Adventurers Level Up

Where is the line between pushing a comfort zone and pushing too far?

Last year, my kids and I joined my in-laws for a 3 day backpacking trip to Geraldine Lakes near Jasper, AB. We had previously attempted backpacking with the same crew when my kids were only 3 and 5 years old, in the summer of 2017, after we had all lost the person who connected us, our Daddy/husband/son/brother/uncle Trevor Nickel. Between the smallness of the kids and the weight of our grief, that trip was probably doomed from the start. The kids weren’t big enough to carry any of their own gear, leaving me to carry all of it (fortunately, with other adults, we could divide up the communal cooking/food/water purification system or it would have literally been impossible) with a very heavy pack. Walden, only 3, didn’t want to hike much, so for much of the way I carried him as well. Juniper, having regressed on toilet training after the death of her father, had toileting accidents – no fun to clean up with no running water and extremely limited clothing supply. Grandpa got some kind of tummy bug. And I had a full-on meltdown in front of everyone and spent a night in the pit of shame. There were some good memories but overall, for me, it was not a great time.

So when Juniper – who normally has to be convinced to do the outdoorsy things – said she wanted to go backpacking last year, we jumped on it. Geraldine lakes was absolutely not without incident either. The kids were now able to walk independently carrying at least some of their own stuff, but it turned out to be a 9k hike instead of the 6k we were expecting, and the terrain is mostly all giant boulders – not the easiest hike, even without large, heavy packs. My nephew had a fall on a steep, rocky section that resulted in him and his parents hiking back out for stitches to his chin, and champion determined troopers that they are, returned the next day to finish the trip with the rest of us. Despite these challenges, we emerged jubilant and victorious that we had done such a hard thing together. The kids said “can we go again next year? But maybe something without so many giant rocks??” I felt like their perspective on what “difficult” was had changed significantly, and in the end  it felt like a massive parenting win to have expanded our comfort zones. After all, I thoroughly enjoy physically challenging outdoor activities, and I’d really like it if they did too, so we can all relish our aliveness together in this way. It also felt like a turning point in my appreciation of my ongoing relationship with Trevor’s family – that we all liked to do this cool stuff together – and I was filled with gratitude to have them in our lives. 

There was no question that we were going to do another family backpacking trip this year. I let my sister-in-law Kirsten take the reins on planning where we would go with “fewer giant rocks.” She booked us a 4-day trip on Skoki loop, behind Lake Louise ski resort. Skoki has long been on my bucket list (I’d like to ski out there in the winter!), and though it was longer than Geraldine both in distance and number of days, it felt like a good step up. However, this trip was not meant to be. As our booking approached for the second weekend in July, we received messages advising that due to a late/cool spring, backcountry conditions were still wintery. A few days before we were meant to leave, Kirsten sent us a trail report that conditions were rated as “poor,” with lots of mud and significant snow pack remaining, even some avalanche danger in some areas. Then I tested positive for Covid, so pulling the plug became an easy decision. Clearly, this was not the year for Skoki Loop.

I spent the next two weeks in a fog of fatigue and illness, and only as this lifted did the disappointment set in and realization that we would now not be backpacking this year at all. Kirsten, Renin (my nephew) and George/Grandpa had another trip planned that initially we all assumed would be too difficult for my kids and their relative lack of experience. However, now I asked for details. It was a 5-day trip to Egypt Lake/around Pharoah’s peak covering between 50 and 65km depending on side trips/day hikes. Hmm. That did sound like a lot. I ran it by the kids, and they both said “No… that sounds too hard/long.” I sighed and let it go, reasoning that we didn’t have enough tent sites booked anyway. 

Then something funny happened. I had purchased a number of fancy dehydrated backpacking meals from MEC. They’re not cheap, and I was lamenting the expense now that we would not be going anywhere to use them this year. So I checked the expiry date on one of them and did a double take. 2051? That can’t be right! I mean, there’s no reason this stuff should go bad, but that’s… 29 years from now?! I joked with my in-laws about it, and said “I hope I’m still up for backpacking when I’m 71 years old!!!!” My mother-in-law then did the math and returned that Juniper would be 39 and Walden would be 37. I told the kids and we all gawped. I said to them “I hope you’ll still want to backpack with me in 2051! Maybe with MY grandkids!” And then Walden said “what about Grandpa?!” and I paused, calculating, and sobered. “Well… Grandpa would be almost 98. I hope that Grandpa’s still here… but I don’t think he’ll be backpacking.”

Suddenly, I knew I couldn’t wait another year to do a family backpacking trip. We all know better than most that you never know how much time you have. 

