About a week and a half ago, my friend, Vu, sent me a Facebook invite to a 8-9 mile hiking trip he was arranging on Meetup.com. Since I love nature and hiking, I said yes, even though I’m in terrible shape right now (I gained back 4 pounds damn it.) I also hadn’t seen Vu in years besides the random bump-ins in town and I hadn’t really hung out with him since high school nine years ago (Don’t you just love the power of Facebook?). So on Easter’s eve, we headed out and it turned out to be a great day and even though there were moments I wouldn’t have minded just passing out on the trail and rolling my body off the cliff and into the ocean, I felt great at the end of the day.
We went to Point Reyes State Park, which is listed on Wikipedia as “a prominent cape on the Pacific coast of northern California.” All I know is that we drove into San Francisco, past the city, then onto a high, scary mountain with no railing and no signs for miles and miles, then voila, Point Reyes!
First, the obligatory beautiful hiking/nature pictures:
Here is part of my hiking group (the one waving is Vu):
And those darn stragglers:
Then we reached this point. Normally my first instinct when I see the words, “Dangerous Conditions” is to run the hell away while flapping my arms. But team spirit/peer pressure and a promise of a waterfall made me go along:
After hiking what seemed like a mile through unruly vegetation that was rife with spiky plants (and they thought I was crazy for wearing jeans and a hoodie while everyone else had their breathable cotton) we made it to the top of a waterfall.
I was in awe of nature and I was like, “Wow this waterfall is beautiful.” But wait…this wasn’t the main waterfall? You mean it’s only the top? And we have to climb down what? With a rope? What the hell?!
This a picture Vu took of me climbing down:
And of course, these two guys came by and said, “We climbed down this last year too, but last year there wasn’t a rope.” Oh really? Thanks for making me feel worthless the helpful input.
But it was worth it:
I’d like to think this wasn’t my gut, but a water bottle in my front pocket:
Then we climbed back up and shared two bottles of champagne:
And I took unflattering pictures of my group members eating lunch:
Then it was back up the fucking majestic mountain and our way back home:
The way back is what really killed me. My body was fine the whole way down to the waterfall, but on our way back, I couldn’t stop huffing and puffing and I wanted to barf and my legs felt like giving out. But afterward, I felt wonderful. Reminded me of tennis practice or krav maga classes. I might have to do this more often.