Type 2 fun

Aka: why are we like this?

Type 2 fun: adventure that is miserable or physically grueling but becomes enjoyable and memorable in retrospect.

We push on toward the upper lake. We have barely gone three miles in two hours. Our feet are wet from slushy snow and in Spicy Athlete's case, from being the third person to cross a

questionable log and break through to water beneath. The switchbacks are also questionable, forcing us to kick in steps in unstable snow. High consequences.

What drives us? That's something I ponder sometimes. We have all been to this lake many times. We could wait, forgo the chilly water crossings, the snowcups that cause us to slip and slide in a snow drunk haze.

But here we are, and as many times as we have seen it, the brilliant frozen lake surrounded by snow never gets old. It's June, and we've made it through another winter of both discontent and content. We are the only ones, perhaps the first ones not on skis, to make it here since last fall. We own this place. For this one moment, it's ours.

It takes us five hours in total to slog up to the basin and back. We encounter a hopeful and deluded couple who think they can do a big loop over the pass, cross over a treacherous river, and make it back in one piece. In trail runners. We burst their bubble, but they continue toward an unknown future. I mean, what drives us? Maybe they'll make it.

That night, I wake to an uneasy patter on the tent. In the morning, three inches of snow coats the tents. In June! The mountains never cease to surprise. I want to hold the snow close, keep it cold, ensure plentiful water and less wildfire in the driest spring I can recall.

But it'll melt. It always does, and we will survive. We always do. We weather the losses and the wet feet and the push to get somewhere even if it makes little sense. We'll fall off logs and try to help strangers who haven't done research and in general be good people. Maybe that's what drives us.

We put on layers and shiver and pack up as quickly as our frozen hands will allow. I stick handwarmers in my gloves. In June! We wade the river and march back to the car. The snowline on the mountains, low. Our spirits, high.

We don't seek out Type 2 fun, but that's the times we remember most. The time we ran past Garnet Lake bracketed by lightning. Sixteen hours hunkered in tents in torrential downpour. Traversing the scariest ridge of our lives.

But: we keep going back for more. We love it all; the hard, the challenging, the ones we are still grateful that we can do. And maybe that's what drives us.

My books! Buy them please!