Hibriten Mountain

There is a mountain looming over our town, Hibriten Mountain, so named by a homesick Brit from Brighton, England. This one must be a bit higher, I must say...with a twinge of a British accent.

I've driven by it so often I hardly notice it anymore. It's not a threatening mountain, more like an ever-present friend who stands silently by your side. In the past, I've watched hang gliders soaring from its crest. No more. Only hawks soar now. The mountain is dotted instead with cell towers and 9-1-1 towers and one solitary fire tower. It is a most utilitarian friend, indeed.   

Yesterday, I decided to conquer that mountain. Several months ago I chose the date to hike it, my birthday, November first. I have had several friends climb to the top, surely I could, too, if I knew where to go. I asked around and found one of the best kept secrets in town, the parking lot to climbing the mountain.

It wasn't the worst hike I've been on lately, but it was strenuous, an uphill climb the entire way, full of switchbacks and loose gravel spread for upkeep of the access road to those towers. When I puffed my way to the foot of the fire tower, I felt like Rocky Balboa on top of the Philly steps.

My Rocky Balboa Moment

Two and a half miles from the parking lot and spread out before me was the most fantastic view of the town I now call home, Lenoir, North Carolina.

The platform for hang glider launches was still there, but I avoided it. I didn't want to accidentally soar like the eagles. Instead my husband and I were satisfied to view the valley below from a more secure position near the towers.

Hibriten Mountain is such a part of the landscape that I don't notice it except twice a year, Advent and Lent. During the weeks leading up to Christmas, a gigantic star shines from the side of the mountain, sort of like the iconic Hollywood sign in Los Angeles. Unseen during the day, the star is illuminated after dark during Advent thanks to support from the local Loyal Order of the Moose. In the spring, a cross lights up the sky during the days leading up to Easter. 

For the first time ever, I stood at the base of the star/cross. I studied its shape. I imagined the vision those involved with creating the monument had back in 1954. When the star is lit a few short weeks from now, I will look upon it with new eyes. 

A star and a cross

We ate our snacks and rested before heading the two and a half mile trek back down the mountain. Descending on leaf coated loose gravel was not a simple task, but I made it, with no sore muscles or broken bones. This morning someone on Facebook posted a quote from Max Lucado that summed up my trip. "God never said the journey would be easy, but he did say the arrival would be worthwhile." 

I can relate.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen