Yesterday was my Dad’s 78th birthday. He’s had quite a life!
I’m hard at work writing my first book, which will be a memoir. The process has inspired me to reflect a lot on my life, and most importantly, on the people in my life, including the ones I love most, and who have helped to shape who I am. My Dad is among these people.
I wrote the following essay about my Dad so I could give it to him on his birthday. If you read it, I thank you.
Do you have a pebble in your shoe? Among other things, I’m a coach, leadership consultant, and adventure guide. For clients who are looking for something particularly epic and transformative, I offer an assortment of guided Epic Adventures in the wilderness.
When my clients and I are at the trailhead, with our backpacks on and ready to embark on our Epic Adventure, I’ll offer my first–and one of the most important–instructions. This instruction is a metaphor for one of the most important instructions we can apply to our our life, too.
This is one of the lessons I share in my keynote presentation, “Epic Lessons Learned in the Field,” and that I incorporate into my coaching, leadership development facilitation, and other programs. (To learn more about my presentation, coaching, and Epic programs, please email me at coach@yourepiclife.com. Thanks for watching!)
“Survival starts before the accident.” –Laurence Gonzales, Deep Survival: Who Lives, Who Dies, and Why
It was 1 p.m. on a Thursday and I was driving to Denver, Colorado. I had decided only the afternoon before, to sign up for a retreat and was about two hours into my 6-hour drive.
Except for gale force wind gusts of up to 50 miles per hour, the sun was shining and it was a beautiful Spring day in Wyoming. We’ve had a long winter–six months worth–and this was the first time the roads were clear of snow and ice.
Because this plan had come together unexpectedly less than 24 hours earlier I had been feeling anxious when I hit the road. But there’s nothing like a road trip on Wyoming’s open roads to clear my headspace and I felt sure that the drive would help me relax into what I had signed up for and would be the perfect way to transition from what was a hectic few days into an inspiring and much-needed healing weekend of retreat.
As I drove, I was listening to an audiobook, Letting Go: The Pathway to Surrender, by Dr. David R. Hawkins, which was recommended to me as preparation for the retreat. I would only get to listen to half of it given my tight timeline, but I figured it would be better than nothing and a good start.
During his many decades of clinical psychiatric practice, Hawkins’ primary aim was to seek the most effective ways to help his clients relieve their suffering in all of its many forms. According to Hawkins, the inner mechanism of surrender was found to be of great practical benefit. Over the years, thousands of students asked Hawkins for a practical technique by which to remove the inner blocks to happiness, love, joy, success, health and, ultimately, Enlightenment. According to the description for Letting Go, the book would teach me how to let go of such blocks. Sign me up for that, I thought as I downloaded the audiobook last night.
Hawkins instructs readers: When letting go, ignore all thoughts. Focus on the feeling itself, not on the thoughts. To be surrendered means to have no strong emotion about a thing: “It’s okay if it happens, and it’s okay if it doesn’t.”
According to Hawkins, we have three ways of handling our feelings–suppression, expression, and repression. I’ve realized that for much of my life, I’ve suppressed and repressed certain emotions and feelings. This hardly makes me unique, and in fact, most of us have stuffed our difficult emotions and feelings down over the years. Doing so, which is done consciously but also unconsciously, serves as a coping mechanism and at least for the short term, keeps us from having to deal with and/or process the otherwise difficult emotions and feelings.
This isn’t recommended though. It turns out that suppressing and repressing our feelings can lead to anxiety and depression. In addition, keeping these feelings stuffed inside is not a healthy or sustainable strategy. Especially as we get older, these long-buried feelings and/or trauma can wreak havoc in our bodies. (See also The Body Keeps the Score, by Bessel van der Kolk, M. D.)
These repressed and suppressed feelings can present as physical ailments. Which is what I’ve been experiencing during the last 24 months. My body has been protesting in the form of back and neck pain, jaw pain, and increased anxiety.
We get to choose our mindset
Earlier in the morning I had led and facilitated a two-hour virtual class over Zoom called We Choose Our Mindset for a group of 18 leaders I’m working with.
There aren’t many things in life that we get to choose, but fortunately, mindset is one of them.
Every day, from the moment we wake up, the mindset we choose to have will affect every experience we have. By mindset, I mean our attitude, our set of beliefs, the way we choose to see the world. I think of mindset as a lens through which we view and experience our life, and the world. We have the opportunity to choose our lens.
Viktor Frankl was a Jewish-Austrian psychiatrist, neurologist, and philosopher who founded Logotherapy, a school of psychotherapy that describes a search for life’s meaning as the central human motivational force.
Frankl was a Holocaust survivor. In 1942, Frankl and his family were sent to the Theresienstadt concentration camp. His father died there of starvation and pneumonia. In 1944, Frankl and the surviving members of his family were transported to Auschwitz, where his mother and brother were murdered in the gas chambers. His wife was taken by the Nazis to the concentration camp and died of typhus in Bergen-Belsen.
Frankl survived three years of brutal concentration camps, about which he wrote in his bestselling book, Man’s Search for Meaning. This book has been one of the most influential books in my life, and I refer to it often in my work with leaders. The sobering and inspiring book shares the story of Frankl’s struggle to hold on to hope during the unspeakable horrors of his years as a prisoner in Nazi concentration camps.
Frankl wrote, “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”
One of the things that Frankl wrote that I think of often, is that between stimulus and response, we have within us, the power to choose how we will respond to our circumstances. No matter how bad or uncertain or dire the circumstances, we can choose our response to them.
This isn’t easy work. Especially when our circumstances are challenging, we may have to choose a particular mindset hundreds of times in a day, maybe in a single hour. But each of us has this ability, this opportunity to choose our mindset. And when we choose our mindset, we are choosing our existence.
I shared as much in my mindset class to the leaders this morning. We also discussed reframing, and how we can change our view of a situation or a relationship or a task. I encouraged the group to think of a situation in their life or their leadership that was challenging, that caused them great stress or dread. Everyone reflected on this question and some shared their examples and as a group, we considered different ways the leader could look at the situation.
When we are experiencing challenging circumstances, it’s easy to feel like a victim, like we’ve been dealt something undeservedly or unfairly. It’s easy to fall prey to asking the question, “Why is this happening to me?” But, as I shared with the group of leaders, we ought to change this to, “Why is this happening for me?” Because when we make this subtle change/reframe, we can view the situation as something that we can learn, and possibly even benefit from.
Asking Why is this happening for me? inspires a mindset of curiosity and hopefulness rather than a mindset of victim and hopelessness. It gives us agency over how we’ll respond to our circumstances.
Finding my roadtrip groove
I had just stopped to use the restroom at the Split Rock viewing area. Despite the wind’s best efforts to blow me over, I took a few extra minutes to walk around the parking lot and to stretch my legs and back before getting back in the car. I was filled with gratitude that I was able to say Yes to the retreat invitation and was starting to feel less anxious.
I feel like I’m finding my groove. The great expanses of frontier all around me are performing their magic. With every mile, my mind feels more free.
Living in Wyoming means living on the frontier. There are large stretches of roads throughout Wyoming where few people travel and a reliable cell signal is hard to come by.
But then, suddenly, my throat starts to feel dry and it hurts, so much so that it’s painful to swallow. My throat is parched and it feels like there’s a hard lump in my throat. What the hell? I feel my high spirits sink. I felt fine–great–just a moment ago.
The next couple of miles I took gulps of water and hoped and prayed I was experiencing just a sudden bout of allergies, and that my throat was just experiencing something that was in the air now that Winter was turning to Spring.
A few minutes later, all of the warning lights on my dashboard lit up. The red exclamation point, the service engine light, and several other lights. A row of 4–5 warning lights blinked at me. The car seemed to be driving fine, but these blinking signals across my dashboard were alarming.
I can feel myself starting to panic. Every warning light that exists is on. I wonder, Will the car just stop working? What if it blows up? I can feel my heart beating faster and I start to feel warm. My throat is throbbing. I’ve never had more than one alarm light display from the dashboard before. I suddenly feel warm and as if my heart is palpitating. I start to panic.
I remember a tool called the “physiological sigh” that I learned from the Andrew Huberman podcast. Huberman is a neuroscientist and professor in the department of neurobiology, psychiatry, and behavioral sciences at Stanford University. According to Huberman, practicing the physiological sigh can shift us from a fight-or-flight, anxious state, to a calm state.
To perform a physiological sigh, you take two inhales through your nose, followed by an extended exhale from your mouth. The first inhale is the main one but it’s important to follow it with another short inhale, before exhaling all the way. (The double inhale ensures that we can offload as much carbon dioxide as possible.) Huberman says doing 2–4 rounds of physiological sighs during times of high stress or panic, can calm us down.
It has helped me before stepping on stage to deliver my keynote presentation, and it has worked to calm me during a lightning storm, so I try it now, and after just a few rounds of physiological sighs, I feel some relief. I feel a little more calm, able to think.
Fortunately, I was just two miles from an intersection, and the only resemblance of civilization for miles, a place called 3 Forks-Muddy Gap Services.
I was raised in Wyoming and given the nature of my work during the last 30 years, I’ve personally traveled hundreds of thousands of miles on these roads. Muddy Gap is basically an old building in the middle of the frontier and people don’t tend to stop there unless they need to, for fuel or a restroom.
Right now, I’m grateful for its existence.
I pulled in, parked, and turned off the car. I had no cell signal, which wasn’t a surprise even if it was a major inconvenience. I was two hours from home and in the middle of Wyoming’s frontier, broken down. I took some deep breaths and located the car’s manual. I looked up each of the warning signs and the message was clear.
Stop the vehicle immediately.
Do not continue your travel.
See a Toyota dealership immediately.
Concerned about how I would get the necessary help, I went into the building, where I found a man sitting low behind the counter. I asked him if they were a service station, if they provided any services for vehicles because I was having car troubles. He said no so I left and went outside again.
Gale force winds blew and it was hard to think, let alone stand upright, so I got back into my car and tried to compose myself so I could figure out how to proceed.
I turned the car back on and still, all of the warning lights were on. I turned the car off and on again a few more times just to see if the alarms would cease but they wouldn’t. I moved the car to a different position to see if I could tell if the car was operating fine. It was. But after checking the manual again, it was clear it wouldn’t be wise to continue on the road even if it seemed like the car was operating fine. I worried about being broken down on the side of the highway, especially given the winds were so ferocious.
I then remembered my brilliant idea to pack my Garmin InReach Explorer. The device is a GPS satellite communicator that I use when hiking in the wilderness or leading Epic Adventures. I pay an annual subscription to a service that allows for 2-way texting, allows my family to track my whereabouts, and if necessary, allows me to trigger an SOS or search and rescue. I often throw my InReach in for road trips in case of emergency and since a reliable cell phone signal is hard to come by throughout much of Wyoming.
Relieved that I had a way to contact Jerry to tell him what was happening, I reached for my phone to connect it to the InReach. I have an app on my iphone, called Earthmate, that allows me to connect to my InReach but use my phone’s keyboard to send messages. It’s a game-changer because without the app, you have to form sentences by manually moving an arrow on the InReach device to locate and enter one single letter at a time, including to add any spaces or punctuation. Without the app, it is painfully time-consuming and laborious to type even just a few words.
But when I go to connect my InReach to the app, I see it’s in the Cloud, and without a cell signal, it will stay in the Cloud. This means I’ll have to type my message to Jerry (and AAA, etc.) one single letter at a time. Damn!
I can feel my frustration settling in, but I remind myself of my good fortune, that I had had the wherewithal to pack my InReach and that at least I have a way to communicate.
It took several minutes, but I composed the following message to Jerry. atmuddygap.cartroubles.everyalarmgaugeflashing.nocellsignal.no1here2helprn
A few minutes goes by and I hear a ding which means the message has been sent. A few minutes later, I get a message from Jerry saying “Oh no. I’m so sorry. Are you ok?” I take another several minutes to write back that my InReach phone app doesn’t work. This takes forever to form into a sentence but I felt it was important so Jerry would know my ability to respond in detail was limited and also in hopes he would be more specific and helpful in his messages back to me. I’m also hoping that given the limitations of my circumstances that Jerry might be able to take some matters into his own hands, such as call our local Toyota dealership to get some tips to share with me, to find out if it’s safe for me to continue driving, or to possibly call AAA and arrange for a tow for me.
