The anticipation leading up to today was palpable. Jittery nerves, wobbly legs, worries of not stretching enough. Twelve miles, 4300ft. How long will it take? How steep is the incline? We calculated and tabulated the stats of the formidable Hurricane Hill with shaky hands, and woke up early at 6am ready to tackle it. Once on the road, we remembered the wise words of the sixty-year-old women who had gone up a day before us: slow and steady. We climbed, slowly and steadily, with beads of sweat dripping off our backs and rose above the fog covering the campground below us. We could see the ridges of the Olympic Mountain Range across the lush, forested valley, capped with snow and rugged peaks. Snack breaks were necessary, with barbecue chips being passed around in a frenzy. Noah led the way, sprinting up at the final bend, followed by Will. Hudson and Leila paced each other by alternating who was supported. Lis and Zori took on the last five miles without a break, and Justin and Sam persevered with the bribe of candy at the top. Abigail started laughing when she reached the view of the ridge—how could something be so breathtakingly, wondrously beautiful? The exhilaration of reaching our goal made the PB&Js all the more sweeter, and lunch at the end of the road overlooked a blue sky, a mountain range so incredibly vast, and two baby deer being prodded by their mother. When it was time to come down, the ride took a fifth of the time of going up and we all froze in the wind despite the sun. Abigail had some deer friends running down with her, and when we reached our campsite thirty minutes later, everyone took a well-deserved nap. Today was simply a good day.
-Written by Sam