5 Important Life Lessons From Climbing Adam's Peak, Sri Lanka
Deep in the lush and rugged interior of Sri Lanka is a unique attraction that draws more than just tourists. Sri Pada, better known as Adam's Peak, is a conical mountain in the heart of tea country that is considered sacred by Buddhists and Hindus alike. It takes its name from the "sacred footprint" located near the summit, which Buddhists believe to be the footprint of the Buddha; Hindus believe was made by Shiva, and some Christians and Muslims hold to be that of Adam. Of course, it could have just been made by a clumsy ancient contractor, but my interest wasn't in footprints or anything of the like. My intentions were twofold: accomplish a feat that would be the feather in any serious traveler's cap, and be there to witness what is considered one of the most impressive views anywhere.
Guidebooks and websites touted the climb up Adam's Peak as a thrilling experience, especially during its most popular season (December - May) or on full moons when a steady stream of pilgrims make the arduous trek to the top. Not having Adam's Peak on my original itinerary, I hadn't done much research on it, and when a group of friends suggested that we tackle the challenge by doing the traditional overnight climb, I got caught up in the whirlwind of testosterone and counted myself in. Once again, to my thighs and calves - I'm sorry.
I didn't come during the popular time, nor on a full moon, so instead of finding a zig-zag trail of light gleaming like a beacon toward the summit, our party's four hour drive from the outskirts of Colombo ended in a dark parking lot surrounded by black at the base of the mountain. We arrived a bit after midnight, and after purchasing a warm cap for the chill that awaited us up above, we set off on a path that passed through an active temple and began a gradual ascent that would not only test me physically, but on reflection, gave me some mental clarity as a result of the challenge. I now pass those lessons on to you in the hopes that it enriches your life, and maybe even saves you from a very (very!) steep climb.
A Few Facts & Our Band of Travelers
To give the lessons I'm about to list some context, I need to mention a few things. First, the trail was approximately 7 Kilometers long (over 4 miles) one way, and that way was mostly up. Second, I was in my early forties and a bit overweight. I wouldn't say obese, but let's just say that me and gravity aren't the best of friends.
Our travel party consisted of myself, two other guys around forty - Jason and Ryan - the latter being someone who had lived in Sri Lanka for several years and made the climb before, as well as Jason's two sons - Ethan and Ian - and their friends from the U.K., Harry and Zak, who all ranged in age between 16 and 21. Bear in mind that the climb was undertaken on no sleep and with no prior training. I say that so that I don't look like a total wimp in what you're about to read.
Lesson 1: Sometimes You Need To Go At Your Own Pace
We were all excited and energized when we started our climb in the darkness. We had a brisk pace for the first half hour, laughing and joking all the while. But as the initial burst of enthusiasm wore off, it became glaringly clear to me that I wouldn't be able to keep up for long. So the boys took off brimming with youthful vigor - which was quite a bit more vigor than I could muster at that time of night - while the "more mature" ones took things at a slower pace.
It was around the 1-hour mark that the steps, which at first came in intervals with stretches of flat ground in between, became a never-ending staircase that seemed intent on coming as close to 90 degrees vertical as possible. In addition, this was not a uniform set of stairs, measured and constructed according to building codes. One step would be 6 inches high; the next 12; the next 3, and so on. Plus, it was dark. Really dark. Like jungle on a mountain overnight dark.
So as I struggled and noticed how Jason and Ryan politely waited for me at each landing, I came across the first of the five primary lessons I learned from this experience - sometimes you just have to go at your own pace. Trying to keep up with those who were more fit than I, was just wearing me out and holding others back. That principle can be applied in nearly every aspect of life, whether it's professionally, emotionally, socially or any other kind of '-ally' you can think of. Modesty is defined as knowing and keeping within one's limits, and whether you're looking to achieve balance in your life or climbing a Sri Lankan mountain in the dark, those words are proven to apply.
Lesson 2 - When Things Get Tough, Just Put One Foot In Front of the Other
Upon recognizing lesson number one, I told Jason and Ryan to go ahead without me. Ryan told me of a turnoff that was just past the halfway point up the mountain where we could meet again and watch the sunrise together without having to schlep it all the way to the top. Remember that point. It comes into play a bit later.
Fast forward to an hour and a half later and I find myself facing a endless series of stairs all by my lonesome with only my cell phone light - which I used sparingly - and the occasional fellow tourist racing by for company. I was beyond exhausted and my mind struggled to comprehend the existence of so many steps. I specifically remember hitting a wall of fatigue - both physical and mental - and thinking that I wanted to just give up.
Pausing to rest midway up an absurdly steep flight of stairs I took stock of my situation. My only illumination was ambient starlight filtering through the cloud cover. There were all sorts of noises coming from the jungle around me, none of which I could see. I was going on no sleep and my legs were beginning to shake from the workout. A light drizzle began to fall, making the chilly air even chillier. And to top it off, I discovered that the mild pinch I felt on my ankle was actually a leech that had helped itself to my bloodstream and had now gorged itself into a slimy black mass.
