Friends in High Places

"Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen."
-Winston Churchill

I was nine when my family and myself motored to the west side of Ireland for a camping trip. At some point in time it was decided that we would all climb Croagh Patrick, the area's mountain that peaked at 2,510 feet. Used in ancient Ireland as a place of religious pilgrimage but in more recent times mostly for the pleasure of hiking, this was an adventure to be savoured.
As we tramped upward, I heard little stories about people climbing the mountain in their bare feet, staying for days on the top in solitude. I saw people passing us by on bicycles, wheeling precariously along the broken rim. The drop was an unquestionably hazardous one and as we ascended, spiralling along the mountain's worn path and leaving the safety of the ground below us, it became ever more treacherous.
Mater was not and never would aspire to be a mountain climber and so our pace was gentle. It was so relaxed, in fact, that as the hours wore on we began to recognise the faces of people coming down of those who had passed us going up: we presumed that they had escalated to the tip of the mountain and come halfway down again before we had plodded very far.
Such a velocity would not suit a child for very long and I decided to run ahead a little, around a curve, in order to better cope with Mater's snail-like velocity and surrender to my independent spirit.
I suddenly found that the previously level path was now sloping at a frightening angle, and indeed sloping quite in the wrong direction- that is, toward the open void below.
I felt exactly as though I were sliding, inch by inch, to the abyss and it seemed to me that I was on a conveyor belt, about to be propelled into blue-sky emptiness. I panicked. I began to cry, and I took hold of the nearest rock, threw my arms around its solid mass and hoped that it too would not start to crawl toward the lip of the mountain. It felt just as though the rock were the only dependable thing in sight.
I had raced ahead a considerable distance and so I sat wrapped around the rock for what felt like hours, crying until a lone hiker paused to see if I was all right. The gentleman was very concerned and kind; he listened to my woes, to my insistence that we would slide off the side of the mountain. He stayed with me until the rest of my party arrived, whereupon I could be convinced to release my grip on the stone.
I stayed by Mater's side for the remainder of the day, even when my cousin and my brother opted to strive for the summit.
I wanted very much to try but the last two hundred feet consisted of nothing but loose stones and tumbling soil- the path had long since vanished, and hands, knees and a steady grip were required tools for the last stretch of the journey.
Mater and I did not reach the highest point of the mountain. Perhaps a combination of not wishing to abandon her, and having had a fearful experience made me grateful I had got that far in one piece.
I think about it: we could be kind to a stranger on a mountain side and never become wise to the extent of our assistance: I will not easily forget the fellow who helped to ease my worry and who took the time to make a difference both in my day and in the years beyond.




*We will be celebrating the 4th of July weekend in Maine with our friends, and normal service should be resumed on Monday, presuming that we do not meet, like last time, a traffic jam, or decide to live in Maine permanently for the sausage bread. Have a wonderful weekend.