Moment of Peace

I hadn’t been out in the wild for a good minute. I was more than ready. Grateful for the opportunity to backpack into some new-to-me terrain in a different part of the state, I took my time and stopped aplenty. I was in good spirits. When I get caught up in modern day busyness for too long, I find myself getting frustrated. The pressure builds. So I make time for the things that make me come most alive. One of my favorite parts of backpacking is the time in between. The idleness. The doing nothing but listening to the natural sounds or nothing at all. I learn about myself and recall our place within nature. I own up to my shadows. I take the internal journey and loosen the knots I’ve tied so tightly within. I am reminded that life is meant to be beautiful. Meaningful. A new way of living presents itself as possible: a deliberate slowdown full of spontaneity, patience, sensuality, and play.

Not going to lie though. Sometimes this dream of mine is more akin to a nightmare. When the weather is great and there are no pests to keep at bay, it’s idyllic. It’s easy. I grab and hold onto those moments. Other times those lingering shadows play out real-time right in front of me. This is where I want to run and hide. To give up. Especially when it’s in the form of dozens of tiny little vampires. I had my first encounter when the trail turned into the remnants of a charred forest fire nearly two decades old. Ripping through the middle of this memorizing destruction was a roaring creek bringing life back from the ground up. I soaked in the resiliency and strength. We ourselves are made up of these elements.

I dropped my bag to take the first of many unrestful stops. Stretched to the sky. Admired the beauty. Amazed at how nature gives its all and wastes not a bit. Then, it turned. A dozen or so mosquitos surrounded me. The alarm must have sounded. They multiplied like crazy. A couple dozen more. No, five dozen were swarming me. On a sunny afternoon, I had the one black cloud fall over me.

I knew there was a strong possibility of this. I came prepared with some natural insect repellent but naturally it was buried somewhere deep inside my bear canister. Pulling out the canister was easy enough. Unlocking it was a different struggle. I brought along a quarter to use as a key. Initially thought I had a decent spot for it when I packed. I searched furiously while swatting at these buggers left and right. Not there. Not in that pocket. Aaahh!! Seeing blood. Not there either. My gear was starting to spread out. I was already in the thick of it. Not giving up. Then it was found. I opened it up, pulled out my spray bottle of essential oils, and soaked myself. In the midst of all this, I placed the quarter on the back of the top. I wouldn’t soon forget that. After a brief reprieve and ultimately realizing that this organic bottle of smelliness wouldn’t combat my foes for long, I packed up. The quarter was gone. Not again. This time I must have swung it into oblivion when I flipped over the top. Didn’t even notice until I tried re-locking it. A futile search for a poor representation of wealth predictably ended up empty. I returned a piece of earth that day and carried on. Constant movement kept the beasts at bay.

I don’t keep track of my mileage, my time, or my elevation gains. If I did, I’m sure I’d end up with a low score. As often is the case on my adventures, I stop. I take detours. I explore. I reached the area above these lakes well into the night. Since sunrise was around the corner and I was beat, I didn’t bother with my tent. I pulled out my sleeping bag and pad. I knew this wasn’t my final resting spot. Nothing between me and the stars that night.

On these first forays into a new location, I try not to go in with high expectations. We’re getting to know each other and sometimes it takes time for one side or the other to warm up. I’m ultimately looking for those special viewpoints to present themselves. Those spots where I’m fully content to end the search and sit still. Those spots that get me excited to return again and again - in different seasons and under various conditions. Where everything seems to naturally line themselves up. With this, I go in knowing there will be a lot of exploration without an expected payoff. It’s part of the deal.