It should be stated that Jerry was at work when all of this was happening. He’s an elementary Physical Education teacher so at work meant he was in charge of keeping about 20 energetic kids in line and from getting injured. In other words, it’s not exactly a job he can turn his back on, not even for a moment. So I appreciated, extra, how hard this was for my husband to try to help his wife, who was stranded in the middle of nowhere with no way of seeking assistance. I knew how helpless he must have felt, and yet he was my first line of help.
Jerry texts again, suggesting he called Toyota and they said I should try removing the gas cap and putting it back on.
I’m appreciative of my husband’s effort to help, but not feeling particularly encouraged by this request.
I think to myself, I have a 2005 Prius. The gas cap is not connected to the engine or tied to the electrical system of the car. But I did it anyway. I removed the cap and then put it back on. (I wondered if next they would suggest I stand on my head and rub my stomach.)
I get back in the car and take several deep breaths. I meditate and practice mindfulness daily, often several times a day, and I know that right now, I need to breathe, slowly and steadily, to stay calm.
My trip and my plans to attend the retreat are clearly canceled. Even if I were to get help, this was clearly a sign that the trip wasn’t meant to be. But as I notice my disappointment, I’m reminded of David Hawkins’ earlier instruction to have the mindset, “It’s okay if it happens, and it’s okay if it doesn’t.”
I was bummed that I was no longer going to be able to attend the retreat. I had been invited last minute and the retreat was just what I was needing. And yet, I was in a state of acceptance. (This was noteworthy since typically in a situation like this, there’d be some freaking out. I’d be upset, possibly to the point of tears.)
Could it be that the two hours of teaching and talking about mindset with leaders at the start of the day and how we get to choose our mindset and how we’ll respond to our circumstances, and that when we choose our mindset we choose our existence, had prepared me for this moment? If that weren’t enough, I had spent the last two hours listening to an audiobook about how to surrender and let go of feelings. Had listening to Letting Go further “primed” me for this experience?
It seems indisputable and I find some humor in this realization.
I shift into problem solving mode. I texted Jerry back that I would wait a bit longer to see if someone would arrive who I could ask for help. If not, then I’d have him call AAA and arrange a tow truck to meet me and take me and my car back to Lander.
In the keynote presentation organizations hire me to deliver to their leaders, I share that I love that only half a million people live in Wyoming. I tell them I love the people who live in Wyoming, even though there aren’t many of them.
Right now I’d love to see any of them!
Some 30 minutes passed before a vehicle drove into Muddy Gap. A young man in a Subaru stopped at the pump and filled his tank. When he finished, and got back in his car, I walked over and he rolled down his window. I introduced myself. His name was Justin and he was about the age of my two oldest sons, in his early 20s. I told him I was having car troubles and I wondered if he might be willing to help me.
He said he was headed to Casper, which was not in the direction I was going, but I told him that 20 miles from here he’d pass the Independence Rock Rest Area and that I knew from experience that there’s a reliable cell signal at the rest area. I knew it was a lot to ask but I wondered if he’d be willing to call AAA, give them my account number and communicate about my car troubles at Muddy Gap and request a tow truck for me.
He was kind and mentioned that he had a cell signal and I could borrow his phone. Due to the high winds, I asked if I could borrow his phone while sitting inside my car and he said no problem. The young man remained at Muddy Gap for 60 minutes while I placed several calls to my husband, to Toyota, and to AAA. In the end, after much deliberation and many different conversations, I requested a tow back to Lander from AAA. I was informed it could be a 3-hour wait but that a tow truck would be on its way and would tow me back to Lander.
I wasn’t thrilled about waiting three hours for a tow truck, but felt grateful that help was on the way, and that I had a plan.
I returned the phone to Justin and offered him some cash to show my appreciation. He refused and said he was happy to help. I insisted though, telling him how much I appreciated his generosity and act of kindness. He accepted the gesture with appreciation and continued on his way.
A few minutes after hatching my plan and beginning to settle in for the duration, a truck pulls in and a man gets out to fill his truck. When he goes inside to get a snack, I follow him in and use the restroom that’s in the back of the building. Afterward, as I was going back outside, the man was behind me and he asked, “Is everything okay?”
I responded, with a short laugh, “Well, not really. I’m having car troubles and need to wait three hours for a tow truck to arrive, but other than that, things are great.”
He told me he’s an environmental scientist with the BLM (Bureau of Land Management) and that he is on his way to Lander. He offered to follow me to Lander and if my car acted up or if at any time I felt like it wasn’t safe to drive it, he’d use his dispatch radio to call for help for me. And not only that, he had a cell signal and I could borrow his phone to cancel the AAA and to update my husband about my new plan. Which I did.
I thanked him profusely, but he blew it off, saying “This is how we do it in Wyoming.” I agreed, but still, his remark and kindness moved me almost to tears.
I started my car back up and lo and behold, the warning lights and alarms were no longer displaying, and the car drove fine. During my return trip, I reflected on all of the blessings I’d just experienced, the two good samaritans and what a difference they made to my situation.
In my family we have a name for such helpful strangers. We call them “trail angels” and they are strangers who show up, as if magically, in a time of need, and are generous and helpful in critical ways. We’ve met and encountered so many of these trail angels in our travels, throughout Wyoming, the U. S., and particularly during our international travels.
As divided as our country seems to be these days, I really believe that people are mostly good.
My drive back to Lander is wonderful because it’s filled with thoughts of gratitude for how this all turned out. How such a bleak situation had turned positive.
Psychologists have a term, “bright spots” that describes the act of looking for the positive, the things that are going right, when everything seems to be going wrong. I had experienced some frustration and feelings of helplessness, but all told, I was out only about 90 minutes, and during that time, I met two different strangers who were wonderful, kind, generous, and helpful.
I think about the retreat I’m now going to miss and how right it had felt just hours earlier. Given the positive developments and the fact I’ll be home soon, much sooner than I would have been had I waited for the tow truck, I start to wonder about the possibility of booking a flight for the next day to Denver from nearby Riverton or Casper, and still making the retreat.
A few miles before arriving in Lander, I pulled the car over so I could personally thank the BLM environmental scientist for his kind and generous act. I didn’t want him to go on his way without properly thanking him.
He told me his name is Anthony, and he’s from Atlanta, GA, but that he’s been living in Wyoming for two years. “I’ve wanted to live out West all my life,” he said. “This is my dream job. I feel so fortunate to live the life I have.”
He told me he landed a job with the BLM in Rock Springs as a Natural Resource Specialist/Physical Scientist and he and his wife signed a lease on an apartment, sight unseen, from Atlanta. They now own a home.
“I love it here,” he said. “The sense of community is not something I’ve ever experienced before. People helped us unload our stuff and they helped us move when we bought a house. They have given me fresh fish, elk, pronghorn, and duck. In two years, I can count on one hand the number of sirens I’ve heard. No traffic. No crime. The people are great. I’ve spoken to many locals who can’t understand why I chose to live here over Atlanta. I tell them, Try living in a big city.”
Anthony said he and his wife love taking drives throughout Wyoming. They have discovered so many beautiful places that are unspoiled, and love that there is so much public land here, something that doesn’t exist back East.
“I try to live up to Wyoming. I stop when I see people on the side of the road and ask them if they are alright. I talk to my neighbors. I wave at people on the road (instead of honking like people do in the cities). And, I tell people back East how terrible it is here and not to come.”
I had met a kindred spirit.
Back in Lander, upon walking into my house, I received a text from the retreat’s organizer. (Jerry had informed him of my car troubles and that as a result of my situation I would regretfully not be able to attend the retreat.) He said he hoped I was okay and that he was sorry about my car troubles. He said some of the others who signed up for the retreat wouldn’t be arriving until the next day and that I wouldn’t miss anything significant if I’d still like to attend and arrive the next day.
There were no flights out of Riverton on such short notice, but I was able to book a morning flight out of Casper. Jerry was supportive, saying, “As long as you feel like you can get in the right headspace, after the frustrations and events of today, then I say go for it!”
I enjoyed a wonderful dinner with my husband and our 16-year-old son, enjoyed a good night’s rest, and the next morning, drove in our other vehicle to Casper to catch my mid-morning flight.
After the two-hour drive, as I was turning left off the highway onto the road to the Casper airport, a bald eagle swooped low and flew right in front of my windshield.
I have had many animal encounters in my lifetime and so often they occur at times of struggle or deep contemplation. After such an occasion, I’m always quick to research its possible meaning. What does it mean when you see a fox, when you find a feather, when an eagle flies in front of your path?
So moments after the eagle sighting, as I waited to board my flight, I researched what it means when a bald eagle flies in your path.
From the internet: “When Eagle appears to you, it means that you are being put on notice. Eagle totems appear to inspire (push) you to reach higher and become more than you think you are capable of. They tell you to be courageous and really stretch your limits and see what you can do.”
And from an article about bald eagles and their spiritual meaning, written by Kells McPhillips: In Native American cultures, Christianity, and Celtic lore, the eagle is considered a close link with god or gods. In some Native tribes, the eagle is considered to be a messenger between the heavens and the sky.
Spotting an eagle may be your sign to go for it. Because eagles spend so much time in the air, they are widely considered an invitation to go after your biggest dreams and to challenge yourself.
A few hours later I was at the retreat, which ended up being one of the most profound experiences of my life. (I’ll write separately about the retreat at a later time, but suffice it to say I was courageous and stretched my limits.)
Laurence Gonzales’ words, Survival starts before the accident, have taken on new meaning for me. Our ability to survive, or in my case, to keep my wits about me so I could overcome a difficult challenge, is greatly improved when we take steps in advance that serve to prepare us for when things don’t go as planned.
Packing my InReach device, teaching and discussing mindset with a group of leaders for two hours in the morning, and then listening to an audiobook about how to not get caught up in our negative emotions and feelings, enabled me to overcome my car troubles in remote Wyoming with remarkable ease and a wonderful outcome.
Had I not been primed by all the reflection and attention on choosing one’s mindset, and not being overwhelmed by our feelings, I likely would have been too upset to be effective. I may not have been open to noticing, let alone, asking Justin or Anthony for their help.
And finally, I was once again reminded of why I love Wyoming and its people so much.
(Note: Turned out, my Prius needed a new inverter cooling pump, and it has since been repaired.)
I learned something interesting and helpful from famous documentary filmmaker Ken Burns while listening to a SmartLess podcast episode some months back. I’m sharing it here, as a short video, or if you prefer, you can skip over it and read about it.
I listen to a lot of podcasts and subscribe to a wide range, given I’m interested in so many different things. One of the podcasts I often listen to with my husband and three sons whenever we’re on a roadtrip is SmartLess, with Jason Bateman, Sean Hayes, and Will Arnett.
In September of 2021, Burns explained to Bateman, Hayes, and Arnett, that while filmmaking is an architectural and additive process, producing the final version of the film, or any creative pursuit for that matter, it is more of a subtractive process. A critical part is knowing what to edit out, what to remove.
Burns lives in New Hampshire, and he likened the film editing process to making maple syrup. He said it takes 40 gallons of tree sap in order to make 1 gallon of maple syrup. I appreciated this perspective and and the reminder that to make something exceptional–to get the good stuff–requires a lot of effort, time, and raw material. For more inspiring messages like this, please check back here weekly, or subscribe to the blog (at right).
For coaching and leadership clients who are looking for something epic, and more unique than run-of-the-mill executive coaching, I offer guided Epic Adventures in the wilderness. In this video, I share about the first instruction I share with my Epic clients when our backpacks are on, we’re standing at the trailhead, about to embark on our expedition.
This message isn’t profound but its implementation can be. Do you have a pebble in your shoe? Is there an issue or harmful behavior that is making your life more difficult? Is there a secret you’re keeping? Is there a change you need to make that you’re not making? Is there a brutal truth about yourself that you’re not confronting? A difficult conversation you’re needing to have with someone you love or lead that you’re not having? An important change you’re not ready to make?
Whatever it is, I challenge you to tend to it. It is difficult work, but not nearly as difficult as the situation we may find ourselves in down the road, years later, perhaps even a lifetime later at which point it will be so much worse, and even hard. We will wished we would had taken the time and made the effort to tend to the pebble sooner, when we still had the chance. (By the way, I know–I shouldn’t be chewing gum while talking to a video camera. At least I won’t come across as more polished than I am. LOL.)
Thank you for watching. For more inspiring messages like this, please check back weekly.
Today, on Aug. 22, 2022, Jerry and I celebrate 30 years of marriage.
