I looked down at my feet while Shawn, the Program Manager at OBCA’s High Sierra office confirmed I understood how many miles I’d be hiking to see a course resupply and service project. I tried to deflect his concern and my growing anxiety with confident statements. In reality, I would be going from a fairly sedentary routine as a Development Associate in the San Francisco office to backpacking for 24 miles in just two days in the Sierra National Forest.
Lunch Feast at Maxson Trailhead
That weekend, I hoisted my 40 pound pack into my dusty Ford Fiesta and followed High Sierra program folks, Chelsea and Bill, to Maxson Trailhead near Courtright Reservoir. Driving up the mountain, my anxiety receded while I took in deep breaths of the hot summer air. I was excited to the results of the work we do in the administrative office.
After a delicious dinner of mashed potato casserole in the parking lot of the Maxson Trailhead–with all its generators and glamping set ups–I donned my headlamp and Chelsea took me to a flat slab of white granite that our crews often sleep on. I nestled into my down sleeping bag with a twinkling blanket of stars above me. I hadn’t slept without a tent in many years, and I could hear coyotes yapping at the rising moon. Josh, the Course Director who would be my teacher and guide for the hike the next day, set up his sleeping pad nearby. I tried my best to sleep.
That morning, we all helped Bill set up a feast of fresh veggies, tuna sandwiches and freshly baked cookies. Once the crew arrived, they refilled their bear canisters, first aid kits and fuel canisters to get them through the last week of their course. After lunch, Josh and I laid out the maps we would be using to get us twelve miles out, with Rae Lake as our final destination. Yesterday’s butterflies were going crazy in my gut. I was doing this!
Brittany taking a much needed breather at The Niche
Our pace was swift at first with Josh and I talking about the terrain we were covering and about what we were like in high school. Josh warned me that we’d be gaining a couple thousand feet of elevation in a few miles. We stopped to take a dip in a clear pond close to the trail and munched on a handful of gorp. I treated some hot spots on my heels, happy to think I’d be saving myself some future pain.
While we hiked through meadows and dry creek beds, Josh pointed out different pine cones on the ground, teaching me how to spot Lodgepole and Jefferey Pines. My boots moved methodically, with strained effort, causing a puff of silvery dust to linger in the air behind me. I was surprised at how quiet my pack was, seeing and feeling how large its physical presence was, a green turtle shell that held all of my food and shelter for the two days I’d be in the back country. After a few sweaty hours of walking towards the sky, we finally reached the saddle between the two peaks that were once on the horizon. Josh explained that being on that saddle meant we were only two miles away from Rae Lake. We took a break, taking off our boots and drinking water with abandon. The breeze quickly dried the sweat that had drenched my polypro shirt and urged us on. Our goal was to get to Rae Lake before the sun set, and it felt possible!
The other side of the saddle was swampy and dark–the complete opposite from the first half of the day. Josh had me lead in this part of the journey so I could learn first hand the intricacies of finding the trail. Those few miles were the hardest. I kept going because I knew it had to be done and because I had read so many student stories, of experiencing exhaustion and sweat, of pushing on and for the relief in knowing they did it. With each step, I could feel those blisters I had so carefully prepped with moleskin grow and push against the inside of my boots. We were racing against the dark now–and running from the mosquitoes. When I finally, finally saw Rae Lake in front of me, we heard the group camped there yell out, their voices echoing off the water. Knowing I had made it to this point, twelve miles away from the noisy campground from hours before, before the sun had set, brought hot tears streaming down my face, mixing with my sweat.
I felt a wave of conflicting emotions pummel any attempt at keeping my cool in front of Josh. I felt overwhelmingly thankful for being able to go, for the help of my colleagues, and for Josh’s lessons and confidence in me. I felt immensely proud of myself and also disappointed at how horribly the day affected my body. Josh smiled and nodded, acknowledging my pain and emotions, offering me a hug and a high five.
Group shot of the crew Brittany met at Rae Lake after a morning of service!
I woke up slowly the next morning, enjoying the silence and stretching my muscles. That day, I would be with the students we howled at the night before for a service project with the National Forest Service and then heading back to the trailhead on my own. I patched up my sad red blisters and hiked with the group to the far side of the lake to meet the Forest Service Rangers and Wilderness Ranger Interns. We spent three hours removing any sign of human activity – deconstructing fire rings, removing ash and replacing duff, and rolling logs away from the lake’s shore. (You can read more about the service project and its purpose here)
By midday, we filled up our water bottles, thanked the rangers and started hiking back to the Niche for their resupply. This stoked crew’s pace was swift. I heard them talk about the differences between their schools–some went to well-funded private schools with music halls and grand libraries and others went to public schools in poor neighborhoods and had to share books with their classmates. I witnessed how this crew of teens from diverse backgrounds were able to support one another, talk freely about their differences, and work together so well. When I left them later that afternoon to hike out alone, some of them even hugged me goodbye. Yes, tears came then too. Tears of appreciation for what I had seen and done and apprehension for what I was about to do alone. From the Niche, I had around ten miles back to the trailhead parking lot.
Backpacking alone is very different from backpacking with other people. With people, you rely on the group’s energy to motivate you and are distracted by jokes and songs and stories. Alone, I moved at the pace that felt right to me, and allowed random thoughts and songs to pass through my clear mind like an unorganized, sporadic conversation with myself. The first few miles alone went fast. Moving downhill released all of the stress and emotions I had around being alone. I was moving quickly downhill, feeling the weight of my backpack shift with every step. When I reached the bottom of that first hill, I laughed out loud into the sounds of the forest, amused by how hard it felt to climb those rocks the day before and how simple it was to descend now.
View of Brittany’s solo–So many wildflowers!
I ate slivers of salty jerky next to a small river, filling up and dropping iodine into my water bottles. This was the last opportunity to fill them up on trail until I got to the parking lot, about 5 miles away. I was ecstatic at how far I had already come, in only a few short hours. I passed the pond where we had gone swimming, the wind rushing through the tall pine trees on its border. As I passed a large tree, I saw movement to my left. I jumped, heart pounding, breath stopped. “BEAR!” I immediately thought. I turned my head, and released my held breath. It was a large brown buck, leaping away from me into the meadow.
A few hours later, I reached the John Muir Wilderness sign marking the border between wild and front country spaces, knowing now that I was mere minutes from the end of my own expedited version of an Outward Bound course. The last portion of the trail to the parking lot was a literal uphill battle of wills. When my path turned from white granite to black asphalt, I had arrived. I saw my dusty white Ford, waiting for me right where I had parked it. I let out a yelp of happiness and relief as I opened up all the doors to let the heat escape and sat down, taking off my pack and boots.
As I drove away, heading down the mountain on the winding road back to San Francisco, I mused over my journey in and out of the wilderness of the Sierra Nevadas. While my time on course was short, the experience was enormous. My mind felt wider, more open and aware of all the elements students experience with their crews or on solo. My muscles were bruised but strong. I had been transformed. I had been Outward Bounded.
