I think if you were to ask a group of nine strangers how long it would take them to feel like they have known each other their whole lives, they would say weeks if not months, or maybe even never. They’re all different ages, come from different backgrounds, cultures, identities, beliefs, and ways of life in general — a bond like this almost seems impossibly far-fetched. However, if you were to ask this group of nine former strangers, now collectively called the ‘Trash Rats,’ we would say we hit it off fairly immediately. It was really the one-week mark that created our bond, which started a day prior when, after much scouting, we decided the South Fork of the Sun River was too dangerous to cross. We voided our originally planned loop through the Bob Marshall Wilderness, opting to take a shorter “lollipop” loop, on a route called Goat Creek Trail. We planned to cover this loop over two days, but our second day proved to be an experience none of us could have seen coming.
We broke for lunch around noon in a gorgeous clearing on the peak of a mountain with breathtaking views. Snowy ridges and mountain faces felt so close that it was like we could reach out and touch them. As showers rolled in, we carried onwards to our 2,000-foot descent to Pretty Prairie, where we would be spending the night. Only an hour in, we arrived at a graveyard of dead trees that seemed to expand infinitely. We checked the map over and over, searching for a missed turn or an area we had gone off trail, but in fact, this inconceivable sea of scorched and fallen logs that painted the landscape grey and black was our way out. As Aiden so poetically reminded us, “The only way out is through!” So, on we trekked for eight hours, unable to take more than two or three steps without having to duck over or under fallen logs. Where there was once wondrous greenery now only remained razor-sharp remnants. It felt as if Mother Nature had perfectly rigged a trap, using her scenery as bait, and we were walking straight into it.
In such ridiculous and difficult times like this, it would have been incredibly easy for moods to plummet rapidly. Fears of both our surroundings and the possibility of making it to camp after nightfall consumed our minds. Yet through all odds, the moments of silence were few and far between. Instead, the echoing sounds of our belly laughs continued to carry us forward, only interrupted by our protective bear calls. Humor is something I realized early on is what our group would use as our shied – it was our power.
I remember telling family and friends that I was going on this six-week program and all of their reactions included some kind of exclamation along the lines of “You’re crazy!” or “A bear is gonna get you!” When signing up for this course, fear was the last thing that crossed my mind. I understood the risks of living in grizzly country, with unpredictable weather through the summer. I have a lot of time spent traveling to similar environments. Even so, I felt myself shrinking because of the constant fear instilled by others. I doubted myself and my ability to backpack for the first time; I grew anxious in worrying my confidence was instead naivety; I second guessed my choice to come at all and allowed other people’s distaste for an experience like this to overshadow my excitement.
These nerves carried into the first day of backpacking when we were still adjusting to the requirement of shouting some semblance of “Hey Bear!” to inform the resident grizzlies of our passing through. We could not stop making comments about the possibility of a bear practically spawning out of nowhere and how scary this could be. The topic of superstition then arose as we questioned if our constant bear-centered discourse could actually make these possibilities rein true. In an effort to lighten the mood, I said “I may not be superstitious but I am bigstitious.” The whole group erupted in laughter and that is when it clicked: fear does not have to be my guiding light. I can understand the risks of my environment and take steps to minimize them, but I do not need to do so in fear. I can laugh, make jokes, keep conversations light. It is the balance of humor and awareness that makes this experience everything I had hoped for. If I led every step of life with fear of what could happen to me, I would become a hermit living in a perpetual state of darkness, or that could easily be filled with joy, laughter, and curiosity.
And so, as the Trash Rats move into the next three sections of this course, we will lead with humor. It can be Nick’s corniest puns that make you laugh against your will, impromptu trail karaoke, niche internet references we somehow all know, or my personal favorite: the inside jokes we have made along the way. This sense of humor we have built in only a week may only be funny to us in this experience together, but it has a magical and magnetic pull. It has drawn this group closer than imaginable and propelled us through anything thrown our way.