Wednesday, October 4, 2017 // The Statement 
 
7B

Personal Statement: Climb every mountain

T

he first mountain 
I 
climbed 
in 

Wyoming 
wasn’t 

even really a mountain. Mt. 
Ann is located directly behind 
Camp 
Davis, 
the 
Rocky 

Mountain Field Station owned 
and operated by the University 
of Michigan where students 
of all majors can take earth, 
environmental, 
American 

culture and ecology classes 
during the summer — so it’s 
a typical first hike for new 
students. When my class of 
about 20 students arrived after 
a two-and-a-half-day cross-
country caravan trip, we were 
told that we would be the next 
group to make the inaugural 
climb and that it would be 
an easy hike — the perfect 
starting point for a month of 
intense summits.

The hike began with our 

professors taking the lead 
while the class fell into a 
single-file line behind them. 
Our GSIs rounded up the 
back, carrying a cumbersome 
whiteboard for field lectures 
and prepared with bear spray 
and satellite radios. To my 
embarrassment and surprise, 
I found myself literally huffing 
and puffing after the first five 
minutes. All I could think was: 
“When will this incline end? It 
has to flatten out eventually. I 
can’t breathe!” Our professors 
noticed our sluggish pace and 
made 
several 
educational 

stops where we identified 
flowers and trees.

For me, the breaks were 

never long enough. As we 
climbed, I started to doubt 
myself.

If this were supposed to be 

our easiest hike, how was I 
going to survive the rest of the 
month? Worst-case scenarios 
were playing through my head, 
the most dramatic of which 
involved me calling home for a 
plane ticket back to Michigan.

I had never been so relieved 

and proud as the moment I 
reached the top of Mt. Ann 
after six hours of hiking. 
Surrounded by bright-yellow 
wildflowers and a view of the 
Grand Tetons in the distance, 

we sat down and had class 
right there on top of the 
mountain.

The rest of my month 

at Camp Davis was spent 
climbing actual mountains, 
as I would later learn to 
differentiate 
between 
the 

“glorified hill” that is Mt. 

Ann and the overwhelming 
monstrosities which are the 
Grand Tetons.

We hiked to an elevation 

of 11,000 feet on our first 
Teton hike, which dwarfed 
Mt. Ann in elevation and 
distance. As we walked, the 
trail transformed from forest, 
to open flower covered hills, 
to snow covered inclines that 
lead to snowball fights, belly 
slides, and a dramatic slip-
and-slide trip back down. 
Making it to the top was 
even more rewarding than 
Mt. Ann and the view made 
every mile worth it. There 

was a palpable excitement as 
we all took photos, gathering 
for a group picture with 
the block ‘M’ Michigan flag 
prominently featured. We still 
had a quick lesson, scribbling 
in our orange field notebooks 
as our professor described 
the life of 500,000-year-old 

stromatolites that were still 
present at the top.

I was exhausted by the 

time we made it back down, 
but I could already tell I 
was 
becoming 
acclimated 

to my new life in Wyoming. 
My tolerance for the thin 
air was growing, my body 
didn’t protest like it had on 
my first climb and I wasn’t 
plagued with thoughts of 
self-doubt, but was instead 
surprisingly impressed by my 
accomplishment.

On our second free day, 

we were fresh off a four-day 
camping trip in Yellowstone, 

and had chosen to camp in 
the Gros Ventre range and 
spend the Fourth of July in 
the Tetons. The crowds were 
intense due to the holiday, but 
we were determined to make 
it to Phelps Lake, where 
there was a perfect rock for 
cliff jumping. The class had 

split into groups for various 
activities, but each of us 
made it to the rock at some 
point that day, all with the 
intention of jumping into 
the freezing glacial melt.

My stomach had been 

turning 
all 
morning 
in 

anticipation and my anxiety 
grew rapidly as I watched my 
friends jump off one by one, 
some more gracefully than 
others. By the time it was 
my turn, I had already been 
sitting at the top for what felt 
like hours, nervously talking 
to people who had already 
jumped several times, trying 

to gain some confidence 
from their experience. Every 
time I approached the edge I 
was pulled back by the sight 
of the water 20 feet below 
me and the jutting edge of 
the rock — I’d have to propel 
myself forward to avoid it.

When I finally made the 

jump after at least 20 false 
starts, I was rewarded by 
cheers and applause that 
drowned out my scream. I 
collided with the icy water 
in a discombobulating blast. 
The fall was disorienting as 
the high drop leaves you in 
the air far longer expected. 
I came out of the water to 
another round of applause 
(I’m sure the other tourists 
were just happy that I was 
finally off the rock) as I 
swam to the edge where my 
classmates were waiting.

Like most of my Camp 

Davis experiences, I was 

surprised by and proud of 
myself. Just as I would have 
regretted not going to Camp 
Davis or not finishing the 
first hike, I would have left 
Phelps Lake hating myself if 
I were the only person who 
didn’t experience the jump. 
While not all my challenges 
in Ann Arbor can be equated 
to those at Camp Davis, it 
is comforting to think that 
if I jumped 20 feet into an 
icy lake or hiked to 11,000 
feet I can pretty much do 
anything.

On the last day our class 

we hiked Mt. Ann together 
one last time. We had just 
taken our final exam and 
spent the day relaxing in 
Jackson. We all wanted 
to end our trip the way it 
started. It had been just over 
three weeks since our first 
hike, but everything had 
already changed drastically. 
The hike was familiar yet 
entirely different as the trail 
had grown over and new 
wildflowers had come into 
season while the old ones now 
towered above our heads. 
But we had grown too. What 
had once been a challenging 
six-hour endeavor was now 
a relaxing and nostalgic 
conclusion that barely lasted 
an hour and a half.

While I had been looking 

forward to attending Camp 
Davis since high school, I 
was still nervous about the 
challenge that committing 
to a monthlong class in 
Wyoming with 20 strangers 
would 
bring. 
Everything 

about it was out of my comfort 
zone, but I knew that not only 
did I have to do it — it’s one 
way to fulfill the practical 
experience 
requirement 

for the PitE major — but I 
wanted to do it. As stressful 
as those first few days were, 
I am so thankful that I didn’t 
let my fear and anxiety hold 
me back.

My time at Camp Davis 

reinforced my passion for 
the environment and my 
confidence — personal and 
academic. 

by Alexis Rankin, Senior Photo Editor

PHOTO COURTESY OF ALEXIS RANKIN

