When the Ridge Isn’t the Top

Somewhere in the Sierra, I learned to stop trusting ridgelines.

I had been climbing most of the morning. Long switchbacks. Steady grade. The kind of climb where you start making small deals with yourself. Just get to that outcropping. Just get to that tree. Just get to the top, and I’ll rest.

When I reached what I thought was the summit, I felt a rush. Shoulders loosened. Breathing steadied. I stopped and looked up.

Another peak. Higher. At least a mile away.

Sometimes I talked to the trail. I didn’t always say nice things. That’s fine. Once the views show up, the trail and I reconciled - until the next time it tricked me.

The trail is a system with constraints. It unfolds in stages. If you treat every ridgeline like the finish line, you burn emotional energy you’ll need later.

The Promise of “After This”

Leadership has false summits everywhere.

We tell ourselves, and our teams, that relief is just on the other side of this push. Once this release ships, things will calm down. Once the reorg settles, we’ll have stability. Once we hire this role, the chaos will stop.

You climb the ridge. The work continues.

The problem isn’t that there’s more mountain. There’s always more mountain. The problem is believing the first ridge is the top. When people brace for arrival and instead get continuation, something shifts. It’s not just fatigue. It’s disappointment. And repeated disappointment turns into cynicism.

In Deep Survival, Laurence Gonzales writes about hikers who get into real trouble because they cling to the story in their head instead of the terrain in front of them. They believe they’re close to safety long after the mountain has made it clear they’re not. Leaders do the same thing when they keep selling “after this” long after the climb has shown otherwise.

The Body Keeps the Score

On the PCT, I learned something more important than mileage. Listen to your body.

There were days I tried to keep up with friendly hikers. Days I locked in on a campsite miles ahead because it sounded good in the morning. Sometimes that worked. Other days the heat climbed, the snow softened, or my legs simply weren’t there. When I ignored those signals and forced the plan, I paid for it. Fatigue. Dehydration. A slow, grinding next day.

The trail changes. Your body changes. You adapt or you suffer. I learned to pay attention to how my body felt. I listened when I had aches and pains (and learned the difference). I took care of myself so I could take care of the trail.

Leadership is no different. Teams send signals. A stretch goal that once felt energizing now feels unaligned and distant. A high performer who leaned in starts to go quiet. A meeting that used to spark debate now drags with tension.

You can ignore those signs and keep climbing because the plan says you should. You might even hit the ridge.

You just won’t have anything left for what comes next.

Checkpoints, Not Finish Lines

Strong leaders do two things well. They stop pretending every ridge is the summit, and they pay attention to the team’s breathing.

They name reality. This is a checkpoint, not the top. There’s more climb ahead. We’ll pace ourselves.

And when the signals shift, they adjust. They redistribute load. They create space. They slow down when slowing down preserves strength for the next ascent.

The mountain doesn’t care what you promised - but your team does.

When your team starts to breathe harder, do you notice?