On top of Mitchell Peak.
The following is a story I’ve never shared before. It’s about an experience that took place in the wilderness of Montana, almost exactly 31 years ago.
Jerry and I have similar recollections of the experience and we agree that all of the “features” of our relationship and marriage were present in our first adventure.
And while A Hard-Earned Celebration is an accurate title for this 30-years-of-marriage story, an alternative title could be, I’m a Tall Order and Jerry’s a Trooper.
It was our first backpacking adventure together. It was my idea and I chose the destination. The route to Sapphire Lake, in the Bob Marshall Wilderness, was labeled “strenuous.” I had developed a penchant for doing hard things, and Jerry, a marathon runner at the time, also liked doing challenging things. With only one night to spend together in the wilderness, I wanted to make sure ours was a worthy destination, but also, I figured there would be fewer crowds on a strenuous hike.
At the time, Jerry was living in Dayton, Ohio, where he was a physical therapy tech in the Air Force, and I was living in Missoula, Montana, where I was finishing Journalism school at the University of Montana.
A year earlier, in August of 1990, we had met at a wedding in Omaha, Nebraska. (Thank you Jody and Kathy!) Jerry was a groomsman and I was a bridesmaid, and at the rehearsal, Jerry flirted with me. The flirting continued and it led to us dancing all night before ending up in his uncle Gene’s hot tub in the wee hours of the morning.
After our exhilarating night, we promised to keep in touch, and we did. It was a time before cell phones and email, so we wrote letters, put stamps on them, and mailed them to each other. We wrote hundreds of letters to each other and in the process, we fell in love. (We saved all the letters and they are among our most cherished possessions.)
In addition to our letter-writing, we had long-distance phone calls, and whenever we could afford it—and even when we couldn’t—we flew back and forth between Montana and Ohio to see each other. Neither of us had much time off so the trips were few and far between, and usually only lasted a weekend, sometimes less. It was never enough time so we were careful not to squander even a minute of it.
The night before, Jerry’s flight had been delayed and he didn’t get in until after midnight so when the alarm went off early in the morning, we hit the snooze button, opting for a little more sleep.
We were backpacking rookies and as such, we were properly penalized.
We were only going in for one night so in theory, it should have been easy to keep our loads light, but we were not only newbies, but broke newbies. The sleeping bags and tent we purchased for the adventure were cheap, which meant they were heavy and bulky. And because this was a special first-time voyage for us, we included some bottles of wine and other luxuries, which further added to the weight of our packs.
Our backpacks towered over us and were so heavy that when we stood still, our boots sunk into the ground. Our packs were so unwieldy we feared we might get injured when taking them off or putting them back on so we decided to not take our packs off until we reached our final destination.
We paid the price for the late start by having to share the first five miles of our route with dozens of other people who were hiking to the more popular Upper Holland Lake. It was hot, in the 90s, and the sun was blazing as we hiked steadily uphill, gaining 2,100 feet in elevation to reach this point. On the upside, the views were incredible.
Another rookie move was I wore hiking boots that were fresh-out-of-the-box brand new. Not only had I not broken the boots in, they didn’t fit properly. They were too small, something I was reminded of with every step, especially given my feet had swelled from the heat, effort and altitude. They were on fire, throbbing and pulsing, and I was sure I had blisters. I couldn’t wait to free my feet and soak them in Sapphire Lake. To numb them out of existence.
We were sweating profusely and feeling whipped so we took a brief rest at the end of the lake to drink some water and to eat some jerky and trail mix. We still had another mile to go that would include another thousand feet of elevation gain before we’d reach Sapphire Lake.
As we continued, the day grew hotter and the mosquito population exploded to new levels. We traveled at glacier speed up many steep switchbacks under the crushing weight of our backpacks, inching closer to our destination.
The “strenuous” rating for the route was accurate. We were living proof of it.
Fortunately, no one else was willing to suffer the same level of misery and by the time we reached Sapphire Lake, the crowds had thinned to just Jerry and me.
Jerry and I were still newly in love and we hadn’t seen each other in four months. As a result, upon arriving at Sapphire Lake in early afternoon, it was decided (not in words but in actions) that our sore feet could wait, but our desire for each other could not. After our romantic activity, we unintentionally fell asleep for two hours, and when we woke up, we had severe sunburns to show for it.
The journey to get here had seriously handicapped us. Any time either of us moved, we groaned in pain and whined about how sore every single muscle in our bodies were from the effortful journey. My feet were completely blister-damaged, making it difficult to stand or walk, and Jerry had a headache from the altitude. And now, due to our careless and unbridled romantic activity, we could add severe sunburn to the mix.
Because we had only one night here, and since it was late in the afternoon, we went to work quickly to get our camp set up. Or rather, not we, as much as Jerry.
My feet hurt so bad that I was more or less disabled, crawling around camp on all fours. I wasn’t completely useless, though. I did manage to start a big fire in the established campfire ring. We needed the fire to keep the mosquitos away and to dry out our hiking boots. The final stretch to get here was a marsh, and too exhausted to take our socks and boots off, we charged straight through it and the result was our boots had been soaked all the way through. After I was sure the fire would remain big and reliable, I arranged our boots on the rocks that formed the ring around it so they could start to dry.
I still couldn’t wait to soak my aching and damaged feet in the lake’s icy cold waters, but the lake was 15 yards from us and after all of the physical efforts of the day, we were in need of food. We were in need of serious replenishment.
Jerry got our tent pitched in short order and then, with me on all fours as his sous chef, cooked a delicious dinner of fettuccine alfredo, topped with pepperoni chunks, fresh black pepper and parmesan cheese. We ravenously snarfed our dinners. Jerry had seconds, making sure to finish all we had made. We were so hungry–and lazy–that we licked our plates completely clean with our tongues so we wouldn’t have to expend energy washing the dishes.
Exhausted, sore, sunburned, and stuffed full of fettuccine, we felt like we could become beached whales and never move again for the night if we lingered at camp, so we forced ourselves to get up. I added some logs to the fire and Jerry rummaged through our packs to locate the bottles of wine we packed, and finally, we headed to the lake.
As we approached the shore, we looked all around the lake for signs of other people, but saw no one. We had Sapphire Lake all to ourselves.
We spied a perfect granite slab that slanted gradually into the lake and we sat down on it. We extended our tired legs and dangled and soaked our sore feet in the lake’s icy cold waters and then Jerry opened a bottle of wine. We passed the bottle back and forth, taking big gulps from it.
The wine ran out quickly and we laid down on our backs with our aching feet still in the lake. The slab was cold and felt wonderful against our hot and sweaty backs. My feet were frozen and numb, which I welcomed. I was tired of their bitching, and of feeling their aches.
We laid like that for a long time, recalling some of the highlights and challenges we had experienced to get here. We were so happy to be here, thrilled to not be hiking anymore, and to have all of the work for the day done. (Except for poor Jerry. I had mentioned when I first made the fire that we would need to make regular jaunts back to camp to stoke the fire and add logs to it in order to make sure it would keep on burning through the night. We needed our soaked boots to be dry by morning, but because I had been reduced to crawling, Jerry was generous enough to take on the responsibility.)
The sun was starting to set when I finally sat up and pulled my pruned and non-feeling feet from the water. They had caused me so much pain during the hike that I was almost sorry to see I still had them.
We decided to share another bottle of wine because we deserved it but also because we needed to lighten our loads.
We took our time with this bottle and watched as the sun’s last remaining light painted the surface of the lake and everything around it a sherbert orange color. The scene was breathtakingly beautiful.
I felt tired and fulfilled but also a little loopy and wobbly. Higher altitudes, especially when you’re not accustomed to being at such elevations, can cause lightheadedness and headaches. If you’re not careful, the altitude can also turn you into a cheap drunk. Which I almost was.
Fortunately, I didn’t feel sick, just a little buzzed, but due to my damaged feet and overall deteriorated condition, I told Jerry he’d need to keep an eye on me, to keep me “on a short leash.” I didn’t trust myself or my footing, and was afraid I might fall down and add further injury to myself. I also didn’t want to pass out for the night and miss the sunset or the star-gazing we planned to do.
After finishing the wine, we returned to laying on our backs on the slab and watched the sky. The sun was almost completely down and everything was now a soft pastel pink. It was stunning and as we took it all in we could smell the scent of sweet pine from the forest surrounding the lake’s sapphire blue waters.
“Can it get any better than this?” I asked. Jerry and I agreed it could not.
The sun was down and we were looking forward to stargazing, but it was twilight and we estimated it would be an hour, possibly more, before we’d start seeing stars. We embraced before dozing off.
Fortunately, this unexpected nap was short. My need to go to the bathroom woke me up. By this point, we had consumed so much water and wine that we frequently needed to use the facilities. At least we’re hydrated, I would say every time one of us would get up, moaning in pain and exhaustion in the process, to relieve ourselves. I said it as if to congratulate us for something–one thing–we had done right.
It was almost dark now and as we sat on our slab, we heard blerp, blerp, blerp, over and over again. We looked across the lake’s glass-like surface and saw several little bumps with circular ripples around them. They were fish nipping at the lake’s surface, feeding on insects and every time one came up it would make a blerp sound.
The evening was completely quiet except for the sounds of the trout nipping at the lake’s surface, and the occasional popping and crackling from our nearby campfire. We watched the ripples until there was no longer enough light to see them.
The stars were starting to become visible and it felt magical. I remember thinking, this must be what it feels like to experience bliss. I had never had such a thought before.
Jerry got up and walked to our camp to stoke the fire and to check on our boots, which he reported were drying but would need the entire night to dry out completely. He brought back to our slab a sleeping bag and a blanket and some more clothing layers for us.
As night fell, the temperature dropped and soon we were cold. We laid on top of an unzipped sleeping bag on the slab, which kept us from getting cold, but we had clear skies overhead and it was a crisp evening so we’d need to keep adding layers to stay warm.
Laying next to each other on our backs, Jerry and I held hands. We didn’t say much as we looked up at the darkening sky. The stars were starting to become visible and we were excited. Before long, we identified and rattled off the names of the most obvious constellations. The Big Dipper, Little Dipper, Orion’s Belt, Cassiopeia.
Eventually our interest waned and we sat up. Some time passed with us sitting there, too tired to do anything significant, but also not in need or possession of words. We contemplated whether we should sleep here, under the stars, or return to the tent, when we looked up and noticed the sky was exploding in purple-pink and neon-lime green. The sky and the vivid colors that filled it were pulsating in waves, as if flickering in slow motion.
Aurora Borealis. The Northern Lights!
We could not believe our eyes or our good fortune. When I planned this adventure it never occurred to me that we might see the Northern Lights. I didn’t know it was even a possibility. We laid there, mesmerized, our minds blown by the awe-inspiring spectacle. It was exhilarating and enlivening. Wondrous and miraculous!
We watched the sky for a long time, until we could no longer keep our eyes From closing.
We decided to stay put and to sleep under the stars, under the exploding and colorful Aurora Borealis. Jerry got up one more time to add logs to the fire and soon after he returned to the slab, our bed for the night, we fell fast asleep.
We slept like babies, but it was short-lived. Morning came early. Jerry woke up first and kissed my forehead to wake me up. The air was fresh and crisp and the sun was rising. The scene before us was glorious.
Much of the lake was painted orange and its surface was dotted with circular ripples from the feeding fish. It felt so peaceful and we lingered for a time. As I took in the view, I inhaled, trying to absorb this magical moment and scenery in a way that would ensure I’d never forget it.
We limped back to camp to re-start the fire and get some water going so we could have coffee and oatmeal. We wanted to enjoy a couple more hours of bliss before we’d have to break camp and start our return hike, which we both predicted would be a sort of death march given our physical condition and my blister-damaged feet. Plus, Jerry had a late afternoon flight in Missoula to catch, so we were on a timeline.
Jerry went into the tent to change into a clean outfit and I looked for a pan to fill with water. As I looked for the coffee and oatmeal, I noticed our fire was smoldering but not quite out. That’s when I also noticed the boots. Specifically, the odd number of them. There were only three boots standing on the fire ring, both of Jerry’s boots and my left boot. Where was my right boot?
I looked, desperately, around the outside of the fire ring, in search of my other boot.
Oh my God! Where’s my fricking boot? I was on all fours, rooting around in the dirt like a maniac, frantically searching for my missing boot.
