An Epic Tale

I was bound and determined to go camping during the deep winter, but I’ve learned my will-power can only go so far when challenged by Alaska’s brutal environment. Last week, a couple days before I was to go out, I was getting in some last minute training and hiking before surrendering completely to 24 hours of pure pain. My plan was to pack everything I’d take on the camping trip and go out, set the tent up at the site, and then take it down and return - just to know for certain all will work out. But the snow machine decided not to work that day. 

Determined and prideful as I am, I hoisted the 50 pound backpack on my back and began hiking in another direction that was easier terrain for walking. I didn’t bring my snowshoes because I wasn’t planning on going out that far. So I trekked on, enjoying it as always, but that day it was -30 with a -60 wind chill. I made a mental note to throw an extra blanket in with the rest of the camping gear. 

I so enjoy my hikes that sometimes I lose track of time and distance, and that’s what happened. I noticed the sun was getting really low, and I looked at my GPS and sure enough I had already walked 2 miles. So I dropped my pack, got out my tent and set it up as quickly as possible. The wind had really picked up and I suddenly realized how cold I was. But I kept on, snapping the poles in place, focusing on doing this right, because it would need to be perfect in a couple of days. Well, one of the poles snapped into 2 pieces. I was so angry! I was so close! But I immediately began trying to find a solution, letting the broken piece hang and jamming the short pole into the snow. Eventually the tent did stand, although a little sloppy. But I did what I could with what I had. I snapped a few pictures then put the camera back in the pack.

By this time I was super cold. I stood up and almost fell over because I was so dizzy. The wind hadn’t let up since I stopped walking, so I figured I should take refuge for a few minutes inside before I unassembled the tent and hiked the 2 miles back. I sat there, finally out of the wind, but freezing nonetheless. I didn’t understand what made me so dizzy but it scared me a little because now I was so cold my fingers and toes were having spasms and going numb. So I crawled back out of the tent, turned around to take it apart, and I couldn’t even hold on to the tent. The dizziness was too intense, and now my mind was befuddled. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but I grudgingly acknowledged that I wasn’t in any state to hang around there. My pride was hurt pretty bad - I never accept defeat, and that’s what it felt like. I know it was the smart move to make but all the same, I hated it. 

Knowing I had to get home fast, I somehow was able to put my backpack on - I didn’t even try to close the top - and just walked as fast as I could. The longer I walked, the more I beat myself up... “I can’t believe I actually left that tent there and just LEFT! What the heck was I thinking?? When I get back I’m gonna get that dang snow machine working and go get it. Gah!” It’s not that I care that much about the tent, it’s just a matter of my pride getting the best of me. I couldn’t stand the fact that I surrendered, even through hypothermia. There were some hills I got stuck on - I sunk in, kept trying to climb, and would slide down. I had messed up with leaving the tent so I kept with the stupid hill and refused to let anything else get in my way. I was really mad, and I wasn’t thinking straight. I would run up the hill, slide down, and be like, “what just happened!?” But I would get right back up and try it again. Refusing to accept defeat, I finally got over the hill and kept going. My face guard was on but the wind blew right through it. It wasn’t long before my ear was burning, so I kept rubbing it, trying to warm it up. And to top it off, my brand new snow goggles were frozen and I couldn’t even see through them. Every step was an ordeal, especially toting a heavy backpack. But I was on a mission and that anger and determination is what kept me going.

The sun had set by now but I was still going to go back and retrieve the tent. I finally made it to the village, my eyes barely open from frozen moisture, my mind delusional, my body temperature lowered. I stumbled into the house and dropped the backpack. Naomi was there asking how it went, but it didn’t take her long to figure out something was wrong. My fuzzy mind was trying to focus on nothing else but fixing the mistake I made. I tried to walk over to get the snow machine key but fell over. I was in a rush and didn’t want to answer her questions, but she grabbed me and asked what I was doing. I finally told her I left the tent out there and I had to go get it. 

Obviously from her stance I wasn’t in any condition to go back out in the cold, but at the time I wouldn’t hear it. But when you can barely walk I guess the other person has the upper hand. She kept telling me no, I needed to sit down. And I would just say no, I have to go back. Bumping into walls, I made my way to the door and she actually went and stood in front of it, not letting me by. Looking back, I’m very thankful I have a roommate that would do that. I was exhausted, delusional, my ear was frostbitten, and I had a moderate stage of hypothermia. I finally dropped to the floor and started crying, still angry at myself for not being strong enough to finish the job, and angry at Naomi for not letting me go. She called someone to go retrieve the tent, which made me feel even more pathetic, but she was just being helpful. 

I’m not one that likes to accept help, and not at all one to give up - even in life threatening situations. I like to think of this as one of my strengths, but I also know this pride can be a weakness. As much as I hated to leave the tent and go back to safety, and even more so to cancel the camping trip, I know it’s the responsible decision. It hurts my pride, but at the same time I’m proud I can admit my limitations. I thought I was tougher than that, and boy, that’s a tough realization to come to. Everyone keeps trying to console me, explaining that many Eskimos, who’ve lived here all their lives, haven’t even spent a night out in deep winter. But that doesn’t make me feel any better about myself. I hold high standards and expectations for myself and I don’t compare them with others. I’m just me, trying to be the best I can possibly be, and push beyond what my body thinks it can handle, and if I come short of giving 200%, I’m incredibly upset with myself. I’m still going to go camping, but need to fix the tent and prepare better for the cold. I may hold off until spring, gradually working my way up and next year can give it another go. Anyway, until the circumstances are right, I’m holding off the camping trip. Thanks anyway for all the prayers! It took a few days to get to a normal mental state after hypothermia but I’m completely fine now. I’m so very thankful for all the prayers, please know that!