D

riving through the valley,
we
could
see
a
storm

looming in the distance, but

all we could do was hope it wouldn’t
be coming toward us. It’s incredibly
difficult to predict where a storm
is heading in the mountains, as one
ridge will force it east and the next
will push it south.

As we pulled up to the trailhead,

with the presence of the storm fading
from our minds, a clap of thunder
echoed
between
the
mountains,

reminding us that there would be no
escape.

This was exactly what I was hoping

wouldn’t happen. I was being dropped
off with my girlfriend at a trailhead,
and from there we would be almost
completely alone for the next six days.

The trail, the Sawback Trail in

Alberta,
Canada,
would
take
us

from Lake Louise to Banff, Alberta.

Winding through three passes and
over 46 miles, it was easily the most
ambitious backpacking trip either of
us had taken.

I was used to backpacking in

Michigan and in Ontario, Canada, and
had done so a number of times, but
this was a completely new adventure.
Backpacking at high elevation changes
everything, from how the weather
moves,
to
causing
below-freezing

temperatures in July. And I had
always gone out in bigger groups, with
someone who was more experienced
than I was at the time.

I was trying to put on a façade

of
being
uber-confident
and
not

concerned about what we were faced
with so my girlfriend wouldn’t get
any more worried, but my nerves
were eating away at me. I couldn’t
stop wondering if we were making the
right decision.

Reluctantly, we lifted our nearly

50-pound
backpacks
on
to
our

shoulders, clipped our hip belts and
set off. Soon after we started trekking
up the rest of the pass, the storm
caught us. The near golf ball-sized
hail forced us to stop and wait under a
tree, but the lightning suggested that
might be unwise.

At
this
moment,
we
were

questioning what the hell we were
even doing on that trail. Neither of
us had backpacked in Banff, or in any
sort of elevation for that matter.

On top of that, I was the more

experienced backpacker of the two
of us, leaving me to make most of
our decisions. When I made this
realization, coupled with being in the
mountains and turbulent conditions, I
became more scared than I ever have
been while backpacking.

The pressure of knowing that your

safety, as well as someone else’s safety,
rides completely on your decision
making is scary and overwhelming.
Regardless of how ready I felt prior
to the trip, at that moment trekking
up Boulder Pass I felt everything but
that.

We were challenged with whether

or not to push forward, completely
unsure of how long the storm would
hover above us. On one hand, it could
stop advancing once it reached the top
of the pass, but it was just as likely
to keep going through the pass and
follow us down the valley on the other
side.

If we had turned around, we

wouldn’t have woken up in the middle
of our first night to the vicious purr
of a wolverine outside our tent (it
was confirmed to be a wolverine by a
friend who was at the same campsite
a few days later who said he saw one
there).

If we had turned around, we

wouldn’t have gotten trail lost for
over four hours when we came across
a part of the trail that had been
completely wiped out by an avalanche
the previous winter.

But above all, if we had turned

around, I wouldn’t know that I could
do it: I would be left wondering if I
could conquer the rest of the trail.

The sense of accomplishment we

felt as we hitch-hiked our way down
the mountain after coming out on
Mount Norquay, the southern end of
the Sawback Trail, was unbelievable.

When I found out about the trail

several months prior, it seemed like
something incredible to do, but highly
unlikely to take on given my lack of
experience navigating complicated
trails and hiking in big mountain
ranges. But I went for it anyway,
trusting what I did know, and came
away knowing that doubting myself
wouldn’t get me anywhere. It’s those
scary, risky situations that teach the
most.

Backpacking (sometimes too often)

presents me with near life or death
situations, where I’m forced to trust
my decision making, and that’s one of
the reasons I love it so much. There is
no room to doubt yourself.

On that day heading up Boulder

Pass, I was definitely doubting myself.
I had little confidence that we would
get off that trail unscathed. But we
did, and we’re both better for it.

Wednesday, April 4, 2018 // The Statement
6B

Navigating through apprehension

BY COLIN BERESFORD, DEPUTY STATEMENT EDITOR

Courtesy of Miranda Miley