The sky is big… really big. The closer you get to it, the bigger it gets, the more it threatens to pull you upward and outward into its vast emptiness. We got about a thousand feet closer to the sky today as we hiked the Wheeler Peak Summit Trail. Although we didn’t go all the way to the top, we went far enough to get more than enough adrenaline pumping for me.

The trail begins near the camping area at 9800 ft. You climb slowly but steadily through alpine forests and meadows, stopping frequently (if you’re lowlanders like us) to catch your breath and look around a bit before continuing the upward trek.

Stopping and looking around, though, is just what you want to do in order to catch a glimpse of mule deer, turkeys, and the multi-colored trees all around you. It’s also impressive, and often a bit discouraging, to note where you’ve been and where you have yet to go as the trail zigs and zags its way up the mountain.  Looking ahead, we can see other hikers moving in and out of clumps of pine and spruce as they make their way along the switchbacks. They’re almost old friends by the time we reach our final stopping point.

Unfortunately, our final stopping point is just above the timberline, beyond which my vertigo will just not let me go. Without the comforting protection of the friendly conifers, I truly feel like I’m going to fall right off the planet. Joe goes a bit further, and would’ve gone on to the summit, but my brain and body won’t cooperate. I have to find the nearest large rock, sit down and hang on! A paralyzing thrill, for sure!

After sitting a bit, catching my breath, and having a quick snack, I felt somewhat calmer but still more than ready to scoot back DOWN the trail to the waiting arms of the trees. No amount of rational self-talk was going to overcome the dizziness and complete lack of balance I felt when I even contemplated going further up the trail… even looked further up the trail. Surely there is a technical term for this type of fear, but probably no easy cure. To make matters worse, as we sat their with our lunch, a young woman walked by on her way down from the summit, strolling along as casually as if she were on a country road in the flat midwest. “Enjoy!” she says to us with a smile. “Maybe next time,” I say to myself. I’m not giving up.

We’ll be back.