I just got back from a snowshoeing trip in the Oregon cascades. I left warm, slightly out of shape, pale-faced, and a bit burnt out. I returned with a few lessons learned and some fresh resolve.
This was our second annual trip. Last year a friend at church mentioned the trip and I quickly invited myself. We hiked in about 6 miles from the Cascades Highway, and camped at the southwest base of Broken Top mountain. I was hooked. Funny thing is, it was probably one of the most physically taxing things I've ever done, but somehow after the whole ordeal, that part was quickly forgotten.
This year I blew a ton of dough on good gear. I was freezing last year for much of the trip and this time around I was determined to have two things- warm gear and a cool knife. The cool knife part is purely machismo, but the warm gear part I was convinced would make the trip more pleasurable. Both were clearly important though. So I acquired a Fallkniven F1 with some birthday money, an insulated jacket, and some merino wool underlayers. I was set.
Much like our '10 trip, about 40 yards into towing my gear pulk down the common corridor at Bachelor, I thought, "this is going to be a terrible slog"-my thighs were burning within minutes and my boots were already causing a bad pressure point on the top of my foot. However, my chagrin was overcome by my pride- I had to "man up", I was with a manly group. We were comprised of an Army ranger/sniper, an avalanche certified outdoorsman, an ER doctor, a wildlife biologist and a couple of chaplains. I had to limit my whining and moaning. Limit is the operative word.
Halfway to camp, I was hearing the words of family and friends, "now why are you doing this again? Why would you want to hang out in the snow and cold without a toilet for days?" I actually didn't have an answer at that point, I couldn't remember the good stuff. I knew however, that I couldn't quit. The epic embarrassment of turning back just wasn't an option. Even asking the other guys to stop and rest on my account wasn't something my ego could handle.
As we neared the end of our slog, the guys breaking trail (there was 3+ feet of powder past the wilderness boundary) decided to pursue a new camp destination. They headed right off trail uphill to the top of the ridge. A good 100 yards uphill. Man did I ever complain. What the heck were they thinking? Last year's camp was perfectly fine, and only a quarter mile down the trail. I was carefully choosing the words of my rebuke as we trudged up the slow. Low and behold, we broke out onto the ridge and I was met with a beautiful snow field offering views of Broken Top and Bachelor. I held my tongue and just soaked up the beautiful landscape. The last 6 miles were quickly forgotten.
Later that first night, I lay in bed shivering in my 10 degree sleeping bag. It had been snowing all day and all evening, and now the wind was blowing. I finally made it to sleep, but awoke in the middle of the night shivering wildly. My breathing was fast and shallow and I couldn't control the shaking- I was panicking, thinking I was becoming hypothermic. I nudged my tent mate, the ER doc and told him what was going on. My other friend next to us must have heard me and called out "Go take a leak!"
It turns out that when it's very cold outside, it's really important to go to bed with an empty bladder. Your body kicks into overdrive to regulate the pee temperature apparently and that's what I was experiencing. Sure enough, shook my way out of the tent and into the powder, relieved myself, and quickly felt fine, albeit cold.
The next day was almost equally uncomfortable. I couldn't get warm. Here I'd spent hundreds of dollars on wool, fleece, a windproof shell and an insulating jacket and I couldn't get warm. By the evening, I had 6 layers of clothing on top. Lesson number two- tight layers don't make you warm. They also make it almost impossible to move- I could barely bend my arms. Your body really wants a snug baselayer and then some warm air circulating between that baselayer and a loose heavy insulating layer. I had the right equipment, but was using it the wrong way. (perhaps another blog topic altogether)
Day three was the best- cold sunshine and a great time with the guys. I'd learned a lot and was finally feeling good, able to really take in the scenery before our trip back.
Now overall, thats a fairly grim report. Why in the world do I go on these trips and rave about them afterwards? Snow camping pushes my limits and exposes my weaknesses like little else in my life and there's a singular reason for this- I can't turn back. In most every area of my life, when pressed on all sides, I've still got a pre-negotiated escape route planned. I can back off the gas, take a different turn, or return to a trusty excuse I've used and re-used. On the mountain, the only way to quit is activating that distress beacon- and that means death/injury or epic embarrassment. So you press through.
I love that. There is something really liberating about pushing yourself past the envelope, making yourself uncomfortable, even scared. This past weekend left me reconsidering my goals, business investments and vision. Am I too soft? Taking too little risk? Am I routinely forcing myself into difficult challenges and pushing my limits?
It's becoming clear to me that fearlessness and courage are muscles that require exercise. For me, snow camping is one workout that gets the job done. A long time mentor of mine made this statement about 10 years ago, and I've frequently reflected on it since- "When faced with two paths, always take the harder."
What are some other ways you develop fearlessness and courage in your life?
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