By Tom Russell
We stepped on the train at Shanghai. Bumping up against people, we shouldered our way to our seats. The journey had begun. Sid and I were heading to the Anhui district. Some may call it an adventure, others therapy. A trip born out of suffering and hurt. I’ve always viewed nature as a healer, a transformer. Every time I come out a little less broken. Something the two of us were hoping for.
The train was moving, properly moving. Engineers from Star Wars invented this train. A spaceship streaking across the land. Outside the window the landscape remained the same. Buildings, buildings, buildings, buildings. The dominance of mankind was everywhere. The never-ending expansion of urbanity and with it the destruction of nature.
We hopped out of the train at Huangshan and got into a taxi to the national park. Driving out of town everything around me felt wrong. The buildings, the lack of people, the plants, this sense of incongruity. This town didn’t feel real, as if it just fell from the sky and landed here and that was that. There was no synchronicity with the mountains around. The park entrance felt like being in a ski resort, people milling about buying poles and souvenirs. This wasn’t the serene nature park we had pictured.
We began the climb up to Yellow Mountain. We were buzzing, we were about to climb up one of the most famous mountains in the world. A mountain that’s inspired philosophers, artists and now hopefully us. Steps. Thousands and thousands of steps. Up and up. Nothing but steps. The only thing worse than steps are steps rammed with people. Heaps and heaps of people. People who had taken the gondola up and then decided to brave the steps down. We witnessed some serious displays of pain from people. People crawling down backwards on their hands and feet. People collapsed on the side. And then there were the two of us marching up them. Sid was the mandarin speaker out of the two of us, but he’s white while I’m half Asian. The greatest source of entertainment was watching people’s reactions to him speaking. Sid became a celebrity on that walk up. Photos of him were to become their source of dinner conversation when they were back down.
Over a thousand meters in elevation gain all done on steps. This was what it felt like to be Sisyphus, I guess. Both of us dripping in sweat we made it to the top. We were now in the mist and fog. You could see nothing. The occasional tree poking out of the mist. We were walking in a mystery land. We were staying in this lodge which was up near the top of the mountain. We ditched our bags and headed back out into the fog. We climbed up to a small peak and sat there together. The wind harshly striking our faces, we couldn’t see a thing. The sun had just set and sitting there the fog swallowed us into its darkness. Still, we stayed. I’d let out a scream every now and then. This scream was this act of defiance, to scream into the void, knowing it would live but seconds before being extinguished. That brief flicker of life. We sat there just feeling. Feeling everything it means to be alive. Sid was sitting there screaming as well. Boy that made me smile seeing him sitting there. Here he was. He was on this mountain, he still had the passion, he still had the fire.
Slowly navigating our way in the dark, we made it back to our home for the night. A quick noodle soup and then we drifted into sleep.
I woke up with nightmares of those steps and my calves reminded me that they weren’t just nightmares. Fire. A burning fire from my calves. The sun hadn’t yet risen, and we could feel the cold from inside. Chasing sunrise was just too good a thought to lay there in bed. So, we were off again. We strolled along the paths, trying to find our way to Lotus Peak to watch the sunrise. Our dreams crushed when we found the trail blocked with winter closure signs, and cameras recording us. China isn’t the place I plan on breaking any laws on camera. Back we go. The sun was slowly rising now and with it there was the occasional break in the fog. These brief glimpses into what surrounded us. Tiny pockets showcasing the world. Thousands of sharp peaks jutting out from the mist. Trees covering their tops. And bang, that was it. Back in the fog. Little fleeting moments of beauty that you can’t hold onto. Letting them pass is the only way to not get lost living in visions of the past.
We made our way to the northern side of the park in an effort to escape the rain and mist. People didn’t seem to come to this side of the national park, so we finally got the bliss that comes from solitude. We finally escaped the mist, and the world was revealed around us. This beautiful world. It felt like a fantasy land. Places like this only exist in myth or legend. This was what the trip was about. To get away and to enjoy a beautiful place. We lay in this one spot for a few hours. Gazing about. Speaking when we wanted to speak. In the mountains there’s this honesty that exists. An honesty with yourself and also with others. Falsehood doesn’t exist. We shared this openness. It’s so easy to feel pain and to lose yourself in that pain. But you cling to all the tiny things, all the minute mundane things that get you psyched. You feed the fire with anything you can, and you break the consumption.
It came time to find camp for the night. Usually this isn’t too hard an ordeal but here in China it was different. We walked around trying to find an area where we could dart off trail. Every time we bumped into a park policeman, and they didn’t mess about. There would even be cameras hidden in rocks. Eventually we broke off into some bushes. Fifteen minutes of bushwhacking and we found this ledge on the cliff side. Just big enough for a tent. The outcrop was surrounded by bushes on two sides, offering protection from the wind. It was perfect. We dropped down into our little nook and settled in. With the tent pitched we had nothing to do but enjoy the sun setting across from us. Sid even found a beer hidden in his pack. With the sun gone the temperature dropped. It wasn’t long till we retreated into our tent and got into our sleeping bags. It dropped to -5 degrees. We were greeted with a rainstorm during the night and with it the never ceasing shaking of the tent. A sleepless night.
Sid survived his first wild camp. It was still raining, and we were back to being in the mist. Our nook was starting to flood with water, so we were forced to break camp early. Cold, wet, and tired we were still excited. A new day out here was too good to be moping about. It was nice to share this with a friend from home for the first time. I could see the same passion in Sid that makes you want to be in places like this.
We walked through snowy woods, with only the noise of our feet crunching on the frozen ground, along streams and up passes, running and jumping our way down on the other side.
Today was our last day up here, we were heading back down. We crossed back over onto the other side and then we were going to descend on that side of the mountain. It was as if the mountain was giving us a goodbye present. The mist was just below us and everything opened to us. Never have I seen anything like it. Stopping every few minutes to take in the view made descending slow going but we eventually made it. Back down to earth from our celestial peaks.
We didn’t walk away from this trip with everything fixed but we did walk about knowing that we had lived.