Grandpa was also keen. “I could bunk with Kirsten and Renin and you guys can have the other site.” I told the kids I thought we should do it. “I know it’s a bit long. But I think you can do it. Also, we’d get to take the gondola and the Standish chair lift up to the top of Sunshine to start!” They were a bit hesitant, but also keen to adventure with their cousin and auntie and Grandpa. We started planning logistics. 

The logistics for us may not have set us up for success. We had also planned to visit my good friend at her family cabin in the Shuswap on this week of vacation, and not wanting to cut our time there short, this meant a sunrise departure by boat to drive back to Sunshine for mid-day. 

I figured that good adventures are often worth getting up early for though, and the kids were troopers. Between the drive, time zone hour loss, getting organized and getting up the gondola/chairlift (which was pretty awesome), we didn’t start hiking until after 2pm. 

We were immediately rewarded with spectacular views, but as we settled into hiking, the kilometers ticked by slowly. It was hot (27C even above tree-line), there was no shade, and our packs were heavy. Walden said “we’re never going to get there!” and the two ten-year-olds were uncharacteristically quiet. We stopped to soak our hats in each little stream we passed.

By the time we’d made it 3k, Juniper’s colouring seemed off to me and although she said she was fine I think she was not feeling great as she refused the candy Grandpa proffered. Shortly after that, she stopped to poop, and then so did Walden. I joked about how it was a good thing I’d brought my little shovel and started to worry about maybe having not packed enough TP. I also chuckled to myself about how much more like crewing ultrarunners this was. And then Juniper had to poop again a couple of km later. I thought maybe after that she would perk up, but she remained quiet – not complaining, but not her usual chipper self either. Granted, she’s often not the most enthusiastic about physical challenge (and usually IS complaining), so I didn’t think too much of it at this point. Besides, I was preoccupied with Walden who was whining, tearing up, and saying he couldn’t do it/we’d never make it there pretty much the whole way, forcing me into constant positive pep-talk mode. There were also a TON of mosquitos and bugs and this was also a source of complaint. He then started asking me questions like, “Mom, would you rather be doing this right now, or cuddling a kitten?” That kid is too smart, but I didn’t fall for it. “I love cuddling cats, but only for a short time. Isn’t it beautiful out here? I love doing this with my favourite people! Not everyone gets to see this, aren’t we lucky?” He just looked at me. Checkmate little buddy, keep walking.

At about the 10k mark, we realized everyone was running out of water so stopped to filter and fill up. It was already pretty late and everyone was clearly tired. I was glad both kids had consumed their water so I knew they weren’t getting dehydrated, as I was personally feeling a bit parched – though Walden kept stopping to pee so I figured he was good. I forced Juniper to have a snack (she was not impressed, but complied) and we hoped that the sign saying our campground was 4.8k away was incorrect – as we’d expected a 13km hike in. We thought we had about 1.5k to the summit of Simpson Pass, and then 2k down to Egypt Lake campground. I cajoled Walden up to the summit while Juniper trailed behind with her aunt and cousin. The wildflowers were incredible! We felt quite victorious to reach the top, and the view was so rewarding. I did notice in dismay that it was already after 7pm. We had a break and a snack but didn’t let anyone get too comfortable, knowing we still had a few km to go and that we were moving slowly. 

As soon as the descent began, Juniper turned into a crying mess (Walden may have also still been complaining but walked most of the rest of the way with Grandpa), saying her ankles hurt. By this time my feet were also killing me and my pack was grinding into my shoulders so I could relate. I attempted to encourage her to think of something else, advised that discomfort wouldn’t actually hurt her, and she could cry if she needed to (but that I wasn’t sure that was helping her). I tried to point out everything that was even remotely interesting. Mostly I just kept repeating over and over again “you’re ok, you’ve got this, it’s ok.” Something twinged in the back of my brain. I had made us do this. Was she going to blame/be upset with me? But no, she kept stopping for hugs and returning my “I love yous.” 

What seemed like an interminable amount of time later (9pm), we finally arrived. Darkness was falling and there was only one tent site left even though we’d booked two. I quickly set our tent on the grass beside Kirsten’s while Grandpa started cooking dinner. I asked Juniper to help me set up our sleeping stuff inside while I reorganized food for the bear-safe lockers. When I checked in the tent, Juniper had lain down under my sleeping bag.

“C’mon sweetie, let’s get some supper.”

“I’m not hungry. I just want to go to sleep” she said.

