A Challenge Unanswered

At the age of 19, I rode across the United States with a couple of girlfriends. One memorable stretch of road traveling through Colorado held me captive; a lone mountain reaching high into the bluest sky I could ever have imagined. I was transfixed. I gazed in awe toward that mountain. The splendor of its mere presence overwhelmed me! Inside I had a sense that this was my mountain and that it was calling to me. I wanted to run to the base and climb it to the top! I wanted to twirl around and sing the Sound of Music. “The hills are alive!”

It was a clean, wholesome aspiration; one that I’ve revisited in my mind many times since.

Twenty years later…A group of us arrived at the Tucson El Conquistador Hotel mid-afternoon. We checked in and after a quick freshening up period, I began absorbing my new environment. Columbus, OH is settled on flat land. I still held lingering memories of plush green lawns accented by the beautiful foliage of autumn. Here in Arizona, the brush sets delicately against a sandy terrain. Pine trees and palms towered alongside dry river beds, though the majesty of the mountains swore to fill them to the brim with the melting of the winter’s snows. I liked it.

The El Conquistador was built at the bottom of one such set of mountains; a spectacular view regardless of your perspective. I pulled up a chair next to one of my co-workers. Neither of us visually acknowledged anything but that mountain. He finally spoke.

“Do you suppose it’s me or does everyone who looks upon it feel a strong urge to climb it?”

I certainly felt it; that old familiar hankering to make that mountain mine. I was dressed for the welcome reception but decided to explore the possibilities of realizing this seemingly ancient dream. I moved toward it. New construction along the back of the hotel provided access a short distance above the hotel, but the trail ended at a water tower. The Saguaros were tall and mighty - unburdened by the wood pecked holes and desert animals hidden well within them. A yellow flowered bush reminded me of a picture captioned “snake weed”. It looked to me that it might be called that because of the low bushy lay of it. It further looked to me like a good place for a snake to hide out from the sun and a good place for me to avoid!

I stood in the middle of the path and looked up. It didn’t look that tough! It’s not that far to what I assumed would be called the brush line and if I could just get there, I would be a satisfied woman.

At the welcome reception, conversation indeed turned to climbing that mountain.

“You wouldn’t catch me in those hills! A lot of rattlers around here.”

“You better have a good pair of boots to wear.”

“The scorpions might sting you but you’re only sick for a while”.

The following day was filled with meetings, a hoe down, and a headache that allowed “mountain climbing” to settle far to the bottom of my list of “to do’s”.

Our third day was the free day. Breakfast broke up at 8am. I went back to my room to retrieve my camera. Slowly, without allowing much thought, I headed upwards to my destiny. Within minutes, I stood at the now familiar water tower surveying the land I was about to approach.

There seemed to be a way; just climb those rocks. What had they said about snakes under the rocks? The path was narrow and there was that snake weed again. I became acutely alert looking for any kind of movement indicating desert animal; friend or foe.

I stepped up onto the rocks and jumped down to the sandy terrain. I immediately huddled close to myself frantically jerking my head around in search of danger.

Overpowering anxiety; afraid and frozen!

“This is crazy! What do I fear but the talk of those who stayed behind? I can go on.” And I did. I forked to the right still careful not to touch anything around me, eyes darting in every direction. More rocks, more rocks with lots of nooks and crannies luring large families of snakes to rest in wait. In wait for what? A reprieve from the sun? Safety from the daylight? Unsuspecting tourists like me?

Suddenly I eyed the speeding stillness of an insect’s ability to flutter its wings beyond sight and yet remain motionless. It was the size of the common bumble bee known from my own backyard. Bee? No stripes. Killer bee? What did they look like? If they looked like a bumble bee with no stripes and could fly suspended, than this guy was probably just that! Twenty feet from the water tower and I flew back down to safety. I’m outta here! Back down the road; skipping so not to trip. I am done!

Safely from the rocks, I shook myself to relieve the rest of the tension. I began walking around the tower on my retreat down. I viewed the beautiful scenery but felt almost sick. I stopped. I slowly turned back. To my horror I gazed up to that brush line and felt peace. I looked away; bad. I looked again; good. Something, certainly not the conscious self I know, took one foot back toward the path and set me on my way. Tears were streaming down my face from at once realizing how deep rooted my fear of this journey was and discovering a sense within me that maybe I could overcome it.

I hurried through the familiar, on to the rocks guarded by the killer bee. The insect was unseen, though my anxiety was growing again.

I made my way quickly and more confidently to an opening perhaps 50 feet up. From there I could see the brush getting thicker but that didn’t bring the brush line much closer. I lingered for some time. Then, I descended.

Ten years has since passed since this trip to Tucson. I’ve never forgotten the fear nor my tears shed in conjunction with this vexing adventure. I’ve reflected on its meaning and understand it as the beginning of a journey to uncover new dimensions of my self. There were frustrating limitations I didn’t expect at all. The huge amount of fear interweaving in my life was brutally obvious.

I’ll be 50 in a couple of months. I’m still fearful (yet of fewer things) and still take cautious steps while wishing I was leaping lively and with vigor. Even so, I keep my hopes alive and my hunger for adventure awaits another chance for fresh discovery.

Written By Teri Lee
October, 1995
Final December 2005