I am sitting on the cement foundation of a ski lift at the top of a false summit in the Santa Fe National Forest. At the top of the Santa Fe ski basin's Quad chairlift. Following the tree-line of a beginner run, I have just skinned up my first trek. It is cold and daybreak, the grey blue filter that slowly unveils the rolling foothills . This is my first summit on skis. Skinning is new to me, the act of hiking up hill on skis sleeved with a cloth bottom to eliminate the slick surface. I had envisioned myself in this adventure called skinning so many times while snow shoeing. As my interest in being in the wilderness has evolved, so has my interest in accessing the wilderness in any season and in most conditions. This new skill allows me to get around quicker and with less effort. Sitting catching my breathe and oddly trying to cool down despite it being in the single digits, I find it still takes plenty of effort. I am alone on a summit knowing the highest point is still another 45 minutes up. I am stopping at a false summit. Something my ego is itching with, ready to reject, and can't hold the idea of not continuing on up.
A false summit is the dreaded point on a mountain climb when you feel tired enough to desire that the destination has to be at the top of the upcoming peak, because your legs are telling you it should be. The lack of anything behind the silhouette of the current horizon gives you that sense of relief that the work is nearly over. Then as the distance closes, you find as you reach this point there is still so much more mountain to climb. The false summit today reminds me of the importance of celebrating the journey just as much as I appreciate a true summit.
