Wide Open Spaces

When I’m preparing for a trip, people often ask me if I’m excited. I usually tell them, “No,” because excitement is too close to nervousness. I try to keep the trip in abstract terms and put off the emotions until I’m on the airplane with no turning back. I staved off nervousness for my trip west until the night before leaving. Sleep largely eluded me, which would become a pattern.

I was picked up by Brett Causey at the airport and whisked to Cory Smith’s house for a pre-program video interview. I tried to avoid expectations as much as possible before embarking upon this adventure. I wanted to let the experience change me in whatever way it would.

In the backyard, I found an old garage converted into a man cave and the seven other guys with whom I would be living and working. I was first introduced to James Herr. A tall, lanky guy, his glasses and business casual attire gave him the appearance of someone older. His unique situation of having lived in Colorado Springs for the preceding year and having a full-time job as well as a new girlfriend made integration into the group more difficult, but within a few weeks his exuberant personality overcame these obstacles. Corey Woosley seemed to me to be the consummate surfer dude with the bleach blonde hair and the chill attitude. What I would find out over the next few weeks was how much reckless abandon this chill dude had for finding God and finding his purpose. Brandon Campbell, along with Corey, had spent most of his life boating, surfing, and fishing along the Sarasota coastline. As the oldest two group members, Brandon and Corey came in with a sense of urgency which translated into a refreshing willingness to question everything. Matt Guthrie, our youngest member, came to us via the University of Tennesee with an unending well of entertaining stories of childhood pranks and youthful escapades. He would use his humor to both entertain and share about himself. “Big Wave” Dave Lantz is the most conservative of us all. His unique position as a teetotaling Bible Studies major has given him a great opportunity to challenge himself and others. Grant Williams tends to keep his emotions and sharing on a low, even keel, but he has some great stories if you can pull them out. Chris Fedyschyn is a new Christian with the wisdom of one of our guides. He has been able to connect the most with each member of our motley crew and often organizes our disparate jumble of personalities and ideas. Chris and I decided to take our sleeping bags up on top of the roof of Cory’s garage, but the cold kept me awake most of the night.

At 6 AM we awoke to load up for the drive out to the Powderhorn. After a two hour drive we made it to the Flying W ranch. The staff helped us repack our packs and gave us lunch before driving us another 5 miles into the mountains. Miranda, one of the young staff members, gave us a bag of granola to celebrate our summit on the second day. Her idea of granola as some sort of orgasmic reward has earned her a place in our communal lore. Her eponymous caribou bust hangs over us as we learn about God. The remainder of the afternoon was spent hiking the road up to the trail head. Although the altitude and gradient were challenging, the most time consuming portions of the hike were the frequent wardrobe changes in and out of our snowshoes. We made camp at the trail head after an exhausting two and a half mile tramp. The wind whipped up and began buffeting our tents and our camp fire. The question of the night revolved around Jesus’ invitation to a band of poor fishermen to drop everything and come with him. What did they leave behind them to follow him and what did we want to leave behind as we embarked on a similar journey?

Our second day in the wilderness began much in the same way as the first. A 6 AM wakeup call followed a night largely devoid of sleep. We broke camp and quickly got on the trail before just as quickly losing said trail in six to eight foot snow drifts. I quickly fell to the back to quietly struggle with the altitude and exertion for most of the day. The silent beauty and breathtaking vistas faded in and out of my consciousness in between tumbles down snow banks and upended forest floors that demanded my undivided attention. My mind wandered through the graveyard of reasons for coming out here. Past relationships, past mistakes, and a past life invaded my thoughts. “Mama always said, ‘You’ve got to put the past behind you before you can move on.’ I think maybe that’s what my running was all about.” As progress ground to a halt with no sign of our destination, we made camp for the night on a snow pack.

Another sun rose over another sleepless night. The problem with camping on top of the snow, as I found out, is that when you have to relieve yourself a 2 AM you will most likely fall through. My solace from a frozen right leg was the beauty of the stars. In our first two days, we had managed only two and a half miles per day. The third day was our long march. We skimmed above the still-frozen snow and fell into a steady rhythm as soon as we stumbled upon the trail. The way down the mountain took us through shivering aspen groves and stands of ancient pines. On the far side of seven and a half miles, I was struggling with the exhaustion of three nights without sleep and the pain of humping a fifty pound pack over twelve miles. Cory pushed us to finish the fourth day’s itinerary as well and, as we slumped down waiting to be extracted, he asked us the question, “What do you want to get out of this experience?”

In Green Street Hooligans, Elijah Woods’ character muses, “Once you’ve taken a few punches and realized that you’re not made of glass, you’re not comfortable unless you’re pushing your limits.” I’m here to take some punches and push my limits. When we arrived at our new home on West Cucharras, I dumped my gear and collapsed into bed. I usually spend my time before bed decompressing after the day, but my brain was overwhelmed by how comfortable I was as I melted into a deep sleep.