Wilderness Training (or 23 Uses for an Orange Bandana)

This weekend I rediscovered nature. I joined several friends for a backpacking weekend in the White Mountains of New Hampshire (Mt. Hancock). This weekend I came face to face with dirt, rocks, water, tree sap, moss, and--quite literally--swinging branches (ending up with a small but sufficiently bloody wound at the top of my forehead). I felt the slow and steady burn of my leg muscles as my body unwillingly lurched itself up one steep boulder to another. I smelled the unmistakeable smoke of a campfire made from scratch and the sap that stuck to my hand after swinging from the tree trunks on my way down the mountain. I tasted accomplishment at the end of a long day -- along with a bean and rice burrito. I listened to the alpine water as it lulled me to sleep. This weekend I conquered a feat I never would have attempted were it not for the encouragement of those who were with me in this endeavor.

The trip started off with a drive up to NH, near Loon Mountain. About 12 of us camped at a regular campsite Friday night, arriving without time for much except pitching our tents and braving the unbearable stench of the outhouse (nature is always a better option!). After a so-so night's sleep, we awoke at 6am with the sun and after a bowl of oatmeal we went off in search of our respective trailheads: 7 beginners ("jeff's girls"), 5 intermediates ("the hard cores"). The hike in was glorious. We carried our packs, filled with only the necessities: a tent, a sleeping bag, a ground pad, a clean shirt, a bowl and spoon, some water, and some cans of food. We stepped over tree roots winding every which way, we watched our footing carefully on slippery boulders as we crossed the river at several points. We encouraged each other and learned about each other's lives. We sang a little. We told stories. We dropped our packs and pitched our tent at a site that would be ours for the evening, once the hike was through. We lunched on hot pasta (our fearless leader had carried in the propane stove!) and snacks.

And then the hike began. The first bit was energetic, optimistic, and sunny. We climbed steadily uphill at a comfortable pace. We continued our songs, stories, and chatter. Without our packs, we were lighter. But then we started to hit the hard stuff. The climb became steeper, and the boulders larger. We were climbing the stairmaster on the hardest level times ten. It was an endless uphill, with no mountaintop in sight. My confidence failed me, but my friends did not. The rain clouds started to roll in. My heart beat quickly. I may have given up. I prayed God would give me energy and also that he would keep the rain away from our path. He did. And I kept on going. After what was most likely about 2.5 hours, we reached the summit. We looked out over the green mountaintops in awe of creation. We had made it.

The way down was much tougher on our bodies, but less taxing on our spirits. Now it was merely physical. We reached our campsite again after 5 hours with joy and thankfulness! This home was now ours for the night! After four of the girls left us to head back to Boston, the three of us left sat 'round our campfire and rested our bodies, nourished them with burritos, and learned more about each other. We listened to the rushing river and felt the fulfillment of a day that brought not only huge accomplishment, but the much needed rest and peace that only nature can bring.

Sunday morning we packed up, hiked in, and called it a trip. Until next time.