“I know, and you can soon. But I think you’ll feel better if you eat something.” I convinced her to walk over to the food prep area where supper was almost ready, but she just sad at the bench with her head on the picnic table, ignoring her cousin and brother, who were happily chattering away. She then ate 1-2 noodles of Kraft Dinner and pushed away her bowl.

“Try to eat something, it will help. Can I get you something else? Some crackers?” She assented, so I handed her a wheat thin, and then proceed to feed myself and help Walden get seconds. The boys were clearly famished and devouring dinner. I then looked over to see that J had eaten only a tiny corner of the wheat thin. This was very out of character.

“Do you feel sick? Barfy?” She said no, but I didn’t believe her since she refused to eat. Finally, I took her back to the tent and after changing clothes, she fell immediately asleep. 

I started to feel guilty. Maybe this trip was too much. Maybe I let my selfish passion for big adventures get in the way of doing what was right for my kids, just doing what I wanted to do. And then Walden crawled into the tent after helping to clean up, his happy camper self. 

“I’m so proud of you buddy!” I whispered to him, “you did such a huge hike today!”

He grinned and snuggled in. “I’m so proud of you too,” he returned. “You hiked all that way with a really heavy pack! I don’t know how you did it!” Tears almost sprang to my eyes. He’s an affectionate kid, but I was surprised to be appreciated for my own effort – something that often seems rare in motherhood. We hugged and smiled at each other in the almost-dark. “I love you!” he professed, curling into his sleeping bag.

I then laid awake for several hours wondering if Juniper was ok, if she was going to throw up in the tent (I’d readied an empty ziploc bag just in case), if she’d gotten dehydrated, if I’d pushed her too hard. Eventually, sometime around 1am, she woke up shivering. This didn’t help my worry as I traded sleeping bags with her (it turns out her sleeping bag is just crappy compared to mine). As soon as she wrapped my down bag around herself though, she was right back to sleep and eventually I fell asleep too. 

The next morning, I mostly expected her to wake up hungry and fine. She said she felt okay as we walked to the outhouse, but started asking questions about what we were doing that day and how far we’d have to hike, tears clearly just below the surface. I told her not to worry, she’d feel better after some breakfast. Then, as we were walking towards the food area, we heard the unmistakable sound of an approaching helicopter. The helicopter then landed so close that we had to run out of the way! As it was nearing, I said “I think that’s a rescue helicopter!” but then as it powered down and a Parks Canada employee hopped out with a backpack, all sense of emergency dissipated. For me. Then I noticed that Juniper was shaking and crying, terrified. 

“Oh sweetie! It’s ok! I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t know (turns out that this helicopter could also be used for rescues, but not today). Everyone is okay!” The pilot was very friendly and the boys delighted in checking out the chopper – they were even allowed to sit inside, destined to be a trip highlight for Walden. It took awhile for Juniper to calm down, but eventually she agreed to pictures with the helicopter too. The Parks guy finished his outhouse maintenance detail and the helicopter took off again.

Despite this entertainment, Juniper remained emotional and still had no appetite, eating only a couple of bites of her breakfast in contrast to the boys, who wolfed down yet another meal, and despite the fact that it was food she normally loves (hash browns, eggs, bacon). My concern resurfaced. She confessed that she’d like to ride a helicopter home (I had to explain that this would cost a fortune unless she were really hurt – and then it would still probably cost a fortune but I wouldn’t think twice about paying it), and continued to make anxious comments about not liking how far away from everything we were, wanting to go home, and asking obsessively how many kilometers the other days were going to be. I gently reminded her that she’d been overwhelmed at Geraldine Lakes last year too, when we were waiting for Renin to return from getting his stitches, but that eventually the feeling had passed and we’d had a really great time. She nodded and said “I know.” We did a couple of short hikes that day to see some spectacular lakes and she settled in a bit but ate very little all day, constantly close to tears, seeking reassurance and saying she wanted to go home. 

Shortly before dinner time I decided I needed to give her the choice to keep going on the loop around Pharaoh’s peak or not, all the while wrestling with whether that was putting too much responsibility on her shoulders. I was worrying that I might have made the wrong choice to do this longer trip – but also felt confused by the different reactions of the two kids. I didn’t think it was beyond their physical capacity, and expected them both to bounce back from any challenging moments the way Walden was doing (who at this point, was delightedly playing in a stream with Renin). But perhaps I had overestimated her tolerance for difficulty, the hike in certainly had felt longer than I was expecting. I also wasn’t living in her body, and maybe it really was too much. Habitual parent anxiety was there too: maybe she was coming down with something (Covid? Again?). It was only later that I realized what I now think was the most likely issue: she may have suffered a bit of heat exhaustion on the hike in, and because we hadn’t addressed it, the effects were lingering.

