De Wildt Weekend: Sunset Hike and the Incline That Haunted Me Twice

After the brutal morning hike, we were going to watch the sunset and do a moonlight walk starting in the late afternoon - which translates to roughly two hours after crawling back from hell, re-hydrating, and briefly forgetting my own name.

But I was BEYOND excited.

I had been chasing a mountaintop sunset hike from day one(ish), and this - this - felt like my moment.

Then came the fine print.

We were going up "that" incline again.

Yes.

THAT one.

The relentless first incline from earlier that day - the one I thought would finally scare me straight into taking up baking instead of hiking.

But as every hiker knows, once you’ve finished a hike, eaten something, and conveniently forgotten how awful it was, you’re suddenly ready for the next one.

The torture? Forgotten.

The trauma? Repressed.

So obviously… I was in.

This sunset mission was led by a third guide, and the moment we hit the incline, I could not believe I was voluntarily climbing the same mountain twice in one day.

Sure, it was “only” 2 km up and 2 km down - much shorter than the earlier 10.5 km - but that first incline? Absolutely criminal.

I kept repeating, "It will be worth it."

"This is different".

"Sunset. Moon. Mountain."

Despite it being late afternoon, it was somehow hotter than the morning....because that makes perfect sense and the universe is kind.

At this point, I was ready to tell the hike leaders, Shireen and Darren, that I was retiring from hiking forever and they were no longer allowed to contact me in any format, including carrier pigeon.

But I pushed on.

Because sunsets.

On mountains.

Dammit.

A Cloud With Attitude

After a 2 km climb (which sounds adorable compared to how it felt), we reached the spot.

Dusk was stunning.

The suffering faded.

Life had meaning again.

We each claimed a rock, unpacked dinner, and watched the sun inch toward the horizon. It felt like a spiritual experience loading…

As I was finishing off my 6th hard boiled egg, I heard mumbling about needing to leave in ten minutes.

Excuse me?

The sun wasn’t even gone.

It was still light.

I had not emotionally, spiritually, or physically received my sunset yet.

Apparently, there was a massive, black cloud rolling in.

Our leader - who knows the area and values things like life and safety - decided staying on the mountain might be dangerous.

I, on the other hand, had just climbed that mountain TWICE....IN ONE DAY, and had officially lost the ability to make responsible choices.

I was fully prepared to stay.

Irresponsibly.

Stubbornly.

If I had been with people equally unhinged - we would have absolutely stayed put.

We would have watched that damn sun set, waved at the moon, and then dealt with the consequences like fools.

But no.

We were a group.

With rules.

And leaders.

And common sense.

I considered a sit-in protest

I considered selective hearing.

I considered becoming “one with the rock” and refusing to move.

But alas.

Democracy.

Safety..

Thunder

We headed down as darkness settled in, and that descent - technical in daylight - became even more technical in the dark.

I sulked internally the entire way about the missed sunset.

Then, near the end, I heard thunder.

Oh.

So THAT'S why, I thought, attempting to self-soothe like a functional adult.

A few drops started, and as we reached camp it started bucketing down.

Suddenly, missing the sunset felt… justified.

Lesson learned?

Probably not.

But hiking at dusk and in the dark is still magical - assuming you stop sulking long enough to notice it.

The Sunday Plan

We were told there would be an optional hike the next morning.

I went to sleep undecided, reminding myself of my recently crafted personal policy system:

I drive alone so I can leave whenever I want.

I have photos and blogging to do

I am very tired but also very scared of missing out