I’ve always liked pushing myself physically. This past July, I wanted to do a solo backpacking trip–3 nights in the Rocky Mountains with me, myself, and I. It wasn’t a soul-seeking mission, I just really like the quiet, the beauty of nature, and suffering for no good reason. So I planned a 50 mile route and suffer I did!
The first time I went backpacking: a training run in the Laurel Highlands of Pennsylvania for a trip into the Grand Canyon. It was 9 miles in, 9 out. We had a can of baked beans and no way to open it. We had to use a pocket knife to open the can and kind of just pour the beans into our faceholes. Everything we owned was heavy. It was 2003. We lived in the city so we trained by filling our packs and walking up and down the 36 flights of stairs in the Cathedral of Learning on Pitt’s campus. A few months later, three of us flew out to the desert with a 2-person tent and made some stinky, stanky memories.
My boots were probably 2 pounds each. I regret nothing.
Buff® had nothing on the pink shirt sleeve as an accessory.
When you adventure outside, your inner child emerges, and you take stupid photos pretending to fall off a cliff in the Grand Canyon.
After this trip, my team qualified for a National Championship, and ultimate became my life for the next decade or more. Outdoor adventuring was placed on hold. But when I retired, and moved to Colorado, my back-burner hobbies moved to the front burner and I haven’t looked back.
My partner and I did a one-night backpacking trip in 2016. Her with all new gear, me with my 10+ year old heavy gear from 2003. She moved quickly through the land like a woodland fairy. I struggled with my 4 lb. boots and 85 lb. sleeping bag. I regret nothing.
A baby showed up. Eight more years passed. We finally took him on an overnight and it was over ambitious for his little legs (it went over 10,000’), but he did it, and it was beautiful.
I regret nothing.
Almost 10,000’
The kid worked hard, complained some, and was holy proud of himself when we were done.
Fast forward to the end of 3rd grade and I took him on another one-nighter, just him and me, into a national forest. It was 40º, raining the entire time, and we loved every freaking second.
I regret nothing.
Pike National Forest.
We found almost an entire elk skeleton spread all over.
We car-camp a lot, and I disperse camp with my climbing partners quite a bit. But backpacking is its own beast. You gotta take your house and your kitchen with you, on your back. It sounds miserable. OBVIOUSLY I wanted to take a harder trip.
So hours of planning and 50 miles later, I did it. Trips never go perfectly–here are some things that went wrong, just off the top of my head:
Immediately, I forgot to eat breakfast at my car at 3:40am, so I ate it later than intended, which threw off my break/eating schedule.
I had to sneak into the park; my wallet was in my car 7 miles (w/a 38 lb pack) behind me, and I could not go back (we bought an annual pass 2 weeks later). This added distance and time.
Because of late breakfast, when I took my break for lunch, I wasn’t hungry, and I didn’t eat enough calories.
The rubber stopper on one of my poles came off. I put my pack down, but had to backtrack quite a bit to find it. It added distance and time. But Leave No Trace.
I got to my site in the afternoon, set up my tent, staked it down, but didn’t rush to put my stuff inside. A gust of wind picked up the ENTIRE thing and blew it away. It was funny, but it also sent me on a scavenger hunt for 8 stakes. I didn’t have anything else to do, so I wasn’t mad. It was just stupid. I found all 8!
I forgot to make sure my battery pack was charged before I left. It wasn’t. So I was carrying around a 20 oz. useless charger.
Because I’d assumed I’d be able to recharge my phone, I had been documenting the trip with it, which was now at very low battery on day 1 of 4. So I never used my headphones, so having those was also useless. And having the proprietary charging cords for my phone, headphones, watch, and satellite communicator was also extra, useless weight. Go me!
I built in a day hike to summit two 13ers, so my tent and kitchen could stay put. I did, but I also got severe altitude sickness and puked every time I tried to drink water after I hit the 2nd summit. This was a problem, because I had 7 miles to go, and I was severely dehydrated and lacking way too many calories (also couldn’t hold food). I was getting delirious, and fighting with myself to stay disciplined and make good decisions.
Then I rounded a corner and ran into a moose. Not literally, but like 30’ away. He was curled up on the trail like a dog and wildly unconcerned. I got out my bear spray and took off the safety, and got behind a tree. In my delirium, I started pleading with the moose in English, because I don’t know moose, to just please get off the trail. Then I puked again.
I decided after some time to go off-trail and around. Under different circumstances, I’d have stayed and enjoyed the majestic experience. But I needed to get out of the sun and find a way to rehydrate. So I went right. And when I did, and stepped into the grass and almost stepped on another moose. Expletives where yelled.
I retreated back to my tree and checked an off-trail route to the left. A THIRD moose blocked that direction.
I retreated back to my tree, wet my mouth with water, and spit it out so I wouldn’t puke. I had so much water, but was terrified to drink it.
I found a long way around all 3, which of course added distance and time. I set a schedule to keep myself on track and give me something to focus on. Since I was doing so poorly, every quarter mile I’d wet my mouth and spit out the water, and every half mile, I’d take a break. I felt pathetic, but I only had about 2.5 miles to go. I had my headlamp (a small victory), though this should have been nowhere near an epic.
I found a slow, steady stride, and was sticking to my schedule exactly as I’d set forth. I rounded a corner and got growled at. It was a mother moose and her baby. I said out loud “THIS IS HOW I DIE,” unsheathed the bear spray (again), took off the safety (again), got behind a tree (again), and pleaded with a moose (again). I know my fear and pain receptors don’t really work correctly, but this one was scary. I went way off-trail, into the woods, moving from tree to tree so I always had something between us. Mama sent the baby on ahead, walked past me–then circled back–and started following me. Eventually, she decided I was as unthreatening as I felt and I hiked the rest of the way to my site paranoid she was easily going to murder me. My 9 mile day ended up being over 14.
I’m sure there were 1,000 other small things. I HAVE NO REGRETS.
The things that went right? Everything else. Some moments were miserable. But I learned a lot (don’t plan summits within a backpacking trip) and saw cool shit.
Summit of Hagues Peak (13,565’)
Class 4. A marmot at the top w/me thought it was easy. I’d come from Mummy Mountain (a 13er) behind me, and didn’t know yet, but was about to suffer immensely. I’d encounter 5 moose, get altitude sickness, delirium, and dehydration, but in this moment? Accomplishment.
From that, ADVNTR was born. I was interested in making my trip more efficient and/or comfortable and/or easy (I had a lot of time to think). I hated my pill container. When I got home, I started trying to figure out how to make that part of my experience better. My Chacos made the mornings and evenings more comfortable, but were heavy (15.63 oz. exactly). What was a lighter solution? And how could I do all of this sustainably?
If you’ve never gone backpacking, but it’s on your mind, just go. That isn’t to say don’t plan well. PLEASE plan well. But you’re going to do stupid stuff. You’re going to take too much. You won’t have something you wish you did. A squirrel is going to chew through the bite valve on your water tube because you didn’t tuck it away (true story). But you’ll learn from it. Each trip will get better (unless it doesn’t), and each one will come with memories.
