High Hopes

Meanderthals against Chinook gusts.

I hike with a bunch that calls themselves the Meanderthals. 
You might think with a name like that, they 1) have a keen sense of humor and 2)) they stroll around the mountains enjoying the views in their golden years of freedom. You would be half right.
These geezers, who go into their 90s, "strolled" 850 meters up a mountainside to Windy Point on Wednesday, covering 7 kilometers in 4 hours in a Chinook with winds up to 100 kilometers per hour, and on the way back discussed how we could have crossed a ridge to a neighboring peak to get in another 2 hours and made it an even 1,000 meters.
And they are the B group; the As would have bagged the neighboring peak and gone on to top another before circling back - at double the pace (they include some 90-year-olds).
I've learned a lot about hiking that I didn't know when I played around with it in the Bay Area.
Up here in the Canadian Rockies, the mountains are not as tall, but much steeper, and to get anywhere, you pretty much have to boot it. I come back aching all over, which makes overnight trips fun since you get to do it all over again the next day. One memorable trip we started the first day with an elevation of 800 meters and covered 21 kilometers. I think even my hair hurt coming back from that one.

The last golden poplar in the Wind Valley.

Not that we do anything spectacular. Even within our group, we pale next to the As who attempt some mildly technical peaks, and in the world of hiking and climbing, our excursions are piffling. Still, we get out. I hike with some younger folks, and they take in stride their endurance, strength, balance and quick recovery. In the Bay Area, I was usually comfortable on hikes, panting on especially steep inclines, but mostly just striding along. The leader, the eldest in the group, was capable of a much faster pace and steeper terrain, but went at the pace of  the slowest. I didn't get tested often. Here, I do.
I've learned that hiking isn't a stroll. Where I once wondered what the hurry was, I now realize a brisker pace means you can get out and up and back in a jiffy and have time to do other things with your day. A good hike with a beautiful view and sections that stretch your muscles and lungs can fill a morning or afternoon.

Dinner for a hungry bear or cougar.

My fellow Meanderthals are mostly retired and some go out every day if they want in this active mountain town. It becomes part of their day, not their whole day. I get to go out when I get time off work, so it's a bigger deal for me.
But I've learned.
The deal with hiking is to go with those who match your pace. If you're going so fast you can't keep up a conversation, it may not be much fun. You decide if you 1) need to get in better condition so as to keep up more easily or 2) find a group that goes your pace.

That's Calgary on the horizon under a Chinook Arch

Kind of like life, I guess. Finding like-minded souls starts on the playground and never ends. I never made it up Lady MacDonald, my goal peak for this summer. On my one attempt, we got started late and I ran out of gas even before the boulder field, which is before the teahouse, where many turn around, and that is before the steep ridge that gets you to the scree that covers the actual peak. I have a friend who has vowed to do it with me. She was with me this summer.
She says we will make it.
I love having something to look forward to.