Narrative Essay

Mount Elenor
I was laboring up the Sierra Buttes trail, my pace devouring the miles, when I first met Elenor. I’ve been hiking the trail every Labor Day weekend with my family, for over 7 years; I know how challenging the trail is, I’ve seen a number of hikers turn back without even making it half way. I was astounded when I happened upon Elenor inching her way up the trail. I thought there was no way she could make it to the top, she’s simply too old. Elenor proved me to be incredibly wrong, to never assume something isn’t possible because conventional wisdom says so. Watching Elenor trudge up the trail and overcome what I thought would be impossible obstacles was an inspiring moment in my life.
At first glance, Elenor resembled a typical 80 year old. She had a moderately hunched back keeping her gaunt frame below 5 feet. Her slightly yellowed skin was wrapped tight around her bones and her thinning white hair was tucked under a straw hat. She leaned heavily on two black aluminum canes, one tightly gripped in each hand, as she slowly ascended the trail. So frail did she look, it seemed a stiff breeze would blow her away. Elenor’s eyes burned with an inner determination though, belying strength not immediately apparent in her stature. Elenor had the pace of a snail, shuffling like a zombie up the trail a few inches at a time. When I asked her why she was attempting the climb, she removed a small silver vial from her pack and responded in a surprisingly soft voice “My late husband and I have climbed this every year for 30 years, I’m not going to let him or myself down just because of a few grey hairs.”
The trail itself is very rocky and steep, weaving between large granite boulders and weathered White Firs. It consists of steep switchbacks and brutal ascents as it winds its way up the back side of the buttes, straddling knife-line ridges and sheer drop-offs. One false step could send an unfortunate hiker plummeting hundreds of feet. The trail starts at 5200’ in elevation and climbs to the very pinnacle of the buttes to end at 8756’. The trail is mostly crushed and decomposing granite with jagged chunks of rock jutting out from the ground, causing treacherous footing. Numerous alpine lakes nestled between the lower ridges can be seen from the trail, with their mirror-like surfaces reflecting back the skyline in perfect symmetry.
There is a part of the trail that narrows while straddling the top of a ridge, the sides falling away for hundreds of feet at steep inclines. The downward slopes to either side are treeless, covered in loose shale and some brightly colored wildflowers; there is nothing to catch an unlucky hiker should they slip. The trail is perhaps three feet at its widest here and still ascends sharply toward the towering peak of the buttes. I have seen many hikers over the years panic in this section of the trail. They lock up and fall to their knees after looking over the dizzying drop-offs to either side, but not so with Elenor. I don’t even think she noticed the fall awaiting her if she slipped, so determined was she to get to the peak. She moved a cane forward, leaned on it for support, and moved her foot forward. Then she moved the other cane and her other foot. Over and over she repeated this process until she made it past. The whole time I was watching, I was praying for her to make it, for no sudden gusts of wind to come up and sweep her over the side, for no sudden slips. After many harrowing minutes watching Elenor, she finally made it past the knife-line ridge and continued up the trail.
There is a final series of switchbacks just below the top of the buttes that wind a quarter mile and climb just over five hundred feet. They are the final test a hiker must pass to reach the top. The mountainside is sheer and the trail is covered with loose scree, making it extremely slippery and dangerous. I watched entranced from the topmost switchback as Elenor trudged up the trail, one section at a time. Leaning heavily on her canes to steady herself, her bluish veins threatening to burst through the skin of her hands, she would complete one part of the trail before waiting a few minutes to catch her breath. I could hear her labored breathing as she struggled up the trail, the old lungs desperately straining for oxygen. She slipped a few times and almost fell once, but she managed to catch herself and doggedly continued up the trail. When she reached me, I extended my hand to her; Elenor reached out and gripped my hand like an iron vice. With a final determined step, she was on the top of the buttes. I’ll never forget the triumphant smile spreading across her face as she looked off at the horizon.
I remember thinking to myself how crazy this was, how nearly insane her determination must be. I know 30 year olds who can’t do the climb, I barely did it when I was 24 and completely out of shape. She did it at 80 due to her will and determination. I’ve seen her almost every year since that first, still making her determined climb to the top. Elenor proved to me, no matter what you can accomplish anything you put your mind to. Never give up.