing that. Just heading out for a ramble, being out in the trees, no destination, no timeline, no goal.

There are also a lot of paths I’ve chosen to never step out onto, for so many reasons. A lot of those reasons had to do with fear. Fear of holding back those I walked with. Fear of failure. Fear of letting those I care about down. Fear of not being good enough. Fear of falling. Do I regret those? Not really. Except for the walks I turned down out of fear of holding back others. One of those friends I worried about disappointing died unexpectedly in a car accident. I no longer have her in my life to hold back, or to disappoint, and those things don’t seem as important any more.

Circling back to that conversation with my son…I have to step off that path. I can’t share it anymore. I can’t lead the way. If there is a destination, it’s different for both of us.

When he was little, my husband took him up a trail known locally as Lookout Point. It’s steep and narrow and honestly, the only trail I’ve ever been on that completely creeps me out. I swear it’s haunted. I don’t hike it. But on that day, my husband told our son to stay close to the uphill side, not the edge. Our son of course went too close to the edge and disappeared. That fast. A log bordered the outer edge but the land under the log had slid away. Our son slipped down into that gap. My husband saw him, down in that gap, hanging on. I don’t know which of them was more terrified. After that, our son stayed on the uphill side.

Whether he’ll do that now, follow our advice, or go his own way, we shall see. And my husband will always be there to grab him and keep him from falling. I’m not sure I can.

Many years ago my husband and I were walking a trail near Troublesome Creek. We were just friends going for walks (so I thought). There was this slight incline in the trail. He went ahead and turned to give me a hand up. I was surprised that he thought I couldn’t make it up on my own. Later, when I finally realized there was something else going on, he told me it had been an excuse to take my hand.

Even back then, he had the destination in mind while I meandered along the path.

This hiking trail is a bit difficult to find. It’s listed in some trail guides but it’s mainly used by locals. And rock climbers are always in the area although I’m not sure many of them use the trail itself. I’ve been up the trail three times for fun and once for no fun at all when our dog got stuck. This past weekend my husband took three friends up there. I was careful not to give them my opinion of the trail beforehand as I didn’t want to color the experience for them.

*View from Lookout. You can see Mt. Index and Bridal Veil Falls, which is another challenging, but beautiful, hike.*

Many locals love that trail, my son included. In spite of the steepness, it’s normally well worth the hike for the views from the top of the trail, which are beautiful.

*Looking down on the North Fork Skykomish River.*

Of the friends who went with my husband, one got sick and had to turn back. One walked that friend out of the woods and then decided to wait at the base of the chute, which is the last three hundred feet or so of the trail. My husband and our friend Dan went all the way to the top. This was more challenging than normal because there has been a slide down the chute.

*Looking up from the base of the* chute.

So yes, it’s a beautiful hike. Yes, it’s typically difficult, especially the chute. But those aren’t the reasons why I haven’t been up that trail for several years.

*Our son, at the top, several years ago.*

Those who know me personally know that I’m not a superstitious type. Okay, I might be a little superstitious about writing, but mostly I’m a pretty pragmatic person. I don’t get scared often. But Lookout Point just creeps me out big time.

I’ve never had an emotional reaction to a place like this and I’m a bit embarrassed to admit it. But every single time I’ve gone up that trail, I have had a strong thought in my brain telling me I’m not supposed to be there. Have you ever had a moment when your neck hairs stand up and every instinct is telling you that you’ve just made a big mistake? That’s me on that trail.

It’s not the difficulty level because I’ve been up it before. Granted, I doubt I could make it up there now. I’ve done it before and even on the somewhat easier lower portion of the trail, I’m still scared of it.

*Our friend, showing the steepness of the chute.*

When I wrote This Deep Panic and was trying to imagine the fear characters would feel out in the woods, alone and vulnerable, I dipped into my feelings about this trail. So in a way, the trail helped me with writing.

I strongly believe I am not supposed to be on that trail. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s honest.

Now that there has been a slide in the chute, I have an excuse to say no if anyone invites me to go up Lookout. I won’t have to admit that the place scares me. It’s such a weird thing because, if you know me, I absolutely love the woods. The forest is my home space.

Just not that tiny piece of forest. That trail up Lookout? It doesn’t want me there for some reason, and I plan on listening and honoring that. Even if it does make me sound a little loopy.

I certainly don’t need to go back up it in order to write more scary scenes. My memory will work just fine.