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A Humbling Experience

I’ve always prided myself on knowing my limits; yet, it doesn’t keep me from exceeding them at times, as on October 2 during the National Day holiday.

We were on a trip with friends to Tianjin Municipality’s Pan Mountain. After an outdoor lunch, we ascended via cable car to Guayuefeng, at the mountain’s peak. It was one the most beautiful natural places I’ve seen anywhere near Beijing, with towering peaks and pines in every direction. But after a bit of climbing and photography, it was time to start down the mountain.

I felt great, and aside from two cameras and a lens-bearing fanny back, I was travelling light. So when my companions bypassed the cable-car station near the peak and began descending the mountain westward (instead of to the east from which we came) on foot, I assented. It was a foolish thing to do, but, truth is, I wanted to walk the mountain’s trails and woods. I didn’t want to take the easy way down. I knew I had erred after descending a huge flight of stairs below the station and spotting a sign pointing to the west that said “3,000 metres”: to where I had no idea. A woman said the trail was the only way down.

Unfortunately, there is an affliction that sometimes slams office workers like me who try to hike or ski after spending too much time at the work desk, which I’d done nearly every day since May. The muscles that you use to “go downhill,” whether on foot or on skis get out of shape and are simply not up to the task. In short, with about 1,000 metres to go to get to another cable-car station, much if it in total darkness and over boulders, rocks and narrow trails, my legs failed me completely. I could not stand or walk, even with assistance. The pain was unique to me: even my teeth hurt; my neck muscles bulged. All I could do was crawl or slide down the rocks, then lie on the ground a bit to recover. Buddhist music wafted gently through the valley; Guayuefeng’s lights were gorgeous in a blue-black, star-lit sky.

Now, alone with my wife and friends (who could not carry me), the music ended. Our water was running low and lights were dimming everywhere on the mountain; the cable-car system was shutting down. So we relented in our quest and dialled 110, luckily reaching Branch Chief Kang Jian of the Pan Shan scenic area police.

Chief Kang immediately mobilized anyone nearby who could help us, including a kind "iron man" who operates a small outdoor restaurant on the mountain (he would not speak his name). With the man and my friends’ help, sweat-soaked, dusty and drained, we finally got to the cable-car station about an hour later. Word went out, and within minutes the cable-car station’s lights had come on and we headed down, arriving at a temple. There, the park’s staff and a monk (again no name) helped me get down a half-dozen steep flights of steps to yet another cable-car station and another descent, made more bearable by fantastic night views of the valley below that I might otherwise never have seen.

After five hours of agony, we were met at the station by Chief Kang and other officers who helped us get down yet another long flight of stairs, back to our car and to a freeway that allowed us a speedy trip back to Beijing.

I felt as foolish as relieved; I knew better than to try what I’d tried to do, but I did it anyway, lured by the beauty of the mountain and the spirit of the day. As a result, I had selfishly inconvenienced hundreds of people, endangering myself, my wife, my friends and those who came to our aid.

Exceeding your limits can be a beautiful thing, when you get away with it; this time, nature called my hand, and I lost. It was a humbling experience.