ONE FOOT AT A TIME

Just like skydiving I have always had a desire to go backpacking. I had a lot of reasons for not going - Could I carry 30 lbs of gear for any length of time? Could I get any sleep on the hard ground with only a thin pad? Could I keep up with the group?  But I still wanted to see if I could do it and the idea of carrying everything you need on your back intrigued me.  So, I did what I always do when I want to try something new, I bought a book  and I signed up for a class.  

The Sierra Club offered a beginning backpacking class that culminates in a sixteen mile round trip hike at Lake Sonoma.  Sounded perfect and so I went.   Within the first two miles of our hike my pack quite suddenly become twice as heavy as it was when we left.  They did not warn me in the class that it would do this.  Pretty quickly I realized how ill fitting it was and regretted going with a rental instead of buying my own pack.  The straps rubbed against my skin with every step slowly digging deeper and deeper into my shoulders.    I thought my boots were properly broken in until I felt the heat of the first blister.  By the fourth or fifth mile I was well behind everyone else barely keeping up ever hopeful that there were no turns lest I lose sight of them altogether.  I watched in frustration as everyone else seemed to move effortlessly down the trail up the hills and over the streams.   Some of them were actually having conversations.  My pack continued to gain weight and I felt the beginnings of several more blisters.  I was afraid if I stopped to tend to my feet I would lose everyone altogether and be lost forever.  In pain and exhausted I arrived at the campsite barely able to set up my tent.  I had a quick cold dinner and immediately collapsed on my thin little pad in my thin little tent.  I slept fitfully and when I woke the next morning I could barely move.  Every muscle in my body ached.  The sores on my shoulders were open and the thought of putting that pack on made me nauseas.   I wondered whether it would be a boat or a helicopter that would get me out and  back to my car since there was no way I could  hike back in the state I was in.    As I crawled out of my tent I saw that everyone else was already up and eating breakfast.  Their tents were down, their packs ready to go.  I searched for the leader of the group.   But she was on the other side of the camp and in fact she and everyone else were nearly ready to head out on the trail.  She must have already called the rescue squad for those of us who could not make it back.  But no, she was laughing and smiling and pushing those of us who were just crawling out of our tents to get some breakfast and get packed up.  Wait, what?  No boat?  No helicopter?  My anxiety rose as I took in the reality of the situation.  I was going to have to hike back out.  I seriously felt the tears well up.

I remember my oldest son, Zach telling me once that when he went to boy scout camp it was very primitive.  Pit toilets, no showers, tents on the hard ground, no lawn chairs for sitting around the fire and it was cold since they were in the mountains.   The second night he was miserable having not had a good night’s sleep the night before and feeling dirty, achy and cold.  He had just had an unsatisfying dinner standing up since there were few comfortable places to sit.  After dinner he headed to his tent and slowly took off his boots and put on his camp shoes. He found the warmest sweatshirt he had, poured himself a cup of what he thought was hot chocolate but turned out to be more like luke warm chocolate. Then he found a log to balance on near the fire.  He told me that he remembers thinking to himself “Well this is the most comfortable I am going to get so I might as well just enjoy it.”  At this moment I remembered that story and I realized that I was just going to have to get as comfortable as was possible all things considered and get the hell out of there.   Thank you Zach.

And so I set about making a plan to get myself out.  I slowly packed up my gear and made adjustments on my pack.  To lighten my load, I left at the campsite anything I absolutely did not need to take with me.  I put rolled up socks over the sores on my shoulders to keep the straps from coming in contact with them.  I covered my sorry blisters with band aids and pushed my swollen feet into my hiking boots feeling the heat of the raw sores.  I was barely able to tie my boots both because of the swollen feet and because I was so sore I couldn’t bend down to reach them.  Then, before I could give it much thought I headed down the trail.  I kept my head down and took a lot of rest stops.  I spoke very little to the other hikers and used all of my energy to just put one foot in front of the other and keep moving.  I thought at first I would never make it.  My shoulders burned and every time I took a step I experienced a new level of pain in my feet but as more miles were behind me than in front of me I had hope.  Then I heard it, someone in the group said we were within a quarter mile once we took this last corner.  But as I turned the corner I saw much to my horror a huge hill.  The final quarter mile was one long steep hill up.  I stopped in my tracks and very nearly cried out.  Why do I not remember coming down that hill on the way in??  I was physically and mentally spent.  But there was only one thing I could do so I once again put my head down and watched my feet and slowly, very slowly took one step at a time.  I tried not to look at the top of the hill but just kept my eyes to the ground and concentrated on my feet moving, barely rising off the ground, one foot in front of the other. 

Now I’m sure there is a lesson in here about making the most of a bad situation, or always being prepared or believing in yourself and never giving up when the chips are down but the lesson I took from it was this: What the Sierra Club considers a “beginning” backpacking trip is quite different than what I consider a “beginning” backpacking trip and car camping is really a rather lovely alternative.