The Ascent to King’s Peak

Nov 2010 Issue

By Ken Craig
Mine is the privilege of working closely with the young men in my ward. While I was an active and rugged Eagle Scout in my youth, as an adult I had successfully sidestepped any activities that involved the words “high adventure” or “below freezing” or “meat sticks.” But in August that era of easy living came to an end when I joined six Scouts and two additional leaders in hiking 50 miles through the Uinta Mountains in eastern Utah.

Our goal was to ascend King’s Peak. At almost 14,000 feet in elevation, it is the highest point in the entire Beehive State. Our goal was also to learn and master essential survival skills, discover and develop noble character traits, create bonds of friendship, and see if the youth could survive 8 days of no cell reception without turning on each other.

Ryan, the young man largest in stature, had the honor of carrying the most weight of any of the Scouts. This was also Ryan’s first venture into the mountains. The altitude, inexperience, and 12 pounds of spaghetti in his backpack slowed him down a bit. But if you made eye contact with him, he still managed to pull a smile out of a facial expression that would otherwise indicate he really wasn’t interested in living anymore.

Unprompted by any of the leaders, one of the other Scouts, Kameron, appointed himself to be Ryan’s shadow. Kameron could easily have run up the mountain ahead of all of us, but he recognized a duty and gladly fulfilled it. For 50 miles he walked behind Ryan, steady and unfaltering. I was impressed – even moved – by Kameron’s dedication and sacrifice. Without fanfare or recognition, he served a fellow Scout.

The trek from our campsite to the top of King’s Peak and back was 20 miles, and we decided to do it all in one day. We got up early that morning, chugged some oatmeal, and set out before the sun had completely come up. Traversing two valleys, we finally came to the base of King’s Peak. There were steep switchbacks, and the final mile to the top of the peak required crawling over large boulders – every step carefully calculated with a balancing act of both feet and both arms.

To further complicate an already difficult ascent, it began to sleet, and about half way up that last exhausting mile of boulders, heavy thunder and lightning menaced us as well. I began to doubt my own abilities to make it to the top. I could feel my body saying, “…and we’re done.”

Even more concerning was the fact that Kameron and Ryan were, as usual, the furthest back. I began praying for them. We had all agreed that anyone not at the peak by 2 p.m. should turn around, as we needed to be heading back to camp by that time in order to get there before dark.

It seems ridiculous now, back in the routine of daily living, but when you are that far away from civilization and the comforts of a dependable world, you really get a sense that mortality is temporary. There is a vulnerability and uncertainty that sets in when you are doing difficult things that test all your faculties. Almost to the top of this mountain, precariously perched on unstable and slippery rocks, gasping for breaths of thin air, with lightening flashing around me, I felt pushed to my physical and mental limits. I wasn’t sure I could complete what I had set out to do.

Finally, with abatement of the weather and against the better judgment of all my muscles, I made it to the top around 1:30. I enjoyed a few minutes with the scouts and the view all the way into Wyoming; but noticing that neither Kameron nor Ryan were arriving, I hastily made my way back down. Forty-five minutes later I had descended the mile-long path of boulders and found Kameron and Ryan still at the pass, the top of the switchbacks. With the weather and lightning, they had decided to stay put.

The disappointment on Kameron’s face was evident, and it broke my heart. His dedication to not leaving a fellow Scout behind had now required of him what, in his mind, was the ultimate sacrifice: to not ascend the Peak and complete what we had all set out to do. I thought of how Kameron had most likely told his dad, who was serving in Afghanistan, that he would be climbing this great peak. I thought of how it was his personal goal to accomplish this.

And as I saw his disappointment turn into a few tears, the thought came to me that I should offer to climb to the top with him. We both had flashlights and we could hike home in the dark. I wanted so badly to make that offer and reward him for his sacrifice. But I knew I physically could not do it. I wasn’t even sure how I was going to make it nine miles back to camp. The other Scouts and leaders had joined us at this point, and I could see the two leaders felt the same emotions and limitations that I
felt.

Suddenly one of the other young men, Hunter, came forward, as if he had heard the silent prayer of all the leaders, and announced, “I’ll take him up. I can do it.” Then Hunter’s brother, Blaise, stepped up as well. “I can go with them.” And finally, Bailey, another young man – one whom we had to almost literally hog-tie and drag into this trip – said that he would go with them as well. We loaded them up with flashlights and off they went.

One of the leaders stayed at the pass and waited for them to make the roundtrip up to the Peak while the rest of us started back towards camp, with tears in our eyes for this demonstration of true Christ-like service. Hunter, Blaise, and Bailey were doing something for Kameron that he could not have done on his own. They did for him something that their leaders could not do. They did something that will forever remind me of the true strength of character of our youth today. What a remarkable thing, to see a young man serve his Scout troop, only to have the entire troop turn and serve him.

I am grateful for those moments when difficult things reveal true character. I was grateful to be witness. Deep down, I know that is the purpose of these uncomfortable, cold, wet, smelly, and inconvenient adventures. The magnificence of trials in the natural world make these experiences tangibly sacred. They illuminate the moral fiber of young men with such clarity that they can recognize it within themselves.