On Reaching [the surprises at] the Summit.

The whole day was an adventure.

From finding the right bus to get to La Mure (Which roughly translates to blackberry or mulberry, not to be confused with Mayberry.) to literally scaling a mountain with my bare hands—adventure is really the only fitting word to describe the day.

There was that moment when I had to walk over a waterfall on a cable that was no more than 9.5mm thick; even though an hour earlier I promised my friends that I wasn’t afraid of heights. I’m a tough cookie. I’m not scared of heights, but I’m not too fond of dying either.

But I did it anyway—for the adventure. And for the incredible feeling when I got across on the other side of the rope, dangling on a side of a mountain, thirsty for more adrenaline and adventure. I’m hooked.

I know I've said France reminds me a lot of Oregon, and I’ll say it again. Being in the mountains, among the pine trees and trails and the outdoor-sports-enthusiasts, I couldn’t help but smell Oregon.

We reached the top, after about four hours of making our way upwards.

The prize for our efforts: a phenomenal view of the other mountains with a mosaic of pine trees (see photo below)—and a trail dusted with wild strawberry plants. (See bottom right photo of collage above.) They were the tiniest little strawberries I’ve ever seen, about the size of a peanut (out of its shell). We descended the mountain on the hiking trail, stopping every few minutes to fill our hands and tummies with the little specks of ruby sparkling against on the forest’s green backdrop.

After being warriors (climbing a mountain is very warrior-esque activity, didn’t you know?), we soaked our tired feet in the pool at the end of the waterfall we’d just ascended.

Adventurers, I tell you.

This would be me at the top of a mountain after a few hours of rock climbing.
Please excuse my helmet hair and harness.