But then, I did the thing I was afraid to do. I looked into the fire again. And that’s when I saw it, the spare remains of my right boot’s once-rugged vibram sole were smoldering in a pile of ashes.
This couldn’t be happening. I hoped it was a bad dream, but knew it wasn’t.
I don’t use the f-bomb often, saving it only for very particular circumstances.
I let out a year’s worth, maybe two, of f-bombs.
Without any other shoes, I would have to hike the seven miles out in one boot. This was a crisis and Jerry and I both knew it. Still, we didn’t want to squander the morning. As I sat and worried and wondered how I was going to hike downhill for almost seven miles while descending 3,600 feet of elevation with a hiking boot on only one foot, Jerry took over my duties and made us extra-strong cowboy coffee, and oatmeal topped with honey, cashews, and dried apricots. Both were delicious and hit the spot and at least temporarily helped me to not think about my upcoming plight.
After breakfast, we knew we couldn’t delay the sufferfest any longer. Given my one-boot status, and our combined sore and aching muscles, we anticipated the return hike could take a long time and we had to account for that.
It would be awkward wearing only one boot and for a minute I thought about wearing no boots. But the terrain was too steep and treacherous to consider going with no boots at all. I told myself—and Jerry, probably in part to help persuade myself—that one boot would be better than none.
It was hard to get my left, swollen and damaged foot into the too-small boot. My bootless right foot had only a thick wool sock on it. Hiking was unimaginably difficult and the first couple of miles were particularly excruciating and slow because the terrain was so steep. I was constantly having to stop and pick out stickers and thorns from the sock and I couldn’t walk gingerly enough on my other blister-damaged foot. Every step, for both the protected foot and the one in the sock, felt like I was walking on broken glass.
I was in a personal hell, but Jerry made it a little less hellish with his constant and loving support. To lighten my load, he had taken much of the gear from my pack and put it in his, and he insisted we stop often so I could sit and get off my feet. The return hike remains one of the hardest challenges I’ve ever had to endure (and I’ve experienced a great many in the last several years).
By the time we were back at the car, Jerry and I were both physically and mentally exhausted. Every muscle of ours was sore, and our sunburns were even more severe because of course we had overlooked packing sunblock. The hike had taken longer than planned so we had to drive directly to Missoula with no stops.
Some 31 years later, I can still recall that 90-minute car ride. Despite our physical condition, Jerry and I were exhilarated as we took turns recalling all the hardships and highlights we had experienced during our adventure. It had been so physically challenging, and our packs had been so ridiculously unwieldy, but to have such a beautiful remote lake and wilderness spot all to ourselves felt miraculous.
We laughed about the adventurous love-making and the penalty we’d paid for it. The sunset, star-gazing and our shock and delight at seeing the Northern Lights! And then sleeping under all of it and waking to the glorious sunrise. We laughed about my having to crawl around camp on all fours and how useless I was. The burned boot and the return hike from hell, and the fact that all of it managed to happen in just a 24-hour period.
The experience, and our replaying of it, left us feeling elated. Despite all that went wrong, our adventure had been epic. We would continue to laugh for weeks about all the mistakes we had made and the mishaps, and promised we’d do better the next time.
As we made the drive back to Missoula, I remember thinking If these are the sorts of things that are possible when I’m with Jerry in the wilderness, then I want more.
Signing up for more
Fortunately, Jerry felt the same and four months later, he asked me to marry him. I said Yes and it has been one of the best decisions of my life.
We were married in Missoula on Aug. 22, 1992. Family and friends traveled from near and far to help us celebrate the occasion. Many arrived in advance of the wedding to enjoy the spectacular outdoors during what had been a typical summer week in western Montana, with temperatures in the 80s.
We were married on Aug. 22, 1992.
But then, on our wedding day, the weather changed dramatically. It was only 32 degrees and it was snowing! Missoula, and most of western Montana, experienced the coldest 22nd day of August since records had began being kept in the 1930s.
Following the wedding, Jerry and I stood outside of the church, covered in wet snow, and rice that our guests had tossed on us when we exited the church. Everyone was gone, en route to our reception, and we were waiting in the falling snow for the limousine driver who would be a no show.
As we stood there, getting more covered in wet snow, we chuckled about the way things had unfolded on our wedding day. Jerry pulled me in close with one of his bear hugs and we embraced and stood like that for some moments, in the falling snow.
The unpredictable weather and the chauffeur no-show were a reminder that things never go exactly as planned and that we can’t control everything. It was the perfect insight to gain as Jerry and I embarked on what would become our most meaningful adventures of all, marriage.
30 years later
The definition of adventure is an unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity.
Our 30-year marriage has been nothing, if not a great adventure. It’s been unusual and exciting, and also, at times, hazardous.
Like most adventures, our marriage has been full of discovery, learning, inspiration, surprise, breathtaking sights, celebrations, awe, fulfillment, fun, emotional connection, peak experiences, and so many meaningful experiences. But we’ve also experienced uncertain terrain, hardship, mental and physical challenges, mountains that were impassable, detours, stumbles and injuries, poor communication, re-routes, and inclement weather. In between these highs and lows, there have been stretches of tedium, monotony, and drudgery.
Along the way, we’ve raised a family. We have three wonderful sons, Wolf, 22, Hayden, 20, and Finis (Fin), 15, and they are our greatest blessings. Perhaps it’s no wonder, all of them were conceived in the wilderness.
The outdoors as a staple
From the beginning of our relationship and marriage, and since we started our family 22 years ago, time spent outdoors has been a staple. After we were married, seven years would pass before we started our family, and when I was pregnant with our oldest son, Jerry and I resolved to have the outdoors be a central part of our family’s life. To do this is so much easier said than done, but we persisted and it’s one of the things Jerry and I are most proud of.
Johnson family early years.
Over the years, our family’s level of fitness and outdoor experience made it possible for us to embark on countless family epic hikes, and backpacking and llama packing trips in our beloved backyard, Wyoming’s Wind River Range. We also enjoyed about 20 year’s worth of spring breaks spent road tripping, adventuring, and camping throughout southern Utah, northern Arizona, and Colorado, and in various state and national parks of the West.
Jerry and boys on Clear Lake backpacking trip, Labor Day 2014.
In 2016, we took our family’s first European trip. We visited seven countries and really immersed ourselves in the experience. We went on two particularly epic hikes in Switzerland, and another one in Italy’s Cinque Terre region. To say it was an active vacation is an understatement. Thanks to Jerry’s excellent logistics and navigational leadership, we successfully made about 100 train connections in Europe. Every time we’d disembark the train in a new country, we’d put on our Patagonia Black Hole Duffel backpacks and walk one half to one-and-a-half miles to locate the apartment or flat we rented. We walked an average of 20,000 steps/day exploring the sights in London, Rome, Florence, Moneglia, Munich and the Bavarian Alps, Switzerland, and Portugal.
On an epic hike in Switzerland in 2016.
In Summer of 2017, we rented a van and started in Vancouver, British Columbia, and spent a month traveling south, hitting all the major cities, coastal sights, and national parks along the way before ending in Los Angeles. We enjoyed some particularly memorable hikes in Vancouver, Washington’s Hoh Forest and along the coast of Oregon.
Hoh Forest hike, Olympic National Park, 2017.
In the Summer of 2018, we spent some time in Madrid before traveling to Astorga to embark on our 160-mile backpacking pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago, in northern Spain, for several days before spending some time in Barcelona. Walking the Camino was a particularly meaningful experience for Jerry and I to share with our family.
Jerry and the boys on the Camino de Santiago, 2018.
In 2019, we went on an epic adventure in Iceland that was unlike any other. It was an otherworldly experience, complete with countless waterfalls, hikes over glaciers and to the tops of volcanoes, soaks in hot springs, and a 24-hour music festival to celebrate the Summer Solstice.
Iceland Glacier Hike, 2019.
For all of these extended epic trips, we kept a family journal that each of us contributed notes to at the end of each day. These journals, along with all the photos and videos captured along the way, are among Jerry’s and my most cherished “souvenirs” from the experiences.
Most recently, to celebrate our 30th anniversary, Jerry and I sprung for a family trip to Baja, Mexico at the start of the summer. The trip was mostly leisurely and we had a blast. But as part of our 30th anniversary celebrations, we informed the boys there would also be an “epic adventure”: We’d climb Mitchell Peak in a day sometime during the summer. We did that on July 24, and it was an unforgettable experience that had all of the elements that have been so prominently featured in our marriage and family.
Cabo June 2022 Family photo.
We left Lander at 3:15am so we could be at the trailhead starting right as the sun came up. We enjoyed the first six miles of level hiking with meaningful conversation and also stretches of quiet, before starting up Jackass Pass and making our way to the end of North Lake, from which we’d start our mountain climb.
Mitchell Peak is a mountain that is special to our family. Jerry and I had climbed it a few times over the years, and each of our sons had climbed the mountain alone on Day 2 of the mother-son rite of passage adventures I took each of them on the summer before they started high school. From Mitchell Peak’s summit, we can see all of the trails and peaks, and so much of the country that we have traveled during our 30 years, as a couple, and through all of the particular stages of raising our sons.
Mitchell Peak 30th Anniversary Family adventure-collage.
The mountain climb was hard work, but it was meaningful to share in the struggle, and we were blessed with clear and blue skies so we were able to linger on the summit for more than an hour. It was pure bliss for Jerry and I to share such an experience with our beloved sons and as a family. On the hike down the mountain, the conversation was light and celebratory. We were all pleased that the mountain climb had been successful and relieved that all the hard work was behind us. We stopped at Big Sandy Lake, where Jerry and the boys stripped down and took a polar plunge in the cold waters, even as it started to rain. Afterward we fetched and enjoyed the beverages we had stashed in the icy waters on the hike in, before hiking the remaining six miles back to the trailhead.
As has so often been the case after these family epic adventures, the boys all slept during the two-hour drive back to town. We were home before sunset and we ordered a feast of pizza and wings and breadsticks and then the boys retreated to their man cave and Jerry and I headed for the hammock in the backyard. Laying side-by-side in the hammock in our backyard, Jerry and I reflected on the experience and we both called it A Perfect Day. It was one of the best days of our life–a life that, fortunately, has been full of many such days.
Maybe we’ve lost it and/or fallen off our rockers, but as part of our 30th wedding anniversary celebration, Jerry and I offered to spring for tattoos for the family with Mitchell Peak’s GPS coordinates. We knew when we decided this that we may be criticized for the grandiose act, but we concluded, hell yeah and who cares. The boys were excited about it and we went through with it. So now we’re all ‘branded’ in a way that will permanently commemorate our 30th anniversary, our adventurous life as a family, and a mountain that will forever be special to us.
All of the travels and outdoor experiences we’ve shared as a family have strengthened our marriage, and made our journey more meaningful and memorable.
The other “secrets” to our happy marriage could be summed up as Hikes, Happy Hours, Hammocks, and Hot Tubs. When the boys were young, Jerry and I started blocking out time for just the two of us. Even when we didn’t feel we had the time or energy, or the need for it, we remained committed to taking time for our relationship. Often “date nights” mean getting dressed up and going to a restaurant for dinner, but even though we love and appreciate good food, we knew going out to dinner wouldn’t be enough of a motivator for us so we came up with alternatives that were more appealing to us.
For the last 20 years, we’ve gone on many sunrise hikes and also long distance day hikes. Or, we love heading up Sinks Canyon for a “happy (golden) hour”—right before sunset—with takeout dinner, the cribbage board, and a bottle of wine. Or, we love laying in the hammock in our backyard listening to our favorite music, or hanging a hammock between two trees on the banks of the Popo Agie River and spending a couple hours just lounging. We also love spending time in the hot tub.
It should be mentioned that we couldn’t have kept our commitment to these experiences for just the two of us if not for the generous and loving support of my parents, who would spend time with and watch the boys so Jerry and I could get away for an hour or three. My parents even traveled with us to Hawaii and Lake Tahoe to watch the boys and to “crew” for us when Jerry and I were participating in ultra trail running events. We also had two epic babysitters that we’ll always be grateful to–Korinne Thoren Ryan and Mary Mandel Herrmann.
When the boys were little and our work was most demanding, Jerry and I came up with a strategy for carving out time for intimacy. I won’t go into detail here, but our strategy for keeping the fire stoked worked brilliantly and it has been yet another difference-maker in our relationship and our marriage.
