Wells of strength, some hidden

"just thinking about trees and their indifferent majesty and our love for them teaches us how ridiculous we are - vile parasites squirming on the surface of the earth - and at the same time how deserving of life we can be, when we can honor this beauty that owes us nothing."

-Muriel Barbery

The Elegance of the Hedgehog

book I read while backpacking

Standing waist deep in a small, chilly Sierra Lake I listened. All I could hear was the wind rustling the pine trees and my dog sniffing out treasures in the bushes. I looked around. This small lake was cradled by mountains on all sides, snow capped and jagged. The sky was cloudless and deep blue. I breathed in clean, fresh mountain air. As the wind stopped to catch its' breath,  I plunged my head under the clear water of that mountain lake and broke the surface refreshed. This was a peak experience if ever there was one. This was a baptism.

I have only been backpacking twice in my life: Once last summer and once this summer. The grand total of miles I have hiked with a 30 pound pack on my back: About 10. Total number of nights spent away from running water and electricity: 5. But I am hooked now. After years of hiking and car camping, I have found the joy of camping with less stuff and fewer people in more remote places.

I never thought I would enjoy backpacking. I didn't think I had the guts. I've always loved to hike, but not with a heavy pack strapped to my back.  I'm afraid of bears. The prospect of a bear sniffing around my tent in the night sent chills down my spine.  And there's all that darkness and quiet at night. I didn't think I could survive without a lantern and the sound of other campers chatting around their campfires. Finally, what about bodily functions. I truly hate pit toilets, but digging a hole and, well, you know. Not for me thanks.

Then my friend Chrissie, a woman who is fearless in the face of physical challenges and has backpacked with Grizzly bears in Alaska, got it into her head that we should tack a couple of nights of backpacking onto our annual week long car camping vacation to June Lake.  I looked at her as if she'd just suggested we walk on hot coals while juggling flaming torches.  The problem was, I was the only one giving her that look as we sat in our camp chairs drinking cold beers on the June Lake shore. Other friends were seriously considering this prospect. Some of them were downright enthusiastic.

Shannah, another woman eager for adventure,  took this crazy idea and made it into an actual plan for the following summer. Picking dates and obtaining permits, she got the ball rolling. Tammy, the consummate organizer, started making supply lists and planning backpacking meals. To make matters worse, my kids were all for it, assuring me that I would never be forgiven if our family missed out on this adventure. And my beloved husband Paul, who can always be depended on for the skeptical response, was  game to give it a try. I had no choice.

E-mails circulated for the better part of the year containing packing lists, backpacking tips, permit information, meal planning, trail information, and weather predictions. We began looking for packs, tents, bear canisters and backpacking stoves to borrow. The planning and preparations wore me out. On top of that, I still had to prepare for our regular "luxury" car camping trip to June Lake. Whose idea of a vacation was this?

Finally the day of our departure arrived. It was clear and warm. We had spent a week at June Lake, elevation 7,500 feet. We gathered at Mosquito Flats, elevation 10,000 feet, departure point for Little Lakes Valley. Our destination, Chickenfoot Lake, was less than three miles away with little elevation gain. We were to camp for two nights. Wearing borrowed packs, we were less then comfortable on the hike. Four people and a dog crammed into a small tent did not lend itself to restful nights. Our borrowed stove proved to be temperamental, and our meals were boring. But the views along the trail were breathtaking, Chickenfoot Lake was postcard perfect. We were with good friends. The kids eagerly embraced the freedom they found in the wilderness. The dogs (5 on that trip) were leash free and loving it. There was booze at happy hour. And we had perfect weather. OK, maybe I CAN do this.

This summer we returned to Chickenfoot Lake for three nights. Having invested in packs of our own, we were much happier along the trail. Two small tents allowed for more comfortable nights. And our food was tastier and more varied. The kids and dogs were again free of leashes. The happy hour drinks were better (or at least stronger). And we were with some of our closest friends in one of the most beautiful places on the planet.

As we hiked out on the last day I knew I was hooked on backpacking and I was filled with gratitude for how I had gotten to this place. I am part of a community of friends who challenge me to try new things, test my courage, step out of my comfort zone and embrace life. I am blessed with friends who lift me up, watch my back, laugh with me, cry with me, muddle through the day to day with me, listen to me, talk to me, inspire me, and create moments of beauty and joy with me. How lucky am I? What an amazing source of strength they are.

And on that hike out I also realized that I am stronger than I think. I left my fears and reservations at the trailhead and found that I am capable of carrying a heavy load, sleeping in the dark, and living without certain comforts of home, at least for a few days. I had it in me all along. Sometimes it just takes the right people and the right moment to tap into a well of strength we didn't know we had. How many other wells are just waiting to be tapped? This is what it means to grow.