Three Peaks

The Mount Olomana Trail in Oahu, Hawaii, is a strenuous hike consisting of three mountain peaks. It begins with a gradual uphill climb through a winding muddy trail, full of thick roots and jagged rocks, then makes it way through a dry stretch of pine forest, until it eventually reaches a series of technical scrambles - rock-climbs that require the use of rope.

At the trailhead, there’s a sign that says:

Attention: Olomana Trail Users: Six people have fallen to their deaths after hiking past the first peak.

Beneath it, there’s a list of six dates, followed by brief descriptions like:

11/2022 - Fatal Fall between 2nd and 3rd peak

2018 -Fatal Fall at or near the 3rd peak

Most hikers die between the second and third peak.

My father and I took pictures of each other standing next to the warning, even though we agreed that we’d only to hike to the first peak.

When we got there, standing on a tall rock formation, I could see the third peak off in the distance, a narrow, needle-point ridge. It really wasn’t that far from the first peak; distance wasn’t the problem. The problem was that you could only reach it by climbing up a steep section of rope with vertical death-drops on either side of you.

Not making it to the third peak killed me. When it comes to hiking, there’s nothing I hate more than not finishing a trail. If it’s a loop, I have to come full-circle; if it’s a mountain, I have to summit. The drive to completion takes possession of me, like an addiction. Still, you have to know your limit.

“Why don’t you write about the hike?” Dad suggested, on the hike back down to the car. “I mean, I know it’s not exactly your subject matter, but maybe if you had some grand epiphany on the mountain, it could be interesting.”

“It’s a thought, for sure,” I said.

The next morning, I got an email from the editor of a prominent literary journal about a short story I’d submitted a little while ago. He said that I was clearly an accomplished writer, that he really liked the story, but it still felt somewhat incomplete. As it stood, it wasn’t a good fit for publication, but if I revised the story, he’d be to happy to read it again and consider publishing it.

I was really hoping not to get any rejection letters during this trip to Hawaii; I didn’t want to think about writing. All I wanted to do was hike. And even though it wasn’t a flat-out rejection, it still rattled me, and it stayed on my mind for the rest of the day.

And that day, we were set to hike Mount Ka’ala, the highest peak on Oahu, another grueling uphill battle with multiple rope-sections and challenging rock-climbs. This time, we were determined to make it to the summit.

Up in the mountain, after a sludging our way up through the mud, our hands calloused from gripping the ropes, our shins full of cuts and scrapes from all the falls, we reached a sharp turn along a narrow ridge with a steep drop on our right-hand side. By then, it had started to rain, and we were so high up that we were virtually inside a cloud. The stunning panoramic views were well behind us. All we could see was thick, grey fog. Even if we made it to the top, there’d be no views waiting for us.

When we stopped to catch our breath, just in front of the dangerous turn where we’d have to grip the trees on our left to keep ourselves from slipping off the side, my body aching, I called out to my dad, who was about to start making the turn.

“Hold on a second,” I said, panting. “Let’s think about this. Is it worth it to keep going?”

It was only point along the trail where I legitimately wanted to give up.

“Let’s do a few more climbs and make a decision,” Dad said.

We pushed forward, and luckily we only had about another twenty-minutes until we summitted. It would’ve been such a shame to quit.

Somewhere on the peak, as I stared out into the fog, the email from the editor still on my mind, along with the memory of our last hike to the first peak of Mount Olomana, I realized something.

There are three peaks to the writing journey:

The First Peak: finishing the book.

The Second Peak: getting positive reviews.

The Third Peak: getting accepted for publication.

Like the Mount Olamana Trail - most writers die between the second and third peak.

Here was the grand epiphany my father was talking about. Nice!

When I went back to work, after coming home from Hawaii, I was determined to revise the story I submitted and reach the third peak.

That’s not all, though.

On my first day back at work, I had to pull a bunch of grubby old books from the fiction section so they could be processed. I grabbed one of the carts and headed out to the stacks. Along the way, I noticed a sticker on the cart. Once, for a laugh, someone decided to give funny little names to some of the office supplies. They printed them out using a label maker and stuck them to carts, staplers, and laptops. The cart I grabbed was named “A La Cart” (get it?).

Immediately, Mount Ka’ala came to mind.

In the stacks, each shelf was filled about three-quarters of the way full, which left room for one book that could be on display, with its cover facing outwards. When I got to the section, the first book on display that caught my eye was called: The Last High by Daniel Kalla.

Once again, Mount Ka’ala came to mind.

And “Daniel” - well, that must be me.

I went back to my desk and looked up the book on Goodreads and read the synopsis:

In this riveting novel from international bestselling author Daniel Kalla, a Vancouver doctor and a detective face the deadly consequences of the opioid crisis as they track down the supplier of fentanyl that landed a group of teens in the ER with critical overdoses.

The fact that the book was about opioid addiction brought me back to Mount Olomana, where the urge to reach the tallest peaks - be it on top of a mountain, or perhaps even in the depths of a novel - struck me as a kind of addiction.

I sat back, thinking about how “the last high” was another great name for the elusive third peak of the writing journey, because of how incredible it feels when you finally reach it. It’s truly one of the best feelings you can ever have.

Then I took a closer look at the cover of The Last High.

There was a tag line on the bottom that said:

The best feeling you ever have might kill you.