I stayed put for sunrise that first morning. I rolled off my pad and snapped a handful of frames, but mostly sat and enjoyed the dawn of a new day. I laid back down. But not for long. Without a cloud in the sky I knew it was going to heat up quick once the sun took on a higher space above me. I got prepared to make a move. I had the strong inclination that I would want to shoot down on these lakes from above. I also figured a better place to camp would be down below next to the lake shores and trees that could provide refreshment and shade. My choices were to the left and up, to the right and up, or straight down toward the lakes. I left my packed bag where it was and started heading up and to my right. About halfway up this steep incline, the views were looking legit. I hesitated. Should I grab my bag? Just in case a good camping spot appeared, I went back down and grabbed it. Then I headed back up. The views were indeed phenomenal. I knew I’d be coming back up here. Coming back because I wasn’t about to stay. I was directly in the sun at high altitude. Water sources down below were in sight but out of reach.

With an already tired body functioning on a handful of hours of sleep, all this up and down took its toll. I craved rest. I headed down. And I set up camp in the sun. I knew it. It’s not that I didn’t want shade. As often is the case in these grand landscapes, destinations are further apart than you imagine. And those shady trees down by the lake shores? Well, they were even further down still. I tried to find a medium between a nearby water source and cutting off some miles on what would be my twice-a-day trip back up to the lofty ridges. After setting up I spent a good portion of that day looking at clouds. Not exactly enjoying them but more hoping that they were strong enough to cover the sun’s rays. I was uncomfortable. With little wind, the mosquitos loomed outside ready to pounce. My tent as a refuge was a most unwelcoming steam room. A satisfying rest was not in the cards.

As I headed back up in the late afternoon, I was still in scouting mode. As I moved further along a ridge throughout sunset, the views only got better and better. I knew I was in special territory. Even though that meant my roundtrips got longer each time I ventured further, I had an exciting plan in place for sunrise the following day.

I go through a little internal struggle when my alarm clock goes off in the wee hours. Wouldn’t it be nice to sleep in for another hour or three? No doubt. To make matters worse, my sleeping pad decided to develop a slow leak over the course of the night. Not to mention my tent zippers were beginning to fail. In the dark, I struggled to get them closed. Whatever. I start walking away. Couldn’t really see. My headlamp. It’s still in the tent. Do the whole song and dance with the zippers again. Walk away. Realize my trekking poles are in there too. Not off to a good start. But all of that dissipates as the sun starts to glow on the horizon. Often in the earlier hours, I tackle some of my darker feelings while waiting for the light. I begin to breathe more freely. Then I am uplifted by the return and warmth of the rising sun. It’s a natural reminder to let go. I’m on top of the world. It’s all worth it. It must be. Because intertwined with all the discomfort is my joy. You don’t find one without embracing the other. Even though the struggles are there, they won’t soon keep me away. I know I will keep coming back for more. Somehow following your passion has a funny way of masking the pain and making it more manageable. More malleable.

After a calming morning, those mosquitos came back in full force during the day. They were relentless. Even my rear end wasn’t off limits when I was taking care of business. I did some things differently. I embraced it a touch more. I cooled myself in the nearby tairn. When the sun started to set, the wind picked up to bring a most refreshing light breeze, and the mosquitos disappeared as quickly as they came. As I sat on another ridge that evening, all was right and I lost myself in the task at hand once again.

The next morning’s sunrise didn’t disappoint either. That light breeze stuck around and brought some clouds along with it. I lingered on a ridge for quite a while that morning. As I headed back down to camp, I expected to call it quits. I started to pack up a few items here and there. Got myself organized. Yet the mosquitos were showing no signs of coming back. I had my peace. I took advantage and napped in the breeze with the intermittent clouds above. I dipped my toes in the nearby tairn without rush. I was fully refreshed. I decided to explore more of the area below. While being surrounded by lakes in all directions, I got super excited about exploring the other side of that upper ridge. So I did. I stuck around for the evening. This trip by myself required a further extension. I was game for another night. I finally hiked out the next day. I set my alarm but slept in. After I broke down camp it wasn’t a goodbye. It was a see you later.

I believe our external environment is a reflection of our internal storylines. We set the stage for much of the drama that unfolds in front of our eyes. We can run away from moments, but those moments tend to find a way to catch up to us. Embrace the journey, the ups, and the downs.