Mount F***ing Herman

I was breathing hard.

We'd been scaling the boulder-field for what seemed like hours, slipping and grappling our way to the top. Already we'd hiked around 2 miles at the base of the mountain, and now, even though this hike was only three-quarters what we did down there, I felt like dying. My hip hurt, I was sweaty, and the lack of oxygen was screwing with my brain, making my say intelligent things like; "What?! 1/10th of a mile?!! It was 3/10ths of a mile 10 minutes ago!!!! I thought we were supposed to be getting closer to this thing!

Yes indeed, my reputation as a geographer was getting shakier every minute I spent gasping at the dry alpine air. And for what?! What would make me do such a stunt on an other-wise beautiful Sunday?

For a geocache. For those of you who are out of the loop a geocache is like a treasure-hunt, with a GPS. You plug in the coordinates of the cache, (usually a small ammo-box) and go find it. Miles turn to feet, and soon you must get out of your car to find the elusive, often buried, sometimes stashed amongst rocks, cache. You sign the log book, take out a small trinket such as an eraser, magnet, or PEZ dispenser and replace the trinket with one of your own. (for more info www.geocaching.com)

That's what I, and six other people were after that day. Already we had 3 caches under our belts and we would pursue 6 others before the day was done, but this was by far the toughest.

We made it to the top, where a cold wind greeted us. This was Mount Herman, it was the nearest mountain to the town below, and overlooked the whole valley floor. Although no easy feat to hike to the top, it was also an accessible mountain by car, you could drive the dirt road easily in a car, though the hike itself left much to be desired in the 'easy' category. The cache itself was a small green bucket full of all kinds of treasure. We signed the logbook, left a cell-phone charm and took a toy jeep; and then turned around and headed back down. There was a storm rolling in and we got what we came for.

Later on, after dinner and on our 8th cache of the day, my husband wanted us to traverse a field at a brisk run to beat the other group to find the cache. His friend and I gaped at him, weary and incredulous that he would even ask us to think about anything other than a slow meandering walk at this time of day (and I may add, a margarita down).

Greg was serious.

So were we.

Finally his friend staggered over on shaky legs and dramatically pointed his finger in his face. "You listen to me," he rasped. "I just climbed up Mount F***ING Herman today," now he stabbed his finger towards the tall mass of rock looming on the mountain range, "and there will be NO RUNNING!"

I couldn't have said it better myself. A toast to Mount F***ing Herman and a damn fine day.