Read "
Gaub River, Part 1"
As we approached the first fork in the trail, our leader was a bit confused with this new path that she hadn't seen before. Thinking it was a shortcut to the river bed, we turned right. After an hour or so this path appeared to curve back toward the base camp. Instead we decided to set our trajectory toward the canyon and blaze our own trail. But very soon the rocks became too steep and we had to turn back. Our leaders decided our best bet was to walk all the way back and take the other fork in the road.
By that time my 100ish pound backpack was carving grooves in my shoulders and hips and my legs weren't used to walking this much. I was a bit upset about expending all that energy on a lengthy detour that got us no closer to our destination. But that's when I had to reflect back on my own wilderness training. Hiking is not about the destination; it's about the journey. Truth is, we were just going to walk all day anyway, then find a place to camp just before dark. So why did it matter if it was a detour through the mountains, or through the sand of the dry river bed?
Back on the main trail, we finally came to the river bed where we found pools of water to refill our bottles. The looming gray clouds made clear that it would soon rain, but we were glad for the protection from the sun and extreme heat. We had some showers that afternoon and finally camped for the night on a wide ledge in the cliff just above the river, covered by large overhanging rocks which kept us dry as we slept.
That night's rain had made fresh pools in the large rocks and boulders of the river bed. A few of us went for a swim to stave off the ripe scent of our sweaty clothes and bodies. At one point along the day's hike the canyon curved sharply and narrowed to an impassible collection of huge boulders and high cliffs. To see that section with water actually flowing through it would have been impressive. Rather than risk it, we carefully made our way up the side of the steep canyon wall.
Once at the top, before descending the other side past the dangerous portion of the river bed, the view from the peak was unparalleled. From high above you could see the canyon path from which we had just come, then on the other side, deep below, stretched the path on which we would continue. This is a beauty that would never be beheld by those who fear to venture from the familiar safety of the paved roads.
That night, our last in the wild, was solo night. We set up a meeting point, then as we hiked along we gradually left one person at a time to find their evening's camp out of sight from anyone else. When we had dwindled to 5 people, the leader turned to me and said, "Shall we leave you here?" And with that they continued on out of sight. There I was, in the African wilderness, alone, for the rest of the night.
Knowing it would rain again, I looked toward the cliff above me to scout out a dry shelter. Far up the cliff I found my cave which, as I said before, I was able to prepare just in time, before the rain began. The ceiling was too low to sit up, so I laid on my sleeping bag listening to the sound of the rain and watching the darkness of night slowly descend on the surrounding mountains. Alone, in a cave, on a mountainside, life seems so simple. Food, shelter, and a place to do your business--that's all that matters. The busy-ness of life and the rush of passing time slowly faded away as I drifted off to sleep.
The next morning I was awake before the sunrise, packed up my stuff, said goodbye to my little cave, and climbed back down the cliff to rejoin the others. Some had managed to find a dry shelter, others spent the night cold and wet. After breakfast and a short debrief, we made the long hike back to base camp with mixed emotions, excited to go home but lamenting a bit about losing the simplicity and calm of the natural wilderness.
Back at base camp, people turned their phones back on and started calling home. When I first looked at mine, I was startled when I saw 1:39pm. Not because of what time it was, but because I was confronted by time itself, for the first time in 3 days. In the bush time didn't matter. You ate when you got hungry. You slept when it got dark. We weren't bound to a schedule, and thus free to enjoy the time that we had.
In the end, Wilderness Therapy Facilitators Training was a great experience. I learned a lot about their program and will certainly recommend it and use it as an example in my youth work training. But I also benefited from the experience myself. It reminded me to slow down and look at the beauty around me, to enjoy the journey rather than simply rushing to the destination, and to make the most of the short precious time that I have.
