Lessons From a Winter Walk

Disclaimer: It feels a bit uncomfortable to have a platform to write about Covid-19. All of us are struggling under the weight of not only the impact of the virus itself, but also the need to make meaning out of what we are collectively experiencing. As Dan mentioned, my personal reflection can’t fully speak to the grief and hardship created by Covid-19, nor can it compare to the truly heroic efforts being made by many of our community members during this pandemic. While acknowledging this, I find relief when others share in authentic self-expression, and my hope in joining that effort is that we can continue to support one another in these efforts of meaning-making by connecting through social media via these and other types of storytelling in the coming weeks and months.

Many people have been telling me recently how they wish they could be in my shoes, which are holed up at Wilderness Canoe Base during this global crisis that requires many of us to stay home. I have the privilege of living and working year–round at camp, and I am lucky enough to be able to simply walk out my front door and be in magnificent wild spaces. As we seek out ways to decompress and get away from the wall of Covid-19 news that consistently puts our minds in a state of worrying about an unknowable future, I’ve been trying to get outside regularly and use the outdoors to guide my thoughts back into the present and just be. What I had forgotten until a few days ago, however, is that exploring the wilderness can sometimes be hard and uncomfortable.

Last week, I set out on a nearby hiking trail that I’ve done many times before. It was a brilliant, warm sunny day and I was anticipating the feeling of my worries melting away as I got my body moving and exchanged my computer screen for blue skies and tall trees. But the wet snow on the trail make hiking incredibly challenging; I couldn’t be sure if the snow ahead of me would hold me up or send me sinking through to my knees. Midway through my hike, I was raging with tears of frustration. My body hurt. I was so discouraged to be failing at what was supposed to be my form of self-care. I was embarrassed that this fairly easy hike was giving me so much trouble. I was even annoyed at my dog who was loving every second of this hike with no regard for my misery.

It’s easy to forget that wilderness experience, while being full of beauty and simplicity and wonder, can also force us to face feelings of discomfort. Many of us can relate to bouts of physical and emotional pain while adventuring; we’ve been on muddy portages that suck the shoes right off our feet, we’ve furiously paddled into the wind without making any forward progress, and we have endured merciless black flies and mosquitos that drive us into our cramped tents at night. And these kinds of experiences allow us to be fully immersed in our discomfort in ways that our culture often seeks to avoid. We often grow uneasy at the thought of discomfort within ourselves and among our communities. We don’t know what to say to our sick friends and grieving colleagues and despondent family members. We want to distract, numb, and move beyond these kinds of feelings as quickly as possible.

But when you are on a portage that seeks to literally swallow you and your canoe into its muddy depths, (or a snowy trail where you can’t find a solid footing), it’s clear that the only way out is through. Many of us have this experience of being in the wilderness, staring down a hard and painful thing ahead of us, and determinedly diving right into it. In these times of global panic, my hope is that we can call upon this aspect of our wilderness experience to help us through our discomfort stemming from our new reality. We can rest in the knowledge that we are resilient. These hard feelings and sensations will not be the end of us, just as no portage will last forever. And we are not alone. Anyone who has ever accepted a “bridge” from a fellow camper knows that when we share the load of our heavy burdens, we can ultimately keep going for longer than if we try to hide our struggle and push through by ourselves.

So my friends, my prayer for you is that you have the strength to feel anything that bubbles up from your heart and mind, knowing that you are incredibly resilient and that there is a cloud of witnesses who are ready to walk alongside you and help you bear the load. Amen.

-Kristin, WCB Site Manager