Relating to Memories

I wanted to share one of my favorite journal entries I’ve written. I think it just goes to show the power of these challenging solo outdoor experiences–they impacted me so much that even as I was rushing between classes and had a million other things to do, I took some time to write how I was thinking. And without much planning, my writing came together eloquently, having entered what folks nowadays call a “flow state.” I wrote this entry on January 14, 2023. At that time, I had just come back from Yellowstone in the fall and it had been a half a year since taking really intense classes. I was taking solid mechanics, inorganic chemistry, and Russian, all very demanding–the best I could do at the time was recall important moments such as the ones that follow:

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Walking to my first class, I was reliving memories and feeling like I was there, just for a moment. 

I thought of my first big hike in Montana, when I reached the end of a valley, which was the high point connecting two nearby mountains. This U shape meant there was a lot of wind funneling through. The hike to the top was hard, and now there were high winds in an open area, hitting my face with force and blowing my hair straight behind me. I walked into the strong headwind, telling myself to not retreat to the small trees that were out of the direct path of the wind. I wanted to see what was on the other side of this wall that I was climbing; the curve was so big that even though the incline was relatively shallow, I had no idea what was on the other side, like I was walking to the edge of the world. 

But when I did reach the top, and could see the other side, I realized I was standing inside a portal; the valley I’d come from had recently been scalded by a wildfire, and the other side was a lush coniferous forest, probably saved by the geography of the landscape.

I stood there, aware that I was in a special place, but unsure how, and finally felt it, the feeling that I was working housekeeping for, traveling across the country alone for, risking my life for. I may not have ventured into that next valley, but in that moment I broke a barrier, that barrier of society, of judgment, of feeling like you must adhere to the way things “should” be. I am from places of smallness–the forests I grew up exploring contained tiny pockets of beauty: you could turn a corner to find ice caves, or stumble upon a lone boulder carried to its home by glaciers. And smallness in expression, too. I was fleeing a place that felt so superficial, that was so focused on school and work that I rarely had real conversations. I felt spiritually trapped in a box. But here, at the apex of this windy valley I saw the hugeness of the landscape and my mind opened up as well. I stepped through the portal and haven’t looked back.

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The second memory that I relived was my birthday in 2021, when I turned 19. I was at the end of my time in the Porcupine Mountains, and Amelia and everyone else had already gone back to the "real world." I made the best of my situation and decided to visit my favorite waterfall for the last time in a while. The trail to Shining Cloud Falls wasn’t my favorite, so I took off my shoes, changed into my swimsuit, and walked down the Little Carp River, then up the Big Carp River, to my destination.

I loved traveling through those rivers, to get to know them more intimately. Walking through the river forced me to travel slower; and the crystal clear water served as a magnifying glass to show me the world my feet were visiting. The sand and rocks my feet felt weren’t soothing; they were rugged, but having no shoes and feeling those textures led to a sense of belonging. I walked down the Little Carp River to where it hit Lake Superior, then made my way up Big Carp. Along the way, I dipped into Bathtub Falls and walked past a topless woman playing in the river.

When I got to Shining Cloud, I was alone. I was so hesitant to swim–there were so many rocks that something could be hiding under, that could pull me in. or, more realistically, I could lose my swimming ability and drown. Neither of these are likely, but I was terrified. I ended up just dipping in, then setting up my hammock on top of the cliff overlooking this slice of paradise, reading and eating my dried papaya. I was alone, but it was perfect, maybe even the most perfect day of my life.

I know hiking alone is more dangerous, but when I am part of the river, when I belong to the waterfall, I feel so certain. I am happy like a forest fairy whose only duty is to exist, that knows that harm and good can be arbitrary, that knows that they are enough. When you are alone like that, for that long, with a mind like mine, you can revisit your darkest moments, or become invigorated from your accomplishments, no matter where you are. But I remember that day, I just was. I was separated from the world we’ve grown accustomed to. I did’t need to worry about how I’ll interact with others, which is my biggest anxiety, the one that convinces me over and over again that I'm a bad person. Maybe Shining Cloud is my sweet escape from good and bad, because they don’t judge, their feelings don’t get hurt when they misunderstand. Plants help me grow, the river shows me how to flow, the wind reminds me that emotions are temporary. The forest is my greatest teacher that I will learn from my entire life.

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One of my strategies for dealing with anxiety is to bring myself back to these moments–they are that important to me. These times in my life, when I worked at the Porkies and in Yellowstone, were extremely formative for me. They gave me hope when I reallyy needed it. They are the inspiration for the tattoos I have: orange hawkweed was a common wildflower in the western UP and it was in Yellowstone where I saw my first wolf.

It sounds cliché, but it was these moments when I found spirituality. After I got back from Yellowstone, I felt like a new person. I felt like I’d been saved. When I walked through that portal, a new world did open up to me. It was the first time in my life I’d tapped into my spiritual self. And the best thing is that I had no idea it was coming. Looking back, it can be easy to get sad that my life now is seemingly more ordinary, but I’ve found that as I tap into my spirituality, there are miracles all around me. Especially after my summer at the Porkies, which was the first time I looked back at a period of my life and was sad it was over, I reminded myself of how lucky I was to have experienced something so wonderful that I miss so much. I do my best to not be stuck in the past, but rather let those experiences give me hope for what I may find at any moment.