145-When a Chewy Bar Just Doesn't Cut It...

My shoulders and hips felt like they were fighting against one another at the start of an epic battle that would undeniably end in a truce.  They would have to decide that the pinpoint pain and radiating soreness they traded off and on by the adjustment of the pack, must be set aside for the greater good—getting their master to the top of the mountain was paramount to any suffering endured along the way.  My forty-seven-year-old body felt differently than my twenty-two-year-old body that used to guide multiple trips into the Coastal Mountain Range of British Columbia, Canada decades before.  Guiding this trip from the back of the line, I was wondering when we would be having a packs-off lunch break. It had been nearly five hours since our french toast and sausage breakfast, myself running on 2.5 hours of sleep from the long, uncomfortable and pillow-less night before at basecamp.

Relieved to have reached our first major marker, 3K bridge, my desires for the substantial Beyond Bar packed with grains, chocolate and peanut butter, were robbed by a mere Chewy bar, an eighth the size and even fewer ratio of calories.  You wouldn’t know it by my face as I thoroughly enjoyed the few bites it took to consume the Chewy bar, and apparently neither did Brice as he stood up and asked if he could have a word with me.  “What’s going on?” I asked after we had distanced ourselves a bit from the group, heading several yards back down the retired logging road that we had been trudging up all morning.

“I think I’m done” he announced to me in a quiet but sincere tone.  “I’ve suffered from anxiety and I’m feeling it this morning.  If I continue on this trip, I’m afraid that it’ll get worse and I don’t want to mess things up for the group.  I think it’d be best if I just turned around now.”  I definitely was not expecting that as I cranked my head up to meet the eyes of this six-foot-something teen from North Carolina. 

Maybe with a little encouragement he will feel differently about the situation.  I mean, if we press on from here, there really is not a good place to turn around on a six-day mountaineering expedition.  I don’t think you can order up a helicopter for a panic attack, can you?  After spending countless hours with teens at the children’s home where I had worked years ago, I conjured up what I thought was a good follow up question. “When was the last time that you had experienced high anxiety like this?” I asked, putting on my social worker hat.

“I was camping with a group and had to leave,” he recalled. 

Well, that’s not a good sign.  This can’t happen; there is too much at stake.  This is not just a camping trip, it’s way more intense and also probably more impactful, too.  Lord, what do I say to that?  “Day one is always the hardest day.  I’m hurting, I’m sure we are all going to experience the pain together as we push together to make camp tonight.  Can we keep pushing forward because I don’t think you are going to want to miss out on what this adventure is offering?  Can we press into the Lord and lean on Him for strength?”

“Yeah, I guess so” he said with reluctancy in his voice.  I’m not sure that he was convinced that this week was going to turn out in his favor, and nobody else knew what he was feeling at 3K Bridge. 

“You mind if I pray with you?” I asked placing a hand on his shoulder.  We prayed for a couple of minutes on the side of Mt Pearkes at eleven-ish in the morning day one.  Then, we put our packs on and continued our ascent, one small step at a time.

As the alder trees slapped us in the face and weaved themselves between our packs and spine to make travel as difficult and slow as possible, I wondered in a sarcastic tone, maybe this is encouraging to Brice… all the while I was questioning if this was going to be my final trip in the mountains.  My legs and back ached which distracted me from the rumble in my stomach, knowing that my calorie intake did not offset what had been spent since 4:30am when I began the day.  After a much-needed siesta following our 3pm lunch, I quickly checked in with Brice to make sure his heart was still beating and legs able to trudge, because as long as those two functions were operational, we could deal with the rest from the summit. 

Climbing a mountain changes a person.  Nothing else on earth that can humble a man more than that, besides a divine God-encounter (in my opinion).  You feel like an ant climbing the Sleeping Bear Dunes, each grain of sand an obstacle to overcome; days pass as you push aside all your physical strain and aches to focus on the climb.  Reaching the summit is not just a better view of the range that you are graced to be in, but a reminder of the human heart that God formed within us from the dust of the earth.  He placed a deep desire in us to experience challenge and to feel the inexpressible emotion that swells up in our souls when we reach a place of victory—be it physical, mental, emotional, spiritual—take your pick. The mountains can bring out all kinds of emotions, mostly good, but sometimes the bad and the ugly come trailing along too like loading up rocks in our packs just for the sake of it.  So, the question is, will we continue to climb regardless to how we feel?

Instead of a direct summit of Mount Pearkes, we took the long route which kept us at elevation for an additional three days atop a beautiful ridgeline that demanded the humbling view be front and center.  It was evident by the lack of conversation that Brice and I had about his anxiety, that God was helping him overcome it with each difficult step of the route.  It could have been the distraction of the technical areas of the route, the laughing and comradery of the crew, or the Spirit of God quieting his spirit that brought the boldness needed for Brice to press on; perhaps a perfect combination of several things.  Whatever it was, by day six hiking cautiously down through a temperate rain forest toward the salty inlet below, I looked at him and said, “Remember our conversation day one?”  His smile back said it all.

-Matt