Ben and I have always enjoyed camping. Like good Michiganders, we both grew up having family vacations in the great outdoors.
Being a young married couple with limited resources, our time off needed to be budget friendly. With dogs often in tow, our vacations usually included a tent, campsite, and cooler.
In 2013 Ben, who is usually the one to push and challenge us, asked if I’d be willing to go backpacking. I was intimidated and really had no interest in it. I mean, c’mon, there are bears out there you know?! And mountain lions, don’t forget about mountain lions! I was game for day hikes, but a full-fledge backpacking trip?! That’s where things got uncomfortable.
But, not wanting to rain on his glorious parade, I hesitantly agreed to a trip. So off to Cabelas we went to stock up. Some gear we had, some we made work, some we bought.
Ben contacted the rangers at Rocky Mountain National Park (our round 1 of legitimate backpacking) and got our sites plotted out and approved. We were ready to go. Except for the bear spray! I couldn’t fly with bear spray! Well, it was expired anyways, so I’d have to live without it.
Our packs were insanely heavy. Ben was even wearing jeans – we had no clue what we were doing. I was tired from getting only a couple of hours of sleep. On top of that, we had to battle the change in elevation. We didn’t start on the trail head until late in the day. It was a mess.
Luckily, we only had a handful of miles until our first campsite. So, I went to the bathroom (because – darn it – I was going to avoid this “going out in nature” thing for as long as possible) and we hit the trail.
I dragged myself through every single one of those miles. The weight wasn’t dispersed well in my backpack. I was tired, I was out of breath. Basically, I was miserable. It was taking us forever to get to this freaking site! Plus, I really had to pee – things were about to get real.
That’s when it happened. The trail opened up, right inside a line of trees was our site! On the other side of those trees was a wide meadow with grasses dancing in the wind. We had finally arrived! I quickly dropped my pack, happy to be rid of the weight – even if only temporarily.
Ben and I set up camp. It didn’t take long. I boiled water and prepped dinner. Since it needed a bit to steep and golden hour was just beginning (a magical span of time that every photographer adores), I decided to grab the camera and go into the meadow to explore.
Just a couple of steps in, I freeze. Something is here with me. I hesitate to turn and look, but look I must. To my left at the far end of the meadow there he stood. A magnificent bull elk. 3 elk in total actually, 2 bulls and 1 cow. Adrenaline kicked in. I couldn’t believe it. This is legitimate, the real thing! It’s 100% wild out here with forests surrounding us, miles from the nearest person. And I’m sharing it all with 3 elks.
I spent time photographing the animals. At first I was hurried, fearing they would spook and leave. But I didn’t worry them one bit. In fact, they stayed in the meadow; bedding down somewhat near us. Soon, a canopy of stars covered us. As I laid in my tent listening to the sound of the nature around, I breathed deeply, feeling at peace and at one with the world around me. This is pure. This is perfect.
Any hesitation I had around backpacking was dispelled through that single experience. From that moment on, I was hooked. In the words of Juicy J on Katy Perry’s, Dark Horse, “I messed around and got addicted.”
Nearly 4 years later, most of our dream vacations center around trails.
Once we were happy campers, content to stay in a single place, taking day trips out and back to the safety of the campground. Now, we are backcountry ballers. Able to live with what we carry, freed from the confinements of a single site. Comfortable with our sweat and dirt and stink. Having dinners on rock faces overlooking valleys, staring at the stars, falling asleep lulled by the sound of hundreds of tree frogs. Waking up to your own private sunrise; a view unique to your spot alone.
Yeah – I’d say that’s pretty baller.
-k