I pulled her aside to chat and explained to her that I didn’t want her to grow up and feel like I forced her to do terrible trips that she hated and felt trapped on. I said if she didn’t feel up to the rest of the trip, that the three of us could hike back to the car the next day instead of doing the remaining two nights/three days. (I may also have said “I don’t want to be a bad mom,” which I feel bad about seeking reassurance for). She burst into tears, telling me she loved me and wrapping her arms around me. She then said she was worried she’d regret it either way: she’d regret not doing the rest and missing out if we bailed, and she’d regret not choosing to go home if we kept going and that was too hard. I was surprised to hear how rational she was about the options, but mostly surprised that she thought she might regret not continuing. I thought for sure she’d immediately say she wanted to go home. She also was not keen to separate from Grandpa, Auntie, and her cousin. “I don’t want to hike out without them!”

She ate a little more at supper and then we played several rounds of Uno and a raucous game of Yahtzee (she’s got a mean dice roll). By bedtime, spirits up, I was back to thinking we were planning to keep going, even though she’d never given me an answer. However, the next morning at breakfast, she ate two bites again and then stopped, in tears. I pulled her aside, frustrated. “You have to eat. We can’t do 3 more days of you crying and not eating. If you’re not eating, we’re going to have to go home.” I wished there was a way to know if this was anxiety/overwhelm (which I suspected), or something more physical, a growing concern. 

“I’m worried if we go home now, you’ll never want to backpack again,” I told her. She shook her head immediately. “No. But maybe next year we can do something shorter and I can get my confidence back.” My heart broke a little at that. I had splintered her confidence, when my intention had been to do the exact opposite. 

I announced to the others that we would hike out and part ways. Walden was disappointed, he wanted to keep going, but at the same time was saying he didn’t want to backpack today. About an hour later, as we were furiously packing everything up, I saw Kirsten and George and Renin having a pow wow a little ways away. I overheard Kirsten saying “I’m sure nothing would happen but..” and then she came over and told me they were going to hike out with us. 

It was my turn to burst into tears. Filled with guilt, I said “this doesn’t sit well at all! I totally hijacked this trip, we weren’t even supposed to come! Now I feel awful.” And she just said “I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you guys on the way out and we’d chosen not to go with you.” Juniper hugged me. “It’s okay Mom.” George said “we started this trip together, so we’re going to finish it together.” I had the thought that if I’d known that’s what they’d do I might’ve pushed Juniper harder, and then that was followed quickly by a little voice that said “this is an act of love. Maybe you just need to accept it and take it in.”

Humbled, we set off. The day was warming up and we began to climb immediately. Walden went back to his refrain of being unable to keep going and wanting a break. I went back to bribing him with candy every 1/2km. Juniper was uncomplaining, but also seemed to be in a more positive frame of mind now that she knew we were headed for home. We met an older guy hiking the GDT (Great Divide Trail – from Waterton to north of Jasper totalling ~1100km) and the kids really seemed to get how impressive that was given our context. Back up at the summit of the pass, we marveled at the beauty of Egypt and Scarab lakes – we’d been so focused on the way in, or maybe it was the waning daylight, that we’d not noticed the spectacular view.

We also had lunch and Juniper, initially reluctant, ate a whole wrap. I couldn’t help wondering if she would have turned around anyway that day and been ok if we’d kept going, or if she really was feeling better because we were on our way out. As it was, it was still a very long day, followed by a late/long drive all the way back to Edmonton. Walden complained the whole time about his feet hurting and needing a break. By the halfway point my feet and shoulders were also screaming. In the end, it was more than enough for all of us and we were so relieved to get back to the base village at Sunshine. Backpacking is way harder than running! We saw lots of runners doing day trips and the kids couldn’t believe how far they were going to run in and out, Kirsten and I trying to explain how much different it is without a huge pack!

I still don’t know if it was poor judgment to push for this trip in the first place, or if I just mis-read the challenges in the moment and should have been trouble-shooting possible heat exhaustion (something I will certainly be more careful of in future). I am proud of the way Juniper and I openly talked and despite the challenges, I came home feeling the trip brought us closer. Many cuddles and “I love yous” were exchanged as we journeyed home. And really, we still had 3 magnificent mountain days with truly awesome views, time together, and pride to be taken in what we accomplished. Maybe it was just a little more Type 2 fun than what I usually aim for with kids. Or perhaps it was just the discomfort of our comfort zones being stretched and these little adventurers “levelling up” again this year.