Into the West

Time for this month's theme post as suggested by Mormon Enigma. One of the most memorable camping trips I ever had as a teenager was a 50 miler adventure in Yellowstone National Park. Ten miles a day sounds easy enough right? Well, in this particular case you would be very wrong. Things didn't start out so bad right away. After a long drive up to the part we hiked about 6 miles in to our first campsite. It was a fairly nice day, and while it got cloudy towards the end, a few light showers were not a big a deal. Sometime during the first night those light showers turned in to a constant deluge that would plague us for the rest of our journey.

Day two began with our journey through the marshes. Already plagued by an abnormally high runoff, any part of the trail that wasn't on a hillside was covered with at least several inches of water. Most of our river crossings were flooded, so we had to either cross on fallen trees, or move along the river bank looking for a more shallow location. At one location we had one scout who was 6'2" wade in up to his chin while hoisting his pack over his head. Needless to say, we had to find another spot. Sometimes the marshes were so saturated that it felt like we were walking on a floating tarp. The ritual of removing our boots and changing into sandles for river crossings was quickly abandoned. At this point there was essentially no hope of maintaining some level of dryness. The rain was so heavy that even parkas seemed to make little difference. At night we made fires and tried to dry out boots, socks and other clothing even while it was still raining. Needless to say, things ended up more burnt than dry.

By the 3rd day, everyone was starting to get pretty miserable. Several of the kids, and even a few of the adults were talking about turning around and hiking out to the nearest hotel. Several boys had problems with water getting into their tents and sleeping bags. Although we were finally out of the marshes, we were now beginning a steep climb towards the continental divide. That day we hiked past several large waterfalls as the trail wound back and forth alongside the raging river. About a mile above the last waterfall we came to the intended crossing.


The river was several feet above a safe fording level, not to mention the added danger caused by the extra speed & debri from the large runoff. Lengthy discussion ensued about how safe a crossing would be. Our best idea was to send the strongest individual across first without a pack, and then have them tie a rope over the river to help everyone else cross. Eventually we decided to camp near the falls, to see if (by some miracle) the water level would be down the next day.

Of course, the height of the river did not recede at all. Eventually we decided to backtrack our way out of the park, spending several days to return to the trail head and blessed, dry civilization.

Never in my life have I seen or felt so much water. At the time I'm pretty sure we all hated the experience with a passion. Thankfully, several years later we can all look back and laugh at how ridiculous it was, and brag about how we survived the wettest most grueling hike known to man. I'm grateful for that experience, even though we completely failed at finishing the hike. Yep, I failed at the only 50 miler I have ever attempted. Somehow, that doesn't bother me. I'm just grateful for the experience, and for the fact that I don't have to slug through something like that everyday of my life. In a lot of ways, I think that hike was like life, or like some things that we have to go through in life. Sometimes we fail. Sometimes we fail miserably. But it isn't always about the destination, sometimes it's about the journey... however miserable it may be. No matter how many times I fail, I'm going to pick myself back up again and keep on slugging through the rain.