Distinctly Montana Magazine

w w w . d i s t i n c t l y m o n t a n a . c o m 47 DANIEL FELT HIS LEGS SHAKING, THOUGH NOT FROM THE EFFORT, AND HE FORCED HIMSELF TO LOOK DOWN, FAR DOWN AT CRACKER LAKE, SO INVITING, SO PEACEFUL, LIKE THE BLUE WATER AT THE BOTTOM OF THE HIGH DIVE. things could go completely wrong, horribly wrong. It was on the trail when he realized that it was not the height of things that unnerved him, but it was at the very edge, where almost anything could happen, anything at all. It was this realization which moved him to drive to north to Mt. Siyeh, moved him to the ultimate test of his exposure therapy. Mt. Siyeh, Daniel knew, was the most accessible peak in Glacier National Park, and there was one photo in his internet desensitization of a point, an edge, far above Crack- er Lake, where a sheer drop-off of 4000 feet would be his ultimate test, or his final undoing. Either he would conquer his fear, or his fear would conquer him. Decidedly. The route up would be both a climb and a scree-scramble in parts, but it was, no doubt, the ultimate test. Really? Are you sure you want to do this, Maddy asked. "How 'bout if I go with you? Nope, Daniel replied, with an uneasy bluster of self-confi- dence. This is something I just have to do. I'll be better on my own. You know, better concentration, less distraction. I just… just have to do this…myself." Which is how Daniel soon found himself far up the Pres- ton Park Trail, the summit in view on an August day, bright and shiny as the proverbial penny, with only a few hours more until the ultimate test, which he hoped would conquer his fear forever. He understood it now, at least, which is why the hike up the mountain didn't bother him despite the altitude, with no fear for occasional step-ups onto and over boulders and rocky crags. On the way up he had refined his theory. It was not the height of things that bothered him, it was rather the edge x height, a weird mathematical equation of some sort which equated to fear by proportion. The cookie episode was buried somewhere in the synaptic cellar of his mind, but he still remembered the diving board at the birthday party and the panic-there was no other word for it-when he stepped to the edge, the water lapping below. There was something he couldn't quite grasp about that day, though he felt it would come to him in one way or another. Only a few hundred feet from the top, from the overlook, Daniel stopped both to catch his breath and wait for his courage to catch-up. The steepness had lessened a bit. From his vantage point there was only rock-meets-sky, and beyond he could only imagine the emptiness, the soul- less void. Each step was now more an effort of will than of physical ability. A small bank of clouds drifted in, and the wind began to pick-up, adding to his foreboding. Fifty steps. Thirty steps. Ten Steps. The edge. Daniel felt his legs shaking, though not from the effort, and he forced himself to look down, far down at Cracker Lake, so inviting, so peaceful, like the blue water at the bot- tom of the high dive. His mind twirled with anxiety, with rising panic, with a horrific realization as he found himself shuffling forward… Daniel now understood that he was not afraid of falling. He was afraid of jumping.

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