If the option of summoning a helicopter to take me away were available, I have no doubt that I would have chosen to. But in the absence of helicopters hanging around sacred mountains in the middle of the night, I realized that I had only two options: renounce the progress I had made to that point and give up the quest as a loss, or just keep plodding forward, one raggedly uneven step at a time. Too stubborn, proud and ashamed to concede the battle to my advancing age, I chose the latter, and with resigned determination, I slowly but steadily crept further up the mountain.
That's when it struck me that when things in life get bad, those are really the same options we all face. We can give up, thereby renouncing the progress we've made, or we can keep going - even if it's painfully slow. And the antidote to giving up, is to keep moving forward, even if you can't see past the step in front of you. I put one foot in front of another until I reached my goal, and that made all the difference. It's a lesson I hope to apply to other daunting tasks I might face, which may be more metaphorical than literal as in this case, but require the same decision and determination.
Lesson 3 - Sometime's It's Better Not to Know How Much Further There Is To Go
Cut back to me at 3.5 hours into my journey, and I was feeling some confusion. I distinctly remembered Ryan's description of the turn-off just past the halfway point up the mountain, but of course, being in a darkened jungle on a steep slope, I had no idea of where the top was, much less where the halfway point would be. Now the sky began to lighten, and I was just hoping to get to a place where I could watch the sunrise and see the expected amazing panorama unfold. At the same time I shook my head at the idea that after 3.5 hours of climbing, I still didn't see Jason or Ryan, concluding that if I hadn't even made it halfway up, I was really in bad shape.
Then something interesting happened. From the direction of a near-vertical staircase looming above me, I thought I heard multiple voices. It had been awhile since another party blew by me on their way up, and more out of curiosity than anything else, I figured I'd just go up this one last flight of stairs before finding a spot to watch the morning show. To my surprise, the noise was from Ethan, Ian, Harry and Zak, who had been keeping themselves entertained for the past hour there at the summit. I had made it all the way to the top without even knowing it!
I'll never forget the combination of amusement and surprise on the boys' faces when they saw me emerge from the mist like some stubborn old horse who didn't know when to call it quits. Apparently Jason and Ryan had turned off well before and I went right past them in the darkness (if you guys are reading this I forgive you. And also, I'm giving you the raspberries right now). As I sat down in triumph, giddy from exhaustion and simultaneously contemplating how best to remove a leech from my ankle, I reflected on how only by never seeing the top - i.e. how far was left to go - was I able to reach it. I felt certain that if a few hours before I were able to gauge my pitiful progress on the mountain, I would have given up on reaching the top, concluding that it just wasn't possible. Clearly, I would have been wrong.
That lesson has played true several times in my life, most notably in 2009, when I found myself facing a bout of severe depression. Had I known ahead of time that it would be another 3+ years before I would emerge, and all the loss and pain that would occur during that time, I'm sure I would have given up in my heart. But with the hope and prospect of a positive change lingering just ahead on the horizon, I kept putting one foot in front of another (see lesson number two) and eventually came through stronger and wiser. Not knowing when the trial would end gave me the motivation to keep on pushing, because I thought that at any moment it might get better, and kept thinking that until the day finally arrived that it did. The lesson? Don't worry if there's no end in sight, it's there, and may just be a lot closer than you think.
Lesson 4 - It Really Is All About The Journey, Not The Destination
So now it's ten minutes after I reached the top; I've successfully removed the leech from my ankle and watched approvingly as either Harry or Zak squashed it with a satisfying splat. The sunrise was due to arrive in just a few minutes, but the sky, while lighter, showed no gradation in its gray hue. That's when I realized that the spectacular show that we came to see, was going to be obscured by clouds. To have come all this way at a cost of so much effort (and blood) would ordinarily have left me a bit bitter.
But as my breathing returned to normal, I realized that it was never about the view. It was successfully making the trip, pushing myself to (and beyond) the limit and feeling the subtle satisfaction that comes with accomplishment that I sought, and eventually achieved. So while I would have loved the views I subsequently saw in images taken from the top, I contented myself with my unlikely accomplishment and set about getting down the mountain on jelly-legs that were shaking so badly, Ethan stayed behind while the others went ahead just to make sure I didn't get down by tumbling.
Just for the record, about halfway down - probably around where Jason and Ryan were supposed to wait for me (I couldn't help getting that last dig in) - the cloud cover withdrew somewhat and we were treated to impressive views of the undulating patterns of terraced tea plantations bathed in brilliant green that characterize the region, which I would heartily recommend to anyone visiting Sri Lanka.
Lesson 5 - Pain Is Temporary, Great Stories Are Forever
I was both annoyed and dismayed that even with gravity on my side, it took me a full three hours to get back to our starting point. Along the way I got some great photographs, had a nice conversation with Ethan, and apparently even picked up another leech (which I disposed of at the bottom). We met up with the others at a nearby hotel who were quite casually enjoying their breakfast. Feeling energized by a combination of pride and sleep deprivation, I gave my first account of the experience - a rough draft if you will - of the retelling that I knew would come. The fatigue and soreness have now passed, but I take comfort that I still have something to show for my efforts - a great story to go along with the life lessons I listed above. You can be certain that with the passing of time, the trail will get longer, the stairs will get steeper, and I will be covered head to toe in leeches. And the best part is knowing that this story is going to last as long as I do, which in my book, is well worth any climb.
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