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We went to Whidbey Island this past weekend to visit my mom and dad. I had suggested that we visit a beach or take a hike so when we got there we did just that, and more.

When we got to our destination we chose to walk the beach and not do the hike up on the ridge above. After walking about a mile or so down the beach with the grassy sloped ridge to the right of us we decided it was time to turn around.

I don't know who suggested it. I think it was my dad. He noticed a path in the middle of the ridge that looked accessible from the beach. I was game. It looked like fun. So we all traipsed over logs and through grass to start our ascent up the path.

It became clear that this trail was not quite as wide as it had appeared to be from a distance and with the dog (mom and dad's Shiatsu) it was going to be near impossible. Every one decided to abort this plan except for Cambria and me.

I'm not exactly sure what made me want to do this but a few things come to mind, with the largest reason being my teenage daughter saying, to her almost forty year old mom, "Come on mom let's stay on the path. We can do it!" That was all I needed and we were off on our adventure.

It didn't take us very long to realize this was more than we had bargained for.  As we moved forward the trail became more and more narrow and looked less and less like a trail. It seemed to have much more foliage than I remember trails having. The incline, that looked like a rolling hill from the bottom, now was a drop off at an angle of about 75 degrees.  I was worried, but the evidence that this might be dangerous was when Scott and my dad (not being words of affirmation people) looked up from below and hollered words of encouragement to us.

Cambria and I started cheering one another on."We can do it, mom. Just slow down if you need to," she said. I offered back at her, "Just don't look down and no sudden moves hunny." I just kept picturing us thrashing and rolling down the hill beside us. I was, in fact, afraid for myself and for my daughter. I had to work at thinking positive and not panicking. At one point I grabbed hold of the bushes on the cliff beside me. I was in such a hurry to remove myself from this trail that I almost didn't notice the pain in my hand. I pulled my stinging fingers away from a large cactus, greenery still sticking to me. I didn't much care about the blood I just wanted down from the cliff!

Before we started into the hike Cambria had said to me,"I bet there are snakes in this grass." I down played the comment and continued walking. Sure enough as I moved along there appeared Cambria's fear. I didn't want to alarm her but at the same time I was worried she would see a snake and the action of her freaking out would hurl her down the drop off! I concluded that a word of warning was in order, "Hey sweetie, there may end up being a snake up here but not to worry, it would just be a garter snake. Just don't make any sudden (life ending) movements."

A dramatic end to this story would be for me to say something like,"I am writing this from heaven with Cambria sitting beside me." Of course this is not true so here's the actual ending.

We navigated to a Y in the trail and decided to go left in hopes of reaching the upper ridge trail. We climbed up over the ledge and indeed met the wide, open, expansive, trail above. I just sat on the ground and clung to it, for more minutes than I should, considering there were a lot of people looking at the two of us. I didn't care. I grabbed Cambria in a hug, and exclaimed loudly over and over, "We made it!" We were elated and completely relieved to be on safe ground. We were alive and we weren't dead. That is the dramatic ending for Cambria and me and probably the rest of my family too.

This adventure has been a word picture that I have used all week to draw strength from. I will share more in an upcoming post.