It also helps that Jerry and I share the same values and that we make a good team.
Foreshadowing
Little did we know the foreshadowing our first backpacking adventure 31 years ago would cast on our relationship and 30-year marriage.
I’m the one who usually has the ideas for our adventures and trips, and they’re usually audacious. From the beginning of our relationship Jerry has been a trooper and almost never says no to my ideas.
I’m thinking of a memory that illustrates this so perfectly. Ten years ago, I asked Jerry if, for my 44th birthday, he would climb Wind River Peak in a day with me. It was a tall order. We had climbed the mountain before but as part of a three-day backpacking trip. I was asking him to hike 34 miles that would include a mountain climb in the middle of it, in a day.
As if the adventure wasn’t already hard enough, we’d have to do it on a timeline. Our middle son had a championship baseball game in town that evening that we wanted to be back for. As a result, we woke up at 1:15am, so we could drive to the trailhead and start hiking with headlamps on at 3:15am. Somehow we pulled it off and along the way we experienced some incredible sights, including an encounter with a small herd of elk during a stunning sunrise. But it was unimaginably challenging. With 16 miles already on our legs, and about two-thirds of the way to the top of Wind River Peak, we found ourselves post-holing uphill in thigh-deep snow. Post-holing is always miserable, but particularly so when hiking uphill and at altitude. It was during this stretch that Jerry exclaimed, “Why couldn’t you just want expensive jewelry?!”
So the adventure is usually harder than we anticipated, but also, it almost always provides more surprises and awe-inspiring rewards than we expected. We have experienced some truly magical moments and breathtaking sights in our many years together, as a couple, and as a family.
Many of them fall in the category of “Type 2 fun.” Type 2 fun is defined as fun that may have aspects that are challenging—even miserable—but in retrospect has elements of fun. These types of experiences, such as climbing a mountain, or walking 20 miles day after day during our pilgrimage of the Camino de Santiago, or backpacking during an unexpected blizzard on Labor Day, or mistaking 1,300 vertical meters for feet on a 24-mile epic hike in Switzerland, during which it poured rain for the first several miles, came with a lot of struggle, but in the process we had grown closer for having shared in such a challenging experience. After every adventure, we returned as more than we were before, individually, and as a family. They were, and continue to be, hard-earned celebrations.
With 31 years of experience in the outdoors, we are better prepared for our adventures. Among other things, I wear boots that fit (that are usually 1-2 sizes too big), and we never forget to pack, and use, sunblock. We never get a late start. We always start early and are often on the trail when the sun comes up. In all of our family adventures and trips, we start early, and although the boys don’t love waking up so early on our vacations, the system we’ve come up with has worked well for us.
Recently, while everyone was home for the summer, our family had a conversation at dinner one night about this system we had established and kept over the years and everyone agreed it has been a good one. (Essentially, whether we’re traveling or on a local adventure, we start early, usually before or at sunrise and we are usually finished by 2-3pm. During our pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago in northern Spain, we’d start right before sunrise, when everyone else was still sleeping and we enjoyed miles of trail without seeing anyone else. After each day’s trek, the boys would get to enjoy their independence. The system is a win-win because we get to see exciting sights and experience unforgettable adventures as a family but then there’s still time for everyone to get to spend how they wish.
We still overpack but we have better gear now and our loads are much more manageable. It also doesn’t hurt that our three sons are now big, strong men who are generous enough to carry more of the load.
Sunrises and sunsets have been a big part of our life. Often Jerry and I will go on a hike at sunrise, or on a long epic hike that starts at sunrise and ends at sunset. As a family, we’ve “chased” many sunsets, and we’ve seen Perseid meteor showers, a total eclipse, lunar eclipses, comets, and other stellar experiences.
Not all sunrises and vacations
Our 30 years of marriage hasn’t been all sunrises and vacations, though. Along the way we’ve experienced hardship.
When we started our first company in 1994, we drove 60,000 miles on our high mileage beater Chevy Suburban to all the gateway towns around Yellowstone National Park trying to sell advertising in our new independent newspaper dedicated to Yellowstone. We worked extremely long hours only to generate $18,000 in revenue our first year.
In 1997, just five years into our marriage, we faced a personal financial crisis. Finally all the debt we had accumulated on our high interest personal credit cards from the long distance phone calls and plane tickets during our initial long-distance relationship caught up to us. Barely able to keep the wolf from the door, we finally had to confront it. We had to sell our first home, which we loved and were in for only 18 months, to downsize to a small fixer-upper. It felt humiliating but it also felt good because we were taking responsibility. We worked hard for two years, spending any free time we had renovating the house so we could increase its equity to pay off our debt. Which fortunately, we were able to do in two years’ time. And while I would never recommend spending money you don’t have by charging purchases to a high interest personal credit card, we wouldn’t trade the experience because we’re stronger as a result of it and we are quite pleased with how things turned out.
In 1998, when we were finally ready to start a family, I got pregnant. But 12 weeks later, I suffered a miscarriage. That was a heartbreaking loss. And due to the type of pregnancy and miscarriage, we had to wait a year before trying again.
Between 2002-2010, Jerry had four major spine operations, two lumbar fusions and two cervical spine fusions. The injuries were not from Jerry’s football injuries in high school and college or from our adventurous romantic activities on rocky outcroppings and mountaintops. Rather, we learned during the first spine doctor visit that Jerry has a degenerative spine condition. Those were some particularly challenging times because all four of the surgeries were major and were not things we took lightly. Not to mention they occurred when our boys were young and my business was at its most demanding. At the same time, I was happy to finally be the one to pick up the slack and to take care of and support Jerry.
Another hardship for Jerry related to his spine surgeries was the spine specialist strongly urged Jerry to give up three of the activities he loved–running, swimming and biking–including his dream of competing in a Hawaii Ironman. The doctor promised if Jerry would instead focus on hiking and other activities that were not high impact, he could expect to have a long and good quality of life. It wasn’t easy but Jerry was devoted to his recovery following each surgery, and he’s been able to have an extremely active life, free of back and neck pain, since.
In 2006, our cabin was burned down during a Forest Service prescribed burn. That was devastating and happened during a stressful time of our life.
In 2008, 15 years after starting it, we sold our first company to Active Interest Media, a company that at the time owned Backpacker and Yoga Journal and several other lifestyle publications. It was a great fit because I had been reading Backpacker for 25 years. As part of the sale, I stayed on board as a consultant for two years and I helped expand the model to Grand Canyon, Rocky Mountain, Zion, and Yosemite national parks.
What should have been a time of celebration—a windfall moment that brought ease and financial security to our life—turned out for me to be a mental and physical health rut. I was 35 pounds overweight, sedentary, drinking wine on too many weeknights, and I was depressed. I went to the doctor for my depression and spent the next several months dedicated to transforming my health. What followed for almost two years was similar to my crawling around on all fours at camp at Sapphire Lake 31 years ago. I was doing my best as a mother, but beyond that, I wasn’t of much use. Jerry really stepped up to lighten my load and support me and it made all the difference.
I was able to reinvent my health and by all indications, I burned the ships. While reflecting on our 30 years of marriage, Jerry and I agree that our sustained commitment to our health and fitness has been a difference-maker. Jerry and I are still able to enjoy 20- to 26-mile epic hikes, even if it takes a little longer for us to recover.
We’ve also experienced heartbreaking loss. In recent years, we lost Jerry’s father, and during the pandemic, we lost his mother, his uncle Gilbert, and my Grandma.
Given our ages–Jerry’s 59 and I’m 54–it’s a certainty that we’ll suffer more loss of people we love, and it’s likely we’ll have to contend with illness. I’m relieved and grateful to have Jerry by my side for whatever lies ahead for us.
There is research about geographical slant that suggests that when we look at a mountain, if we look at it with someone we love, or with people we love and/or respect, the mountain will look less steep. This is true also figuratively. Having Jerry by my side for the last 30 years, and as we look to the future, makes our challenges and obstacles seem less formidable.
Happy anniversary to the love of my life
Whenever I make a post on social media for Jerry’s birthday, or for our anniversary, I often refer to him as my “best half.” And I mean it, with all of my heart. But sometimes in response to my calling Jerry my best half, my closest girlfriends may give me a hard time. They adore Jerry and think he’s wonderful, but they don’t want me to sell myself short.
I appreciate their sentiment but I stand by my comment. Because the truth is, I’m a tall order and it takes someone very special to want to–and be able to–be married to me, let alone want to stay married to me.
Jerry, thank you for choosing me to be your wife and partner in life. Thank you for our amazing sons, and for being such a trooper. Thank you for your loving support and partnership and for our wonderful life. It’s been an unforgettable adventure and I’m so blessed and comforted to have you by my side. Happy anniversary to the love of my life! I love you more than ever, and more than words can say!
“She read books as one would breathe air, to fill up and live.” –Annie Dillard
I don’t know where I’d be without the books I’ve read, and the books I have yet to read. But certainly, I would not be where I am at right now and I wouldn’t be living the inspired life I’m living.
Hi.
While reading has transformed my life in so many ways and so many times, it hasn’t always been that way.
For years, except for when assigned to read a book for a particular class in high school or college, I didn’t enjoy reading. It wasn’t a pastime. It was something I did pretty much only when necessary.
At the time, I was 20 years old and a long ways from home. Feeling devastated and lost, I read the book. In Man’s Search for Meaning, Frankl, an Austrian neurologist, psychiatrist, and philosopher, chronicles his experiences as a prisoner in Nazi concentration camps during World War II.
I was, and continue to be, inspired by Frankl’s life and example. I learned from Frankl that we have the power to choose how to respond to our circumstances, and that in choosing our response, we’re choosing our existence. I went from feeling like a victim of my unfortunate, unexpected, and disappointing circumstances to someone who had agency. I could choose my existence, and so I did. And it made all the difference.
The experience of reading Man’s Search for Meaning marks the beginning of my love affair with books and reading, and I’ve been a voracious reader ever since, reading 50-70 books a year. Books provide a tremendous source of inspiration for me, and reading is one the most important ways I satisfy my curiosity.
So many books have moved, inspired, informed, and taught me. The following list includes the books that come to mind when I think of those that have had the biggest influence on me and my life. This list of favorites is a work-in-progress that continues to grow. Please note that the following books are not ranked or in any particular order.
“And she loved a little boy very, very much, even more than she loved herself.”– Shel Silverstein
I recently embarked on a 4-day backpacking adventure with my youngest son, Fin, who is 14 and a freshman in high school.
We started at Big Sandy Opening, in Wyoming’s southern Wind River Range. Our itinerary would include time at Big Sandy Lake, North Lake, Jackass Pass and Mitchell Peak, and Clear and Deep lakes.
Fin and I, then and now.
The first time Fin was on this trail was in late August six years ago when our family backpacked to Clear Lake for Labor Day. I remember planning that adventure. Jerry and I, and Fin’s older brothers, Wolf and Hayden, all agreed it would be best if we required Fin, the youngest son by 5 years and who was much smaller than his brothers at the time, to carry only a fanny pack. We didn’t want the adventure to be too difficult for him and we figured this would lead to minimal complaints on the trail from the youngest/smallest member of our family.
It worked. With a fanny pack containing only a small bag of Cheetos and a little pocket knife, Fin would skip ahead of us, arms swinging in joy. Whenever Jerry, I, Wolf, or Hayden complained about the crushing weight of our packs, Fin would exclaim, “my back doesn’t hurt at all!” before frolicking up ahead.
On this day, as Fin and I set out on our adventure, he was singing a different tune. Now, towering over me at 5’11” and weighing 160 pounds, Fin carried more than a little fanny pack. A lot more.
Fin is in a growth spurt, but even if he wasn’t, food has always been Fin’s love language. And his oversized pack proved it. I was sure we packed too much food, and yet didn’t want to risk not having enough food, or to be missing various snacks Fin had requested, including but not limited to Gardettos, Cheetos, hot dogs, homemade cookies, beef jerky, and Red Vines.
Fin and Chewy leading the way to Big Sandy Lake.
Fin and I were embarking on our “mother-son rite of passage” adventure. Several years ago, I had the idea to take each of my sons on a 4-day wilderness adventure the summer before they start high school. The inspiration for this came from my wanting to connect in a unique and meaningful way with each of my sons, individually, at a point in their life when they were pursuing greater independence. It started with our oldest son, Wolf, six years ago, and a year later, I took our middle son, Hayden. This summer it was Fin’s turn.
