If you’ve ever considered hiking Guadalupe Peak, the highest point in Texas, let this story be your invitation. More than a mountain, she offered me sweat, tears, and truth, and a few unexpected spiritual lessons along the way.

Preparing for the Climb: Camping in West Texas

The desert heat is intense. It’s only 83 degrees in the early weeks of summer, and the salted winds from the flats of West Texas have already taken their toll on my face. I’m raw and swollen from the 36 mph gusts testing my balance while blowing salt and dirt wherever it’ll stick to skin, and about to run out of water. Not good.

The sky is clear, the sun is high, and I have just met my new dear friend: Guadalupe. She stands tall at 8,751 feet above sea level near El Paso, where Texas borders New Mexico. I’ve just reached the summit of Guadalupe Peak, the highest point in Texas, and already the mountain’s medicine is working.

This was a bucket list climb for sure, and goodness did she meet me exactly where I needed to meet myself. But I’m getting too ahead of myself here.

I started this trek, an 8-hour drive along I-20, with nothing but flat land and oil towns to gleam at along the way. My barebones campsite, 10 miles from the Guadalupe Peak trailhead, consists of a picnic table, a fire pit, no running water, no shade, no shelter, nor amenities. You’re on your own out here buddy, and don’t I just love to be tested. I lay out my prized ceremonial blanket and decide I don’t need to set up my tent. I’ll sleep on the ground tonight. I thanked the Earth and the land I was in for welcoming me by saying a prayer in reverence, and asked it to provide comfort and care for my journey in the morning.

A Soul Ritual Beneath the Stars

I arranged rocks along side my blanket, burned sage and incense as an offering, and cooked myself my ritual bison steak which is the first meal I treat myself to when I decide to do these types of adventures. I’m nervous, I’m excited, and giddy like that soul in you that longs to remember why it came here. What it’s here to accomplish, complete, and contribute to.

That’s why I’m here to meet with Guadalupe. To do the deep soul work. I am seeking counsel from the Mountain. And am I in store for a few lovely lessons.

Meeting the Mountain’s Wisdom

I initially went into this journey with the idea that I would “conquer the mountain”, and later I realized how foolish and egotistical this thought was. How dare I have the audacity, a mere human, to think that I could by any chance conquer something that has been around for over 265 million years with wisdom that I cannot even fathom, but simply just wish to get a taste or whisper of if I listen close enough. I’m actually going to meet myself on its peak, if I make it. To test my discipline, tenacity, willpower, and strength. And also to just get down right curious about life. Why do I do the things I do? Why have I done the things I’ve done? Why is my set of life circumstances set up the way it is? What am I even doing here Guadalupe!?

“Just climb and I will show you” she responds. She doesn’t say this in words, but her presence invokes feelings and thoughts that I can only describe as outside of my own intuitive comprehension of language. Yet, we speak the same tongue the mountain and I. She teaches while I listen and observe. For I know in this moment as I have always known on some subconscious level, I am a student of nature and the natural cycles that occur in seasons, life/death, and circumstances beyond my control are my greatest teachers.

After a night of tossing and turning, asking for signs and symbols to reveal themselves to me in my dreamstate, my alarm rings at 4:30am. I wake up with a boyish excitement, make a light breakfast, hydrate, triple check my trail pack for necessities, and head toward the trailhead. I arrive nervous. It’s dark. I don’t want to hike a new trail without even being able to see it, so I take care of a few logistics to spare time, tuck a photo of my beloved and me away in my wallet, send a check in text to my Mother, and walk through the trailhead. And we’re off.

Signs from the Trail: The Doe and the Ascent

“Send me signs and signals great Mountain” I cry out in my imagination not even knowing what it is I’m asking for and not even 20 paces in, I witness a Doe cross the path in front of me. She stops and glances back and I stop to meet her gaze. “You’ll be cared for up here” she says with her eyes. Just the sign I was looking for I think silently. I give her a nod of acknowledgment as she continues on with her morning and me my climb. I start my hike with a drive and energy that I only feel around a fire, a drum circle, or if I’m immersed deep in nature. As if I’m one with all things around me. Marching to the beat of its energy, I start to climb and realize the first bit of this journey is straight up. My breath becomes shorter, my chest starts to burn as my lungs work to keep up, and my heart beat increases to the point where I know I can’t truck it out like this for the long haul. The first mile and a half climbs 1000 feet of elevation. “Go slow. You’ve already climbed the mountain, remember?” That voice outside of myself says again. I respond begrudgingly, but agree to slow my pace and take breaks along the way. Slow and steady wins the race right? In this moment i realized that I’m only competing with myself in this moment. Why am I trying to go so fast? What am I trying to prove and to whom?

Lesson 1: Take things slowly, especially new ones. You’ll still reach your destination. It doesn’t have to happen overnight or all at once. Just go slow, take breaks, and you will still arrive and celebrate at the same end point.

And so slow and steady wins.

