Climbing Oak Mountain

Birmingham looked like a land of rocks, mountains, and magic. At least to my Louisiana-eyes, where the elevation gain is a crawfish hole, and the landscape stretches flat from corn field to cotton farm. 

A couple weekends ago, I visited Birmingham with a friend of mine--we'll call her Trail Runner. Trail Runner is one of those naturally outdoorsy people who grew up with a state park at her back door and a kayak strapped to the family car. Trail Runner and I couldn't be more different, but on a sidewalk in November, we decided to start road tripping together.

Our friendship formed out of a mutual love for story-telling, adventure, and local beer. After discovering we could stand each other during our first day-trip to Vicksburg, we decided to strike it big on a four day trip through Birmingham and Chattanooga. Pretty soon we had this cool books-brews-beer thing going on, and decided to take a second trip to Birmingham to do some hiking and brewery hopping. 

Our first stop was to hike trails at Oak Mountain State Park. This place is Trail Runner's bread and butter. Remember how I said she grew up with a state park at her back door? This is it. She was raised on these trails, and now she was letting me into this part of her life. 

Well obviously we couldn't hike a mountain without tasting something local at the top. So after stuffing two cans of Good People IPA into Trail Runner's pack, we hiked the Blue Trail to Kings Chair with its steep climbs, flat single track, and muddy streams. The crisp afternoon felt chilly at first, but our body temperature steadily rose with our heart rates. As we hiked, our minds and feet settled into a rhythm of contentment.  

Talking comes easily on the trail because there's no rush or competing distractions. Words and silence are both valuable. Talking about our fears isn't as suffocating when you're in the middle of the woods. Admitting loneliness isn't as shameful with someone huffing and puffing alongside you. The surrounding peace of nature made the steep hike enjoyable. 

We finally hit the home stretch and hiked a few hundred feet along the ridge. Occasionally a break in the rocks would taunt us with the beautiful overlook that existed just beyond. We climbed up the last few rocks that brought us to Kings Chair and caught our breath as we took it all in. Nothing needed to be done, no words needed to be said. We got be a part of this existence and that was enough. 

It was cold up there, but that only contributed to how alive we felt. We celebrated by popping our cans of IPA and letting them fizz over our numb fingers onto the rock. We sat on the peak, sipping and celebrating. We laughed at funny stories shared easily and marveled at little things like smoke coming up from the trees in the distance. We talked about how we wished we could take off and fly and not be afraid. We asked ourselves what we would do if failure was not an option. Words were easy. Conversation wasn't rushed. The beer was cold and refreshing, and the rocks were sturdy. 

We headed back down with freezing hands and soaring souls. The combination of chilled bones, bubbling exuberance, and an almost entirely downhill trail made us break into a run. 

"You're trail running!" exclaimed my friend from behind me. And we were. We dodged rocks and streams and roots, walking only to rest our legs with the occasional uphill climb. 

The jog down took about half the time as the hike up, but was equally thrilling. Almost no words were shared on the return journey, only a mutual concentration on not wrecking on roots or sprawling out across the downhill incline. Our legs and lungs settled into the same rhythm. Our muscles felt alive and energized. 

I've always had this feeling that I was a mountains girl. You know when people ask you whether you're a mountain or beach person, I was never really sure which one to claim. I had been to the beach plenty of times, I actually just got back from Pensacola, but I've never felt truly alive there. Relaxed, serene, and sandy, but not exuberantly overflowing with a life-pulse I can't contain. 

But in the mountains. Yes. It doesn't even take the rockies of Colorado to set it off inside me, but the simple rolling landscape of Birmingham or the rocky skyline of Chattanooga.