My Backpacking Memoirs

I really love hiking. I love it even more when backpacking is involved.
When I dream of freedom, I am back at Philmont. A pack on my back, my feet in hiking boots and wool socks, and nothing on the schedule but hike all day long. Point to a spot on the map and follow the trails to get there.
The Tooth of Time. Hiking the switchbacks up and down this thing is exhausting mentally.
Big parts of my teenage and college summers were Philmont Scout Ranch.  I went to Philmont twice as a girl, hiked twice in high school, and then worked there two summers in college.

My most intense hiking was on a program called Rayado. 21 days of backcountry, intense hiking, and secrets. Not a chamber of secrets, but secrets. Does anyone else think of a chamber-pot of secrets? And then you are like, those aren't secrets, we know exactly what is in a chamber pot. Anyways, Rayado is a program of secrets that I can't tell you about. But, only because I want all of you to go on Rayado and find out the secrets yourself. And by all of you, I mean those of you 16-18 years of age who are physically able.

I did get injured on Rayado. I remember slipping on a rock, falling off the trail, uprooting a small tree in an attempt to gain balance, hitting my external backpack frame on a rock, and knowing I really hurt myself. I thought I heard a pop, but who knows. I do know I couldn't walk. I also know that the stink surrounding my foot was horrid, and slightly embarrassing, but only because the male medical student from Kansas was so super cute.  He sprayed it with alcohol to try and drench the stench. I went back on the trail after a few days off. Waiting to get back on the trail was the worst. I went back out with a major limp, and an ankle brace the medical students all chipped in to buy me so I could hike again. I climbed several peaks, hiked before the sun rose and after it went down. I slept under the stars and it seemed I could see forever. I felt freedom.

Baldy. The weather can change fast, so the sooner in the day you hike up this one, the better.
The freedom came from the physical fact that I had everything I needed  in a pack on my back. I had food, shelter, and a sleeping bag. I had a rain jacket I could wear in the rain. Freedom came from looking at beauty every day. Freedom came from the physical challenge I was conquering over and over again by hiking 15- 20 mile days repeatedly. And, I didn't know it at the time, but the freedom came from only having me to take care of and worry about.

Valle Vidal. Such beauty.
Sometimes I dream I am back working at Philmont as a ranger for the summer. In my dream I am stressed out about what I am going to do with my kids. Do I try to have them hike with me, or do I leave them with someone else? I don't think there is babysitting at base-camp. Can they be in the campfire at night, maybe? My 8 year old would be a lovely Native American girl. If I try and take them with me, I feel like the pace is going to be too fast for them, and they won't be able to carry a full pack. How far could I really carry a full-pack and a child? I think it gets at one of the struggles I have as mother, and being the person that I am. Philmont represents not only a time in my life, but a place where I felt freedom. I wake up really relieved that I don't have to figure out the logistics.

But, I am also sad that I am not backpacking.

Comments

  1. Karen HMarch 18, 2015 at 9:31 PM

    I can feel what you are saying here. There is something about the utter simplicity and sweet freedom of wilderness living. Hope you can lace up those hiking boots some time soon. Love you.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Depression and a Bad Day

Image
Bad days are bad. This is a post about depression. I am going to talk about how I have it, what I feel like in the lows, and what I do to make it through. I am also going to give a some suggestions to help support people with depression. Depression isn't who I am. I am fine 80% of the time. I don't even have to worry about it, except to avoid triggers. I struggle the other 20%. I lose 1%. If I put that into a calendar year, I have 3 or 4 bad days a year.  If you've met me, you might not even realize I have depression. Probably not. It is hard to tell what is going on in someone's head unless they tell you. I am telling you about me. Some people can probably relate, but depression is going to be individual as well. I have 3 bad days a year. Other people have a lot more, some will have less. Most of the time, depression stays at a distance and I live. I take my kids to the zoo. I wash dishes. I prepare meals. Then, I can feel it creeping on. Like a dista...
Read more

Depression and Church Attendance

This is another post about depression. I have been wading through the muck of it for the past few months. For some reason, winters are harder. Science something. SAD something. Blah, blah, blah. It has been a long, cold Nebraska winter. And it won't be over for months. I am still me. I am still the silly one who makes slightly inappropriate jokes. I am still the one who enjoys a Saturday run, and a night out with friends. I am still a mom who makes dinner sometimes, and goes to work every day. I am still me. Just sometimes the depression takes over. It feels like waves in the ocean. I am at the top and then the bottom, and sometimes the waves go up in elevation, and sometimes they go down into a valley. I've been fighting the wave that has been going lower and lower. I am not doing well with the fight, but I keep fighting. Some days I actually feel like I am getting better, and then the next day I am reminded that no, I am actually getting pulled lower. So, this is a...
Read more

Crying after the Trunk or Treat

Image
Last week we had a trunk or treat at my church.  Everyone dressed up in costumes and we ate chili dogs and salad.  There was a fun carnival, and face painting, and friends.  My family dressed up as characters from Peter Pan.  My baby was Peter. My two year old was the most lovely Tink ever to walk the cultural hall floors. My five year old was the politically incorrect Indian girl, Tiger Lily.  My six year old was Wendy Darling, and she kept forgetting who she was in her blue dress and curly pony tail. Ian was Captain Hook, or at least some sort of pirate.  I was an anorexic Smee. (My costume didn't get as much attention as the other ones, so...no stuffed belly). It made all my family themed costume dreams come true. Overall, I had a great time with friends.  My girls loved filling their bags with candy.    But, something bad happened at the party.  I was in line getting my chili dog, holding my baby in one arm, carrying a paper plat...
Read more