I first remembered that I am altitude-impaired while attempting to go over New Army Pass a few weeks ago. Something eerily similar took place in the 1990s in the Trinity Alps during a previous hike. How did I forget or discount this?
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The switchbacks on the way up to the pass were, let’s just say, unenjoyable. You’re walking, carefully, along narrow ledges with a sheer drop hundreds of feet down to hard, unyielding granite.
Realistically, the odds of my randomly cartwheeling off the trail in the wrong direction are pretty low. I have only fallen down one time on this hike, and when I did I landed flat on my ass.
And yet, knowing that one coordination mistake could result in a certain and ugly death, with broken neck and limbs and me left a bloody pulp of bone and flesh, is pretty scary.
As in freaking terrifying.
I wasn’t really feeling the deep, primal fear until I...
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