Climbing mountains is not my ideal version of fun. I find that the lack of oxygen, the ass-kicking power of mother nature, and the heightened possibility of death to be, well, quite stressful. Through years of various adventures, I have always run into the question every time I choose the wilderness, “Why the hell am I doing this again?”.

As a full-time guide, my days off are very limited. Although the couch and Netflix account are always calling my name on these valuable days of rest, I keep finding myself dusting off my daypack, throwing on my boots, and heading back onto the trail.

For those who are unfamiliar, type II fun can best be described as being quite miserable while participating in the activity. While experiencing this unique form of leisure, you may have desires of wanting to return home to your comfortable, warm bed. The soreness in your muscles suck away the remaining motivation that is left in the logic center of your brain. You start to question why you even signed up for this in the first place. If you can stick it out, you will be gifted with a strong feeling of satisfaction. You pushed through and finished your mission. You may have even learned a new skill or met some new adventurous, like-minded folks.

The purest experience of type II fun I have ever had was climbing the mountaineer’s route up Mt. Whitney. This excursion involved hiking 11 miles round trip, 12,000 feet of elevation change, and less than ideal weather. Before this trip, no one in my group, including myself, had ever mountaineered. We have had extensive rock climbing backgrounds, but Mt. Whitney was certainly a next level adventure.

The approach to camp on the first day was nothing short of exhausting. The trail averaged a 25% gradient, which cursed our calves with a consistent deep burn. We managed to make very decent time as we approached the halfway mark to camp, but the stubborn Sierra Nevada can’t stand the idea of your plans running smoothly. Within five minutes, it went from a light, gentile mist to a painful full-blown hail storm. We took shelter under what seemed like the only tree available in the vast ocean of rock.

At this point, we reached 11,500 feet in elevation. Just 24 hours ago, we were driving through one of the lowest points in North America. My buddies and I were feeling the impact from the reckless jump in elevation. We were simply depleted, yet still fighting to stay in good spirits.

In my own mind, I was feeling like I wanted to quit. I realized that we still had over 2,500 feet of painfully slow, steep hiking left. I kept telling myself that I would just feel even more ill as I ascended. I started to believe unrealistic dangers my mind manufactured. Thoughts of retreat started forming. I wanted to be comfortable, warm, safe, and not so damn nauseous. But sitting under that tree and feeling downright miserable gave me a chance to look around at my environment and really take in the sights I have been missing out on. There were sharp granite walls extending thousands of feet into the storm filled sky. The meadows below us displayed the most vivid colors of green I have ever seen. The glacial lakes were so transparent they could pass off as a single pane of glass. I felt like we were on the moon.

I was completely absorbed in the moment. Any stressful thoughts from my monotonous front-country life were completely eradicated from consciousness. As the storm seemed to slow down, I looked up into the clouds and felt the light rain drops tap my skin, I smelled the moistened greenery, I heard the rain disturbing the nearest placid lake. I was so in tune with my environment that I could practically feel the firing of synapses and growth of new nerve endings in my brain. Time was no longer existent.

During this incredible moment of clarity, I finally answered the question that has haunted my mind during all of my various outdoor adventures. The reason why I keep going on these trips is to earn my most pure life experiences. The collection of breathtaking places I have traveled to were not accessible by car. It required extreme physical stress and extensive planning to reach what few people will ever get to enjoy with their own eyes.

Throwing yourself into uncomfortable environments and situations where there is no immediate remedy allows for intrinsic transparency. Discomfort digs up emotions that have been buried away for too long. It makes you jump over many daunting hurdles instead of running around them. You have no choice but to deal with your problems, right then and there.

When life gets hard, I always look back to this experience in the mountains and remember how I overcame my discomfort. I take a moment to look around and become attentive of what is beautiful and important. Then I take a deep breath and keep jumping over my hurdles.

This excursion was the most memorable backpacking trip I have ever done. It constantly comes up in conversation with my best friends and fellow adventurers. Inside jokes and vivid recollections of the entire ordeal are locked away in my mind forever. It is certainly a trip that I will look back on, years down the road and always smile.