I continue upward. Climbing slowly, stopping when I need to catch my breathe. The views down and outward as I climb up each switchback are magnificent and the only words to express the sheer beauty of this place are “Holy sh-t.” Time and time again I’m taken away by the sights I’m blessed to be seeing, how have I forgotten at times how beautiful this place we live called Earth is. Even in the dry, flat desert, there are hidden gems of beauty my soul is ignited by. Wildflowers growing at an altitude that is hard for me to comprehend, trees lush with leaves and greenery. The landscape shifts and changes as one ascends, it’s important to lift your head up from the trail from time to time to notice.

Reaching the Summit: Ceremony and Reverence

I climb the rest of the 3000 feet of elevation in 2 and a half hours, one foot in front of the other, reminding myself of my Doe friend at the trail head. “You’ve got this. Watch your footing”. I say in my head. I finally glimpse the summit in front of me. That pyramid on top of Guadalupe in my sight. I have to touch it, and so I scramble up the last 200 feet and let out a cry of “finally, I made it”.

I take a moment to be with this achievement and take a seat on a nearby rock, taking in the panoramic view around me. A man named Doug reaches the top shortly after me. We celebrate briefly and take a few photos of each other touching the pyramid that was placed on top of Guadalupe in 1958. Shortly after, the wind picks up on the peak of the mountain, Doug descends, and I prepare an offering to the Ancestors. Sea shells, rose petals packed for me by my beloved, tobacco, sage, and a jade necklace I received in Guatemala are placed beneath some shrubbery as a thankful offering to those unseen that provided me protection up the mountain. A moment of brief ceremony before I descend. I thank them, as well as Guadalupe and my eyes find a rock on the ground. “It’d be nice to have something to remember this moment to take home” I say in my head. That voice that doesn’t belong to me immediately responds, “Do not take from the Mountain.” I decide to ignore it and place it in my pocket anyway as I begin my journey downward.

Descent and Dehydration: A Humbling Return

I ponder that thought for a few minutes as I’m carefully placing my feet finding the ways in which the rocks will support each step. The climb is different now. Normally when I visit a new place, or climb a new mountain of achievement, I’ll take a piece of the land with me to be displayed with pride and accomplishment. I soon realized I had disrespected Guadalupe by taking from her without permission. We do that a lot in our society. Take and claim and sell as our own…without giving full respect and without receiving full permission for those we are taking from.

As I continue to descend, a group of three are making their final ascent to the top. I jump to a rock off their path to make way for them to pass and I watch my last bottle of water tumble down the mountain. “I always lose my water bottles” I say to myself half-comically, half just completely prepared to surrender it to the mountain. That voice that’s not mine appears again. “If you take from me I’ll take from you, now you’re going to really be tested. On the descent.” I realized in this moment I angered Guadalupe. Broke her trust. So I immediately fished the rock out of my pocket and returned it to her. “I think I have enough water to make it back”, I say to myself. Only to be royally mistaken.

Lesson 2: Never take what’s not yours without permission or by giving enough in return. And that goes for any practice, altar item, ceremony, or belief. It’s important to honor where these things originated from and abide by the proper protocols of nature to protect the sacredness of it all.

I continue down the mountain…taking the last sip from my water bladder tucked away in my pack. I know now the rest of this trip will be difficult. My hands and arms are swollen from dehydration. I’m not sweating anymore, and a headache kicks in. Heat exhaustion…I need water and to cool off sooner than later, but I have 3000 feet to walk down. For me, the descent is always tougher than the climb. Each step becomes more precise, slower, and heavier. My knees feel the impact of each step on the hard granite and each one becomes more painful than the next. People pass me in the opposite direction making their own ascent, and I only hope they have enough water on them. They say good morning to me with a smile on their face but as I weaken, I can at times only muster a grunt of acknowledgment of their kindness. I don’t dare ask for water as I know my new friend Guadalupe is seeing what I’m made of.

Tears fill my eyes as the pain increases and that voice fills my head once more. “It’s okay to cry when you’re in pain, just acknowledge its existence and keep going.” Something I’m still learning to do as a man in this day in age. For so long it was deemed weak for us men to acknowledge any type of pain we are in. It feels nice to just be real for these moments. And I encourage all of us humans to honor our real truth in any given moment.

Lesson 3: You HAVE to acknowledge your pain. Otherwise it just gets worse and turns into other un-comfortabilities. Feel your feelings, acknowledge the fact that you are hurting, and keep moving forward. It won’t last for forever.

Final Reflections: The Mountain’s Message

It takes me 3 hours to get down the mountain. Thirty minutes more than me getting to the top which I found to be funny as I crossed the path of the trailhead into the parking lot. I purposefully left a full bottle of water in my car for when I was finished, and I like to think Guadalupe knew I could handle her testing me in that moment. Knowing it was there might have been a big part of the reason I didn’t give up or take a break.

So, if I leave you with anything:

• Always bring more water than you think you need when you’re out in nature.
• Always take the time to stop along the way to notice the little things.

They make up the whole of this big thing too. So whether it be a deer crossing your path, a bird meeting you atop a mountain to congratulate you, or a lizard running by to remind you you’ll make it down safely, pay attention to these little signs because they often have meaning. Our busy human lives and ego’s can forget about the world outside of ourself. I owe Guadalupe a lot…and I’m thankful to have met her as a great teacher of life.

I write this from the back of my Car as I recover because this West Texas heat is killer, and the wind is equally as punishing.

-Of Wild and Worth

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