I watched a movie on Netflix recently called “Back Country.” It was about two hikers, a man and woman, whose leisurely hike turned terrifying when they got lost. The more terrifying part was the boyfriend saw the grizzly scat and didn’t tell his girlfriend. The ending was awful when the boyfriend was eaten.
Even more disturbing
The girlfriend managed to get to safety, though in rough shape. But even more disturbing was that she managed to get the engagement ring the young man was trying to give to her. It was in the boyfriend’s pocket. Of course, then again, she could not have saved him.
Brought back memories
This brought back incredible memories of my life on backpacking trips with my former husband when we lived in Southern California and later Pittsburgh.
Climb Every Mountain
And this particularly reminded me of a column I wrote in 1976 for the Orange Coast Daily Pilot. The newspaper doesn’t exist today. But it was my best newspaper experience. I’m sharing it with you here:
Why do I always forget? How awful backpacking is, I mean.
That’s what I wondered Saturday as I swatted mosquitoes, taking note of my painful sunburn, rising blisters and crying muscles.
I was climbing up a mountain trail 11,000 feet up in the Sierras, while my husband, Tim, jauntily hiked up ahead to see what was over the next hill.
The scenery was spectacular but hard to enjoy as I struggled to breathe and my head throbbed from the altitude.
I married my husband amid the flat cornfields and cow pastures of Missouri. It wasn’t until we moved to hilly Pennsylvania that I learned he loved mountains better than air conditioning and Saturday afternoon television.
That’s why I spent my first wedding anniversary huddled unromantically with him in an old bedspread in a national park in Virginia–miles from the car. That was right after our dinner of still-crunchy dry soup, just after we’d learned that the water was unsafe to drink and while my feet were aching with blisters caused by $2 grocery store tennis shoes.
“You married the wrong person,” I tearfully told him.
That’s also why I ended up spending weekends the next two summers wading ankle deep in mud and thistles in the Allegheny Mountains.
“I’ve got an even better place for us to go next weekend,” he’d always tell me.
This passion for heights is why I spent five weeks last summer going up and down the Rocky Mountains, living on rice and bacon bits.
It’s also the reason I got up at 3 a.m. one morning last fall to climb a Mexican volcano. It’s what left me alone halfway up in a tin hut while Tim finished the climb, and I danced around to keep warm, singing “Sunny Side of the Street.”
I don’t know how I forget all those awful things–the cold, the sunburn, the blisters, the bugs, the headaches, but I do.
We’re going backpacking again this weekend.
Great adventures
We climbed Mount Elbert in Colorado, its tallest peak. But I had the bright idea of climbing topless for some of the trek. Unbeknownst to me, a couple of male hikers were ahead of us and shouted a merry “hello.” I was mortified and quickly put my top back on.
One year, we also were joined by a couple from Pittsburgh on a week-long backpacking trip in the Sierras. After several days, we REALLY needed a bath. But those streams were cold and not private. Finally, though my friend, Barbara, and I stripped down, got wet, then lathered up, rinsed off and dried. At the end of the trip we caught the Durango-Silverton railway back to Durango where a lovely motel with a pool awaited, along with bourbon! We had to stand since we didn’t have seated tickets. And I always felt sorry for the folks who paid good money having to share part of their journey with very dirty, stinky hikers!
It’s funny now
Now, my current husband and I live in beautiful Eureka Springs, AR, where the area if filled with parks and trails. I’m up for the easy ones. But a number of mishaps with my left leg, and a right knee that needs replacing are keeping me off of those. I couldn’t backpack today. But the beautiful scenery that one sees off the beaten path makes these trips worthwhile.
And the memories
And the memories are wonderful.