At 53 years old, and after a 5-year hiatus since the last one, I worried about whether I could do it. I am grateful for good health!
Fin is short for Finis (pronounced Fine-us.) We named our youngest son after the late Finis Mitchell, a legend in these parts.
Finis Mitchell was born in Missouri in 1904 and when he was five years old, his father moved the family to Wyoming. At age 22, Finis went to work for Union Pacific Railroad, and a couple of years later, married Emma Nelson. They had two children, Anna and William. During the Great Depression, Finis was laid off from the railroad, after which Finis–an explorer and naturalist since childhood–and his wife started “Mitchell’s Fishing Camp” in Big Sandy Opening, in Wyoming’s southern Wind River Range. For seven years, Finis and Emma took people on horses they borrowed from a local rancher to go fishing in the high country.
From an article published on WyoHistory.org by Rebecca Hain on August 24, 2018: To increase the number of fish for the success of their camp, and also as part of a larger citizen volunteer effort coordinated by the Wyoming Game and Fish Commission to introduce more trout species into the waters of the Wind Rivers, Finis and Henry (his dad) hauled in small trout—fingerlings—to lakes near their camp. In 1931, Finis and his father took six horses, each loaded with two milk cans of water containing about 1,000 fingerlings, up rough trails to empty the cans into various lakes. The fingerlings were supplied by the fish hatchery at Daniel, Wyo. In this tricky process, the water in the cans had to be oxygenated by sloshing around. Burlap covered the cans, letting air in but keeping the trout from spilling out. During the 1930s, Finis, by his own estimate, stocked about 2.5 million fingerlings in 314 lakes.
In other words, the people who travel from all over the world to enjoy the spectacular trout fishing found in the upper reaches of the Wind River Range, have Finis Mitchell and his family to thank for it.
I shared all of this with Fin as we hiked up the trail.
Fin and I brought along our puppy, Chewbacca, who goes by “Chewy.” We rescued Chewy last September when he was just 6 weeks old and the size of a guinea pig. Fin and Chewy were immediately smitten with each other and we figured it would be fun to have Chewy along. And besides, Chewy would carry his own pack full of food.
It wasn’t long and Fin requested a break. We found a rock that was big enough for him to sit on while not removing his pack and having enough room for its weight to be supported. We would do this many more times, and after the first few, I caught myself thinking, at this rate, we’ll never get to camp. Thankfully I noticed my agitation and reminded myself we had all day to cover 7.5 miles and that in fact, Fin wasn’t complaining. He simply was asking for short rests along the way.
Fi and Chewy taking a break during the last big uphill on Day 1.
I was fortunate enough to get to walk Fin to and from school from Kindergarten all the way through fifth grade. What a blessing that was as I have so many wonderful memories of conversations shared as Fin held my hand and we walked to and from school.
From the earliest of our school walks, Fin’s curiosity was revealed, and he noticed everything. We stopped frequently, to get a closer look at a particular bug, patterns on the street, birds, sounds in the air, the clouds, and more. He noticed that our shadows made our legs look unusually long during the morning but then were nowhere to be found on our walks home from school. Fin was full of wonderment, and joy and delight came easy to him.
On many such occasions, I would think to myself that Fin was teaching me something valuable–to slow down and to look around. Fin was never in a hurry, fascinated by seemingly ordinary things and I remember thinking about how I could benefit by applying such a philosophy to my own life.
So remembering all this, every time Fin requested a break, I agreed to it. He’d say, “Sorry.” And I’d say, “Don’t be sorry. We have all day to get to camp.” I felt bad that he felt the need to apologize. I have a lot of energy and enthusiasm, which may translate to a faster pace when hiking, or doing anything for that matter. I remind myself how annoying this could be to others, including Fin.
One of the reasons I love spending so much time in the wilderness is it’s the easiest place for me to be present, and in the moment. In almost all other situations, I tend to be future-oriented, always thinking about things to come, about ideas and possibilities, and in the process risking missing what’s happening in the moment.
As Fin and Chewy and I hiked, I felt that familiar sense of belonging and presence and a relief came over me that I would indeed be here with Fin, and only here. And oh, how I had been looking forward to this!
I have kept a record of many of the things Fin said or asked during those hundreds of school walks, as well as at other times.
One time after picking him up from preschool we hurried home and I made a fast lunch because I was apparently starving. As we sat next to each other at the kitchen table, and I wolfed down my lunch, Fin remarked, seriously and with sincerity, “Good job chewing like a cow, Mommy.”
Another time I came downstairs wearing a dress, which was unusual, and Fin, upon noticing, complimented me, saying, “I like your costume, Mommy.”
Fin could be serious, too. One time on the way home from preschool, Fin inquired, “Mommy, how many lives do we have?”
I love hiking with my sons. If we’re wandering down a mountain trail, I don’t have to work to prompt the boys into conversation. Walking somehow inspires them to talk, and to share more openly about what’s on their mind than they would normally share.
Since our sons were babies, they have been on the trail with us. We carried them in front packs and then child-carrying backpacks until they could use their little legs to hike on their own. For better or worse, our sons never really had a choice when it came to hiking and spending time outdoors.
Jerry and I were married for seven years before starting our family. While I was pregnant with our first son, Wolf, Jerry and I would talk about the kind of life we wanted to provide for our family. We both love the outdoors and believe strongly that time in nature is important to one’s mental and physical health, and that it can provide inspiration and facilitate self reliance and leadership while fostering curiosity and a connection with the natural world.
So, when our boys were young, we didn’t ask them if they wanted to go hiking. Rather, we’d say, “Today we’re going hiking!” Jerry and I considered time spent outdoors to be a core value for us and our family so if we were serious about it, we’d have to walk the talk.
It’s not easy to be an outdoor family. It doesn’t happen naturally. It takes a lot of extra work to take a baby or small children into the wilderness. You have to accept that it will be more work and go through with it, anyway. I have so many memories of trying to get our small sons out the door and onto the trail. At times it was tempting to just throw our arms up in the air and cancel, but we persisted. And what a difference it has made.
We came up with tips and tricks to make it easier and more enjoyable for the boys. Our most effective strategy was implementing the “trail fairy.” We’d be spread out in a line on some uphill trail and one (or more) of the boys would be complaining, wanting to stop. Jerry or I would secretly toss a baggie into the air and it would land up ahead on the trail in front of the sons. (Or Jerry or I–whoever was up front of the pack, would deposit a small bag in the middle of the trail for an oncoming son to discover.) The little bag would have treats in it with a note saying “You are doing amazing” or “what a great hiker you are!”) . When our sons would discover these treats and notes, it would energize them and provide enthusiasm that was good for another quarter or half mile of hiking.
On some of our usual hiking routes, there are prominent rocks and other landmarks that over the years we named Rootbeer Rock, Butterfinger Rock, Kit Kat Corner, and so on. These were points to shoot for when the boys were little and tired and complaining, where we’d promise the boys their favorite treats.
I’m pretty sure that if we had asked our boys if they wanted to go hiking, they may have declined, especially some of the longer ones we’ve taken over the years as a family. As a teenager, I’m not sure I would have chosen a hike over time with my friends, a movie, or just about anything else that was easier and more fun. In fact, I’m pretty sure, if asked, I wouldn’t have.
I was raised in Wyoming, and when I was young, my parents would take our family on seemingly never-ending road trips through the Red Desert, up the Loop Road and through South Pass City, and/or to Yellowstone and back in a day. At the time, I didn’t necessarily love those experiences and I probably wouldn’t have chosen to do them if given a choice, and yet those experiences continue to positively impact and inform my life. I am hoping, and trusting, that all of the hikes and outdoor adventures we’ve taken our sons on will do the same.
Fin has proven on several occasions what a capable hiker he is. When he was only 9 years old, he hiked a few 20-mile-plus day hikes on our Switzerland stop during our first European vacation. When he was 11, he hiked several 20-mile-plus days during our family’s pilgrimage on the Camino de Santiago. At age 12, he hiked for miles climbing volcanoes and traversing glaciers in Iceland, and he’s done 18-mile family day hikes in our beloved Wind Rivers. He did all of these with little complaint. (In fact, when I picture him during many of those hikes, I can see his happy gait, with his arms swinging as he hiked.)
Still, it would not surprise me if at times Fin and his brothers wished they had been born into a different family, at least a family with a different mom!
I wondered if Fin had been thinking this in the weeks before our adventure, and particularly now, as his feet were sinking into the ground with each step given the weight of his oversized backpack.
After a few miles, I asked Fin what his goal was for the trip and he said, “To be able to climb the mountain and to have fun.” I told him my goal was to have fun and to cherish the time in the mountains with him. I thanked him for sharing this adventure with me.
In recent years, as Fin has gotten older, I’ve felt a distance forming between us. I think this is normal. It happened with the older boys, too. When a child reaches a certain age, he starts to push away from his parents. He is growing up and wants more independence. It makes sense that boys don’t want to cuddle with their moms like they did when they were toddlers. Nevertheless, I was longing for four days of one-on-one time with my youngest son in the great outdoors.
As we walked, I reminded myself to speak to Fin in his language–to ask him about things that I know he’s interested in and passionate about. I asked him about the video games he loves playing, and he shared, quite enthusiastically, about some of his favorites. Then we talked about his various friendships. We went down the list of his best friends and for each, I asked him what he likes and values most about each. This requires some reflection on his part but he comes up with thoughtful responses for each, and in the process, I learn a little more about Fin and the qualities he values in a friend and friendship, and in people for that matter.
Before long, we spy water and arrive at Big Sandy Lake. We are thrilled to have most of today’s distance behind us and we are both looking forward to an extended break that will, at least for Fin, include lots of eating.
Fin has always loved to eat, and is a master at it. Right now, he’s experiencing a significant growth spurt, so his appetite is even more noteworthy. (He has grown 8” in the last 1.5 years and the doctor predicts he could grow another 6”.) It can sometimes feel like a full-time job keeping him fed. It’s a game for me every day to try to figure out what we’ll be having for dinner before he texts me from school to ask me, “What’s for dinner, Mom?” And since I’m not above bribing when it comes to inspiring my boys to do things that are good for them, food has been a valuable currency.
Three summers ago, when we backpacked 160 miles of the Camino de Santiago in northern Spain, Fin hiked particularly enthusiastically no doubt in large part due to the fact that we’d get to eat a delicious meal about halfway through the hike, not to mention there were other stops for soda pops or bread or ice cream along the way.
On our first European trip in 2016, we went on some challenging epic hikes in Switzerland. The first was particularly grueling because Jerry and I mistook one hike’s elevation gain of 1,200 meters for 1,200 feet. Oops. The boys were demoralized by all the uphill early on. We had ascended 1,200’ in the first two miles, not to mention it was raining. But thankfully, there were little villages and restaurants throughout the hike, and once the eating started, the complaining stopped. By the end of our 24-mile trek, we had enjoyed several Lindt and Milka chocolate bars, fondue, pizza, ice cream, soda pop for the boys, beers for Jerry and I, and other tasty treats.
Fin and I chose a flat rock near the end of Big Sandy Lake for our extended break and picnic. It felt good to take the loads off our back and to get off our feet. We lingered at the lake, and were mostly quiet as we ate a hearty lunch. I reminded Fin that the more we ate and drank, the lighter our loads would get.
Fin and Chewy, taking an extended break at Big Sandy Lake.
After our picnic, Fin and I had what would be the hardest part of the day’s hike ahead of us. We only had a short distance remaining, but it would be a grunt that included a gain of 600’ under a blazing sun. As we put our packs on and started for the hill, I told him we could stop for a quick rest after every single switchback if that would help, and so we did that and it did help.
As usual, we were rewarded for our uphill effort. Not only did we have awe-inspiring views of Sundance Pinnacle, Warbonnet and Mitchell Peak in front of us, we had fantastic views of Haystack, Steeple, East Temple and Temple Peaks to the back and east of us. And ahead of us was a field of yellow and purple wildflowers.
Then suddenly, while we were bent over catching our breath, a large dark shape–a moose–emerged from the woods and lumbered across the trail in front of us and through the flowers. We watched as the majestic, 1,000-pound animal continued down to the outlet of North Lake to get a drink. It was a great sight and it energized us.
It was early afternoon when we reached the area where I planned to set up camp. Unfortunately, it would include one last steep hill to climb. Fin, who still hadn’t complained about the weight of his pack, looked a little demoralized when he saw this final hurdle. It was hot, 90 degrees without a breeze, and did I mention, there were mosquitoes. Plenty of mosquitoes.
