By Emilie Bouvier
If you’ve talked to me in the past five months, you’ve probably heard me talk about my planned trip back out west to go hiking in the Cascades. It’s been almost three years since I was a full-time artist at Holden Village, and I’ve missed those mountains something fierce. That landscape taught me so much about a capacity I didn’t know I had – to adventure deep in the backcountry wilderness and have an absolute ball.
Just anticipating and planning the trip was life-giving. To say that my planning was meticulous is a bit of an understatement. I had two spreadsheets with multiple tabs, detailing everything from trail reports and shuttles to itemized gear and food weight. (I owe many thanks to my ultralight backpacker friends and colleagues, Nick Tangen, Eric Hoffer, and Madeline Troyer, for all the inspiration and tips).
“To say that my planning was meticulous is a bit of an understatement.”
But here’s the thing, even when you’ve tried to anticipate everything, the joy always comes in the unexpected. And even when you’re over-prepared and have trained well, it will always be hard and there will be challenges you didn’t see coming. As I went from months of planning to actually doing the hike – a 50-mile loop over seven nights in a tent – I realized that sometimes the challenges are more mental than physical.
MY MOM ACCOMPANIED ME on this backpacking adventure, her very first. Having only ever done one camping trip in her whole life and never having been in the backcountry with no cell service, it was a new experience to say the least. She had been training all summer, but I knew she could do it because she is adaptable and has the mental toughness to get through the unexpected challenges.
Sure enough, on night two of the hike, the bugs were wreaking havoc on us, which I had wholly not anticipated. With temps in the high eighties, rivers of sweat flowed under our rain jackets and rain pants that shielded us from swarms of insects while we set up camp for the night. Still, as we took shelter in the cramped mesh tent, we spent the evening telling stories, watching the sunset, and laughing our way through the ritual of killing the 15 mosquitoes that flew in the tent every time we entered or left. Instead of being miserable, we rolled with the punches and enjoyed what we could.
“The mental toughness involved in hiking could continue as spiritual practice for the next busy season.”
Sometimes mental toughness looks like staving off the brain fog that happens when the bugs fiercely attack while you try to hang up the food. Sometimes it looks like focusing on the relief of the first cool breeze of the night (rather than endlessly cursing the heat). And sometimes it means just being grateful for time uninterrupted by screens.
Thankfully, as we made our way over a mountain pass to the next valley, the landscape changed again, and the bugs eased. We camped in a rocky cirque filled with many more marmots and pikas than insects and watched a clear night of stars surrounded by mountain walls in what felt like our own secret planetarium.
Later on, when faced with an unexpectedly difficult creek crossing over a precarious-looking downed tree, we looked at each other and our eyes both said, “No way.”
Instead, we took up The Sound of Music’s advice to “ford every stream!” Holding onto to each other with one arm in the shin-deep rapids, we took turns taking deliberate steps through the force of current. And it was so unexpectedly wonderful – the rush of the water over our tired feet, the exhilaration of the adrenaline and focus, the healing sharpness of the cold against our scratched and bitten legs, the joy of our laughter as we came across the other side with the last tumbling steps. We had found our own way, the pleasant chill of the water and giggles of the journey lifting our spirits for the next several miles.
AS I COME BACK to the throws of ministry and a fall season filled with new challenges and much good work to do, I’m reminded of two things. One, I have abundant gratitude for the deep rest that comes from getting deep into the wilderness – even when it’s hard, and especially when it’s joyful. Two, the mental toughness involved in hiking could continue as spiritual practice for the next busy season – expecting it to be hard, creating room for the unanticipated, and choosing to be joyful even when exhausted or uncomfortable.
Perhaps these resonate with you too, as ways to invite intentionally the Spirit to abide along the way … even if actual mosquitoes or precarious creek crossing (hopefully) aren’t involved.
