This is How You Backpack

Arriving late, Lassen waited patiently with its many snowy-peaks and rough pines. Parking several miles before our intended destination of Summit Lake Trailhead, and working off the photo-copied maps from Backpacking California, we were un-phased by the “Road Closed” sign that met us after the parking lot.

My guy bravely said, “Well this is it for us”, declaring the commencement of our trip.

We checked our packs once more. Like all millennials, I found myself most concerned with my phone, when in fact I should have been Instagram-level checking my water filtration system, first aid kit, and map; as my phone, save for picture-taking, would go utterly untouched in the days to follow.

Summit Lake Trailhead

The first steps in my new bright green Osprey pack were both my proudest and scariest. As we walked the 3 miles down the closed road to meet what we thought would be the beginning of our hike at Summit Lake Trailhead, day hikers and tourists turned their heads to look at us. I secretly beamed. We looked pretty legit. Despite being less-than-average at reading a map, and having no clue how to use half the things in my pack, the looks from other travelers hinted that we must seem more experienced than we actually were. It was not unlike the assumptions children make about their parents, as I realized we knew nothing compared to what we would learn, and these first few steps would be all about faking it and getting started.

We smiled and laughed shyly as the initial shock of wearing a 40–50 pound pack hit both of us. Stopping every few feet, we nearly perfected the many strap adjustments required of our packs at the end of the first three miles.

As the walk over fallen trees and through piles of snow continued, the difficult conditions paired with the avalanche warning signs began to make the reasons for the road closure apparent.

But no one spends hundreds on gear and drives 4.5 hours to be deterred by a mere sign. At least, we didn’t.

My first moment of panic set in when the trail we were meant to take was covered in snow. Although everything I would need for many days of survival was in our combined packs, the realization that our carefully discussed plan wasn’t going to work hit me hard.Welcome to the Jungle.

We set down our packs and sat on a pair of rocks, mulling over our options. It was now nearly evening, and developing a completely new plan was becoming out of the question with every falling shadow. I ate a granola bar and watched red ants trek between two fallen trees. I found their ceaseless hunger, speed, and destruction, disturbing. Reading a sign about bear sightings, and knowing the determination they often have to steal human food only added to my panic.

But the beauty of my guy and I as a pair, is that we are proud. And proud people rarely admit to being scared. And so, we picked up our packs and decided to hike halfway back to the car, find a spot off the road, and camp for the night. In the morning we could re-assess, return to the ranger station, and pick a new trail.

Choosing a spot to camp was more than just aesthetics. With our original failed plan, came the added challenge that the ranger station we had walked so quickly to reach before 5pm, was not yet open for the season. Instead it sat next to a parking lot buried in snow, as were the surrounding trails. And so, rather than finding a place to complete a backwoods camping permit, we found a boarded up cabin and no one to give us any sort of permit, let alone direction.

We searched for a spot to make camp for a while; meadows that had seemed idyllic on our first pass turned out to be flooded marshes. The night was looming, and although it was casting a cold glance on our untrained shoulders, I knew we could find something, having abandoned my anxiety for a childlike wonder in the beauty that surrounded us. After venturing off the road through one of the many patches of burnt trees, we settled on a spot with views of Lassen Peak. To say its snowy peak was majestic in the setting sun would be an understatement. The mountain sat like a spoiled queen, watching over her kingdom amidst layers of bright white tulle.

But as we looked, the road was within sight, and we knew this spot wouldn’t satisfy the need to go undiscovered by rangers for the next 12 or so hours.Looking down the crest of the steep hill, was a rushing stream. Babbling and churning under fallen branches, it concealed its greatest prize, a plot of grassy land nestled between the water and the forest. We both knew we had to try and reach it.

The Crossing

We first crossed the fallen tree without our packs, and it became abundantly clear how difficult the crossing would be with the added weight. The tree had branches jutting out on all sides, making it impossible to walk the line of it without negotiating positions. I offered to go first, as my balance is one of the few physical abilities I possess with utter confidence.

My guy agreed, but reminded me that if either of us fell in, “the trip was over”. This wasn’t just any stream, and although its course wove and disappeared beyond our view, the temperature of its icy rush made it clear that this was the product of snow melt. With night falling, and fires not allowed in the park, getting soaking wet wasn’t an option.

I remembered a clip I had recently watched about a tightrope walker. He said he would practice walking over water because the movement of the water increased the difficulty — its flow would distract your balance and off-set your ability to walk the rope. In practicing over water, he was better able to walk over (more dangerous) canyons. Without the added distraction of flowing water, even the height of the canyon became a less daunting task. But here we were without the audition.

Not something that you could have known from watching me. But in the fluttering beneath my ribs, I knew it to be true. And each time my near-failure was not due to lack of coordination or strength. It was a tiny seed of fear that I allowed to blossom. I felt it rise from my feet like a great storm and rush into my head, a tingling that made no sense and somehow took over. Call it the disturbing hunger of the red ants, or our rapidly changing plan, or the bear signs, but for whatever reason, this unnameable fear chewed at me.

And so each time this happened, I would stop on the tree. I would steady my feet and breathe. I would tell myself that if I didn’t have the utmost self-confidence, and a near-stupid level of it, that this, like so many things in life, would simply never work. So for three near-falls, I would breathe in a fool-hardy belief of success and continue to move closer and closer towards the end.

Our Camp, Night One

Later, as we sat in camp eating our first freeze-dried meals, I felt somewhat victorious. Sure, our original plan had been foiled. But this was what it was all about, adapting. Setting up the tent had been easy, and dinner had been surprisingly delicious. The comment our REI cashier had made days before about sometimes eating freeze-dried meals when she didn’t feel like cooking now made perfect sense to me.

At the end of the night we bagged up our food, tied it up in a tree and sat down on our unhung hammock, having realized too late that it didn’t come with a rope. But nestled in layers of jackets, we marveled at seeing a sky with no light pollution, a sky as tucked as we were, in its nest of trees.

Takeaways

• Take more than one free map at the ranger station. These flimsy little guys will fall apart and you’ll be happy to have a spare.
• Learn how to wear your pack. If you buy it at REI, have someone there give you a demo. If you’ve gone home without the instructions or have since forgotten, here’s a refresher.
• First time eating Freeze Dried Food? Don’t worry — it’s actually pretty good. We stuck to the Mountain House brand on this trip. Favorite entrees include: Breakfast Skillet, Chili Mac with Beef, and the Mac N Cheese. Read the “serving size” with a grain of salt. If you haven’t eaten much after a day of hiking — you may not want to share.

Thanks for reading. I’m Larissa, writing poems, lists, and stories about my life. Follow me and check out my latest adventures here.