I instructed Fin to sit on a rock with Chewy while I went up the hill to see if I could find a good place for camp. After slogging up the hill, I was pleased to find us a great site.
Relieved that the hike to our destination could now end, I dropped my pack and went down to fetch Fin and Chewy. I offered to take Fin’s pack for this last grunt, and he was so very appreciative. As I was taking his pack from him, it reminded me of the hundreds of times I did this very thing every time I walked to fetch him after school. It was the first thing I always did. I’d take his pack to carry it home for him.
As I remembered this I felt a little choked up and as if I might cry. Right before me was the little version of Fin, with his long reddish hair and happy to see me as I greeted him after school and took his backpack before starting our walk home. And at the same time I was seeing the current tall and handsome “all grown up” version of my Fin.
There were some gray clouds forming and rain seemed imminent, so I suggested we get the tent set up in short order. Drenched with sweat, tired from the hard hike at altitude with a heavy backpack, and annoyed by mosquitos, Fin was quick to help me dig the tent out and get it set up. We had chosen an area in the shade for our temporary home and once we had it set up, I insisted Fin get inside and take a nap. He didn’t object and was asleep almost as soon as I zipped the tent’s door behind him.
As Fin and Chewy napped, I unpacked and organized what would serve as a small kitchen/eating area about 100 yards from the tent.
I made myself a cup of tea and found a place in the shade to sit. I thought about my Finis and brainstormed words to describe him using the letters of his name. I decide F is for fun/funny. Fin has always loved playing and he’s great at finding ways to have fun. He’s also quite funny and likes making jokes and making others laugh. In fact, in the past he’s mentioned that he might want to be a comedian. I don’t know how serious he is about that, but if nothing else shows the high value Fin places on humor. Whenever I send a text with Fin’s name in it, Siri changes Fin to Fun. I have stopped overriding Siri on this because fun fits when it comes to Fin.
The first I in his name is for Imaginative. Fin has always had a curious mind. I can see his wheels turning when he’s observing something or thinking about a question or a topic we’re discussing at dinner or on a road trip. He has a huge imagination and likes to use it. N is for Negotiator. Fin has been a master negotiator since he was little, and while this can be a disadvantage for his parents, his ability to negotiate will likely serve him in the future. The second I in his name is for Insightful. For as long as Fin has been able to talk, he has been insightful. He’s extremely observant and often shares insights that demonstrate an intuitive understanding about something he sees or learns. And finally, S stands for Sensitive. Fin has always been a sensitive and thoughtful person. He cares deeply about the people in his life and he picks up on the way others are feeling.
A little more than an hour passed and I woke Fin up. Given his mountain climb the next day would require an alpine start, I wanted to ensure he’d be able to sleep once night fell.
I had picked this camp site because from it, we had a view of Mitchell Peak. The itinerary for our mother-son rite of passage adventure included a solo mountain climb of Mitchell Peak for Fin on Day 2. To climb the mountain would mean traveling off-trail and up and over rugged terrain, at altitude, with an elevation gain of about 2,400’.
When Fin and Chewy emerged from the tent and joined me in our eating area, I pointed out Mitchell Peak, and the route he would take to climb it. I explained that the mountain climb would be hard. I shared that it’s not only a steep endeavor but that with the altitude he would feel out of breath probably from the outset and that it would only get harder the higher up he got. I told Fin to expect it to be difficult and reiterated that regardless of one’s fitness level, climbing a mountain at altitude is hard.
We’d have a 5am wakeup and a 6am departure. I opt for early starts on summit days for safety reasons. In the high country, a clear blue sky can be filled with clouds rather quickly, often developing into a storm in the afternoon. I’ve had to turn myself around, and expeditions I was leading around, just short of reaching the summit after clouds came in quickly. I wanted to set Fin up to have the most time, and the best chance of summiting in case the weather changed.
Jerry and the boys had surprised Fin with a whittling knife. While I cooked us a dinner of delicious chicken-flavored ramen, Fin whittled as Chewy lounged near his feet.
Fin, whittling while Chewy looks on.
As Fin was eating, I showed him the book, Wind River Trails, written by Finis Mitchell in 1975. I asked Fin if I could read aloud “A Mountain Man,” a prayer written by Mitchell on the last page in the book, and he said yes.
He who labors to reach the summit of a mountain seeks solace and tranquility. He is neither greedy nor selfish. He finds time to help others less fortunate than himself. He loves the great outdoors and all forms of life; the trees, the flowers, the grasses of the land and the land itself. He loves the music of cataracts from glacier to sea. He also loves the peace and quiet when life-giving streams linger momentarily in valley or lake along their way. He makes happy tracks in many snows which melt away, leaving no trace of man’s visit to the wilderness. He finds time to do everything needful by never letting time find him doing nothing. He is a man among men.
He always awakens facing the east from whence the sun gives life to all things. As the day advances, he strives to help others attain greater heights from north to south. When the day is done he faces the west as the setting sun beckons him into peaceful slumber and puts the world to rest. He is thankful the Earth provides his existence and for the privilege of just being here; thankful to be on the summit of a mountain which shall stand forever as a sanctuary to God and man.
For him, may the winds that blow his way be always mild and the rains that fall upon him be warm and gentle. May the path he selects to follow through life be decorated with lilacs so the beauty and fragrance of the land be with him all the days of his life. May God be with him along his way and guide him through the darkest nights. Amen.
Fin said he liked it.
Fin, with Mitchell Peak in the background.
I told him the Mitchell Peak he would be climbing tomorrow was his mountain and that I was proud of him.
After dinner, we played some gin rummy. The score was 2 games to 1, with Fin leading, as we headed to the tent for the night. It was still light out so sleep wouldn’t come easy even though we were dead tired.
Fin has a great sense of humor and loves all things funny so I offered to play an audiobook by comedian Jim Gaffigan called Food: A Love Story. I figured I might get some points given I had selected a book that combined two of Fin’s passions–humor and food. It didn’t take long and we laughed ourselves to sleep. (Two particularly funny excerpts: “If aliens studied Earth, they would come to the conclusion that the United States is somehow consuming food on behalf of other countries.” and “I don’t know much about grammar, but I think kale salad is what they call a “double negative.”)
The next morning I woke before the alarm. I quietly got myself and Chewy out of the tent and headed for the kitchen area. I had one objective and one objective only: To boil water and get a cup of coffee brewed as soon as possible. Until I was sipping a cup of coffee, nothing else could be accomplished.
I was relieved to see the sky was clear. As an adventurer and adventure guide, there’s nothing I love more than a clear sky. It would be a perfect day for my youngest son to climb a mountain.
After finishing my coffee, I woke Fin and instructed him to get his hiking boots on and meet me in the kitchen.
He was still coming out of his slumber and I was deliberately trying not to rush him, but felt the need to revisit the day’s objective. I asked him to look at Mitchell Peak and review the route I was recommending.
Fin snarfed a toasted cheese bagel and drank a cup of hot apple cider as he looked at the mountain. “It doesn’t look too bad,” he said. I was comforted by his confidence, but as his mother, also worried about all that could go wrong.
Out here in the wilderness, the stakes are high. If something goes wrong, we’re a long way from help. Fin is an experienced hiker, and he knows to be careful, but I worry about him while crossing boulder fields or falling while ascending a steep pitch of granite and hitting his head, getting too close to the edge when on the summit, and on and on and on. I catch myself going down this nervous and anxious rabbit hole and remind myself that I had the same overwhelming worries when Hayden and Wolf each were in this position, preparing to climb Mitchell Peak, and they did fine. And besides, this was my idea. But still…
I know it’s normal for a mother to worry and to want to protect her children. But I also know it’s critical to trust and to let go. With two sons who are ages 21 and 19, I know this firsthand and yet, I still struggle with it. Even with the two oldest sons launched and away at college, it hasn’t become any easier.
Fin is the baby of the family and I still see him as the toddler with long hair who liked to hold my hand and who trusted me to kiss his owies whenever he got them.
After Fin finished his bagel and cider we packed up and started up the trail. Chewy and I would hike with him as far as the end of North Lake, and get him started up the mountain, at which point we’d go in a different direction and meet him at some point during his descent of Mitchell Peak.
As we started up, the sun was shining its first light on the tops of the granite peaks all around us. My trail name is “Sunrise.” Sunrise is my favorite time of day and I love to be on the trail before the sun comes up. Today we timed it perfectly. The top half of the dramatic Warbonnet Peak was painted with bright sunlight as it was reflected below in the green and glass-like waters of North Lake.
Fin and Chewy, starting toward North Lake.
There were wildflowers everywhere, lit up by the day’s first light, and it was so quiet. All we could hear was our breathing, and the occasional click of my trekking poles. There wasn’t a breeze and we were the only ones on the trail. I was in Heaven, and feeling blessed to be experiencing the spectacularly beautiful morning with my youngest son.
As we started up from North Lake, Chewy was up to his nose in wildflowers as he tried to keep up with Fin. After a little bit of route-finding, I instructed Fin to follow the spring up through the first half of the climb.
Then I hugged him and told him I loved him and that I was proud of him. I pointed to a point high on a ridge where Chewy and I would be waiting for him to descend the bottom part of the mountain with him.
As he left, I yelled after him, “You’re the best Fin in the world!” which is something I’ve been telling him since he was little.
As Fin continued up and away from us, he looked back and waved. As I watched him, suddenly it was as if I was watching him through the chain link fence at Baldwin Creek Elementary after walking him to school and he was looking back and waving. After walking Fin to grade school each morning, I was always careful to not walk away until he was done waving. I never wanted to turn my back to him if he was still looking and waving. In his 4th grade year, he suggested near one of our first walks of the school year, “How about I wave three times and then you can go.” The next year, he’d say he’d wave when he reached the monkey bars and then I’d leave.
I felt tears in my eyes as I watched him wave at me. My little Fin with the long reddish hair was now a tall young man. What a big boy, I thought.
When Fin was born, we were surprised by his size. He was almost 9 pounds! Like his two brothers, he was delivered by c-section. I gained more weight when pregnant with Fin than when pregnant with Wolf and Hayden, so I figured he’d be a bigger baby than his brothers were. But still, we were surprised to have such a large bundle, and his long unruly red hair and bright blue eyes made him such an adorable baby. Meeting him for the first time was one of the greatest days of my life and I’ll never forget looking into my Finis’ eyes for the first time.
Because I had delivered via c-section, it took a little longer before I could hold Fin a second time, but when I did, it was magical. He lay on my chest, nursing for the first time, and I was in Heaven.
Later that night in the hospital, I could hear Fin coughing. Throughout the night, I could hear his little cough. I worried because it seemed like he was struggling more than necessary to breathe. I couldn’t sleep because I was filled with worry. It wasn’t long and we were informed the doctor thought we should get Fin to Denver to the Children’s Hospital to examine his lungs more closely. They assured us that everything was probably fine, but the hospital in Denver would be better able to assess and treat any possible conditions that were causing Fin’s coughing and the resulting difficulty he had with breathing. Fortunately, I was able to fly on the plane with him. After five days of monitoring and tests, Fin’s breathing issues were resolved and we were sent home.
I think of Fin’s little baby cough now and how labored his breathing was in those first days of his life, and I wonder–and worry–if he’s feeling a similar struggle now, what with the increasing altitude he was experiencing while climbing Mitchell Peak.
Chewy and I headed up in a different direction. I planned to find a boulder somewhere beneath what’s called the Dog Tooth, on which to sit and reflect. I had equipped Fin with a walkie talkie in case of emergency. A while later, after Chewy and I got situated on a boulder, Fin’s voice came over the radio telling me about a cool spider that was suspended on an elaborate web between two boulders he was climbing.
Fin has always been a keen observer of the natural world, and has a special place in his heart for all critters.
When he was 8, he had a pet boxelder bug he named Reddy. One afternoon, after returning home from school, Fin realized his boxelder bug had died. He was heartbroken. He sobbed for almost two hours. We had a little service and burial for Reddy in our backyard to commemorate the bug’s life.
One Christmas, Fin wrote Santa a letter requesting a “very red fish.” Fortunately, Santa delivered on his wish, but a couple of months later, while Fin was at school and I was fetching dirty clothes from his room, I noticed the fish was dead. Living in a small town, there was only one place to find a replacement, Ace Hardware. Unfortunately Ace didn’t have any “very red fish.” So, unable to pull off a switch, I had to break the sad news to Fin. That was another time of heartbreak and grieving that took some time for Fin to process.
