So there we were. I had just led my small group of six Outward
Bounders into a huge, sunny meadow on one of the most beautiful
mornings we had seen in the nineteen days spent out in the
mountains. Even the snow had melted off, and we would have
been in high spirits, only we had no idea where we were.
According to our maps and compasses, we should have been
on the top of a ridge surrounded by thick trees. Clearly,
we were not. What were we going to do? This was our final
expedition, and the six of us had three days to travel approximately
thirty miles without the guidance of our instructors - it
was up to us to make all of the decisions and reach the last
campsite by dusk that night.
When a closer study of the maps revealed that we had climbed
the wrong drainage and were about four miles out of our way,
Rob started cursing, Bryn flopped face-down into the grass,
and John stalked off by himself. But our whining and complaining
weren't getting us anywhere, so all we could do was shoulder
our packs and set off again. Each of us was praying that someone
from Outward Bound would magically appear with a large van
and whisk us off to the campsite before night fell and we
were stranded until dawn.
Of course, this didn't happen, so we just kept walking. And
walking. And checking the maps carefully! And then walking
some more. We passed the first paved road we had seen in three
weeks (and somehow resisted the temptation to hitchhike to
the campsite). We passed an outhouse with real toilets and
mirrors, again the first we had encountered since leaving
base camp.
Then we reached the bottom of what our maps told us was going
to be a massive hill, at the top of which our instructors
and friends should be waiting. It was only 3:00pm, so all
we could do was keep walking up and up. And before we even
knew it, there was our final campsite! The Outward Bound staff
made a finish line, and the six of us ran across it, threw
down our packs, and collapsed in a dogpile on top of our instructor
Matt. It was only 5:00pm, and we had even managed to reach
the end before the other group had arrived, and they stayed
on track the whole time.
It turns out that my buddies and I hiked almost fifteen miles
that day, taking a "scenic detour" through that alpine meadow.
In retrospect, I'm thrilled we made that detour: rallying
the group's spirits and completing our final expedition has
been one of the greatest feats I've ever accomplished. Although
I never want to backpack fifteen miles in a day ever again,
the confidence and belief in myself that I gained during those
three weeks in the bush will inspire me for the rest of my
life.