Fin especially loves dogs. Not only our dogs, Buddy and Chewy, but all dogs. When our family backpacked the Camino de Santiago, every day Fin would encounter and cuddle dogs along the way. Throughout our daily treks and along the stops in small villages and towns, there were dogs, and we always made sure to stop and allow for Fin to pet and spend time with them.
I interrupt my memory mining to look through my binoculars in hopes of spotting Fin. I get lucky and find him. I see that he’s taking a break, sitting on a Volkswagen-sized boulder.
Chewy sat curled at my feet, lounging in the alpine tundra, preoccupied with the occasional fly or mosquito. I had to put him on a leash so he wouldn’t follow Fin. We always call Fin “Chewy’s boy,” since they connected so immediately upon their first meeting. I wanted for Chewy to go with Fin to the top of the mountain but Fin and I agreed it would be an easier climb without having to tend to Chewy and carry him over various boulder fields. But as Chewy and I sat there, Chewy’s concern for Fin and his whereabouts was palpable.
Some more time passes and I have some tears. I cry easily when reflecting on Fin’s childhood. After we had Wolf, and then two years later, Hayden, we took a pause. We knew we wanted to try for one more but due to all that was going on in our life at the time, we chose to wait a bit. That’s why there are 7 years and 5 years between Fin and his older brothers. I am thinking of how blessed we’ve been by our Finis, and so grateful that we chose to have a third. Fin has brought so much joy to our family and our life!
I check in with Fin on the radio to make sure all is going okay. “It’s going good, just taking lots of little breaks,” he reports, adding, “there are so many spiders on webs between the boulders. They’re cool.” I remind him to take his time, be careful and to enjoy the experience.
About 90 minutes pass and I hear, “I made it to the top, mom.” A few more tears for me, but I gather myself and exclaim, “Great work, Fin!” I’m so proud.
Most of my tears as a mother have been tears of gratitude. But of course I’ve also cried when experiencing sadness or worry or frustration related to being a mother. Add to that I have so much self doubt about my abilities as a mother, and I can be particularly hard on myself.
For the last 11 years, I’ve worked with and coached many women, and this self doubt and self criticism mothers experience comes up frequently. One time I was coaching a woman who was particularly hard on herself when it came to her role as a mother, and I asked her, “What has to happen for you to believe you’re a good mother?” I ponder this question as I sit on my rock with Chewy, waiting for Fin to descend his mountain. I don’t know the answer.
But I do know that I am proud to have had this idea of a mother-son rite of passage adventure with my sons, and to have kept up the tradition for all three of them.
In fact, this is as much a rite of passage for me, as it is for Fin, and as much as it was for Wolf and Hayden during theirs. This adventure was intended to provide a meaningful time with Fin and to enrich our connection while also acknowledging his growing up and the need for me to let go. I need to allow Fin the freedom that is necessary for him to become independent. That will enable him to find his own way.
Some more time passes and I see that Fin is on his way down, navigating through the steep landscape that is littered with large chunks of granite. He’s descending quickly.
In recent years, during our family hikes, the boys have left Jerry and I in the dust, particularly when on the way back to the trailhead and to our vehicle. I think it’s probably because the hike is mostly behind them and they are excited about that. The boys are great sports to go on our family hikes and they’re great trail company. As a mother, there’s nothing I love more than watching my three sons connect and do what they do when they’re together outdoors, and I will be forever grateful for their generous and adventurous spirits. For their “compliance.”
I see Fin has spotted us and is fast approaching. Chewy’s excited and I let him off the leash so he can run and meet up with “his boy.” I watch as Chewy jumps up on Fin and they enjoy a loving and gregarious exchange.
I greet Fin with a big hug and hold the embrace a little longer than normal. I’m so proud of my Fin. My Finis. We descend toward camp, stopping a few times to eat Red Vines and Munchies before getting back to camp at around 2:30pm.
Fin and I, after his mountain climb. (The Cirque of the Towers is in the background.)
Once at camp, I feel elated and relieved. We lounge and Fin takes a short nap. When he awakes we listen to some more Jim Gaffigan and share laughs while playing more games of gin rummy. He leads six games to five.
For dinner, I make my famous “epic buttery, fried cheesy quesadillas.” Fin eats three of them. After our trek to wash the dishes and restock our water bottles, we return to camp.
I ask Fin if he’ll read out loud the poem he chose for this adventure and if I can capture it on video. He is kind and says yes, despite feeling a little awkward about it. He reads Invictus, by William Ernest Henley.
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
I listen and watch as he reads, with Mitchell Peak in the background, from a folded printout. I thanked Fin and asked him what he liked about the poem and why he picked it. “Because it’s about bravery,” he said, adding “and because it’s short,” which causes us both to chuckle. I also wonder if he likes it because it’s about sticking to one’s own dignity. After all, Fin is his own person and doesn’t easily conform.
My Finis, happy after having achieved his main objective–a climb of Mitchell Peak.
Tired from our early start and the day’s efforts, we went to the tent early. With Chewy curled up and nestled next to his head, Fin finds sleep quickly. I’m also tired. Exhausted actually. But I take a few minutes to linger, and to watch my youngest son as he sleeps and breathes easily. I want so much to move closer to Fin and to hold him in my arms, like I did when he was younger, but I resist and let him sleep.
I still want cuddles like the ones we used to share when he was little. I remember one day after Jerry and the older boys were already out the door to school and Fin and I had a little more time before we needed to start our walk to preschool. Fin climbed on top of me and asked if we could cuddle for “7 more minutes.” Moments like that were heavenly for me, and I miss them dearly while at the same time knowing we aren’t mothers to raise babies. Our kids are meant to grow up.
The next day there’s no wakeup call. I’ve designed this day to be one of leisure. Fin emerges from the tent at around 8am and I make him his usual adventure breakfast of choice–a cheesy bagel and apple cider. We load our packs with a rain jacket and a lunch, his journal and the deck of cards. I tell Fin that today’s plan is to hike 3 miles to Deep Lake where we’ll have a “deep talk.” I can tell he’s curious and maybe even a little nervous about whatever the deep talk will be about, but I assure him we’ll go easy on the hike and that today is meant to be “chill.”
Fin and Chewy, approaching Deep Lake, on Day 3.
We had a great hike and talked about a variety of things, including his job. At the start of the summer, Fin began working his first official job, an internship at our local bike and ski shop. He was loving it so far and he said it was cool to learn how to tune up bikes and to meet cyclists who were biking across the U.S.
We stopped at Clear Lake for a snack and a drink, and recalled memories of the last time our family was here. We spent Labor Day in 2014 camped here and the night was filled with booming thunder, torrential rain, and lightning that lit up our tent. We woke the next morning, on Aug. 31, to a blizzard and our family collectively voted to cut our adventure short.
Next, Fin and I hiked about a mile up a huge granite slab to Deep Lake. (This area of the Wind Rivers is one of my favorites and I’ve spent many nights camped in this area while leading Epic Women expeditions.) Once at Deep Lake, Fin and I had a picnic lunch before I facilitated what has become known by now after doing two of these mother-son rites of passage adventures, as our “deep talk.”
I shared the fact he was conceived in the wilderness, which made him blush, of course, just as it had his brothers, who were also conceived in the wilderness. And I shared with Fin how much I love him and what an honor it is to be his mother.
I told him that the purpose of the “deep talk” was for us to make a promise to one another. I explained that, as his mother, I will always want to protect him, but that I knew that wasn’t possible, and that for him to grow up and become his own person I would need to do some trusting, some letting go.
Group selfie at Deep Lake, after our “deep talk.”
I offered to go first. I promised to try to trust him more, and to let go of what likely feels like a tight grasp if he would make a promise to me that would offer some reassurance. For his part, Fin promised he would stick to his values, which he said included “family, friendship, honesty, good judgment, service, compassion, humor, and integrity.”
We agreed to do our best to keep our promises to one another. I told him that I didn’t expect him to be perfect, and that I would almost certainly screw up on my end of the bargain. I explained how hard it is for me to not try to keep him safe, but that I knew I needed to allow him to grow more independent. It was a meaningful conversation and we “signed” it with a hug.
We sat in silence for a few minutes while Chewy dipped his paws in the lake and we watched him try to catch flies. We ate some lunch, and then played a few games of gin rummy. We had agreed at the start of our adventure that we’d play gin rummy and whoever got to 10 wins would be the winner. At this point during our adventure, Fin was leading our rummy series, 8 games to 7. I’m pretty sure I won’t forget our gin rummy games at Deep Lake, because at some point while playing cards there, Fin told me he craved a cucumber. This from our child who doesn’t eat green vegetables!
Reflections between Clear and Deep lakes.
The hike back to camp was mostly downhill and we covered the distance quickly. It was hot and Fin and I were both eager to get back to camp and collapse in the shade for a nap. Per Fin’s request, I cooked hot dogs for dinner, complete with Cheetos and nacho cheese on top. After washing the dishes, we played three more games of gin rummy to get to Fin’s 10 and my 8. Fin was the winner.
As we continued lounging, I inserted one more conversation. I shared with Fin that one of the things I do when I coach leaders is I ask them to reflect on the 5 ways they want to be in the world. Fin thought about this for while before coming up with Helpful, Funny, Compassionate, Inspiring, and Brave. I thanked him for playing along and told him I loved the words he came up with.
We had a beautiful sunset, which I took in with much gratitude as Fin wrestled around with Chewy. Before the sun was down, we agreed to head to the tent and listen to some more Jim Gaffigan while going to sleep.
Fin and Chewy at camp, at sunset. (With Haystack, Steeple and East Temple peaks in the background.)
When we unzipped the door to the tent, we both were about knocked out by the stink and stench coming from our tent and the piles of dirty and expired socks and clothes inside.
This reminded me of a spring break camping trip we had taken through southern Utah 8 years earlier. After 6 days and nights of epic hikes and other outdoor adventures, and tent camping in national parks, Jerry and I promised to treat the boys to a night in a fancy hotel. Specifically, we had promised them a night in a luxury resort at the end of the week, complete with robes and slippers all around.
We stayed at the Trump Tower in Las Vegas and indeed, robes and slippers were provided. We lived, and were treated like royalty for the rest of the afternoon and evening. It was an amazing ending to an epic family spring break adventure.
The next morning, as we got into the car following our pampered stay, Fin remarked “I love the smell of hotel air.” We all laughed and agreed.
I reminded Fin of this memory and we both agreed that some “hotel air” would hit the spot about now.
The next day we were both eager to get on the trail and back to civilization so we woke early and broke camp in record time.
Last night at camp.
We had a great hike out and shared more great conversation, mostly about Fin’s favorite movies, actors and musicians. During one final snack break, with about three miles left, I asked him to use the letters of E.P.I.C. to come up with 4 things he’d like to have in his life to make it epic. He took just a few minutes and responded with, Eating, Playing, Inspiration, and Courage.
I told Fin again how much this time with him in the wilderness meant to me, and how much it would always mean to me. I told him how much I loved him, and to always feel my love and support. I told him I was proud of him and the man he’s becoming, and I wondered if he would mind if I called him Finis occasionally. He said that would be fine, which made me think of what my dad likes to call Fin, which is “Mighty Fine.”
As we continued down the trail, I watched him as he walked in front of me. Such a big boy. My Finis.
I recalled the last words from Finis Mitchell’s “A Mountain Man” prayer: May the winds that blow his way be always mild and the rains that fall upon him be warm and gentle. May the path he selects to follow through life be decorated with lilacs so the beauty and fragrance of the land be with him all the days of his life. May God be with him along his way and guide him through the darkest nights.
I prayed these words for my Finis.
For the last mile, the rest of our crew hiked into to surprise us and to take loads off our backs. (Jerry, Hayden, Wolf, and Buddy.)
Soon after, I noticed a golden retriever up ahead, which made me miss our Buddy. Then, I realized it was our Buddy! Jerry, Hayden, Wolf and Buddy had hiked in to meet us for the end of our adventure. We were thrilled to see them! Wolf and Hayden took the loads off our backs. They gave Fin an ice cold Dr. Pepper and there was an iced coffee for me. Buddy tackled Fin and I, and Chewy tackled Jerry, Wolf and Hayden.
