and put it in my own pack. I carried it the rest of the day. Helping was a new thing for me. I was part of a team. I was doing something right. For once, I was not in trouble. That was a big deal.
I admired Guybe. He seemed fearless. He also had a lot of wilderness experience. Guybe had been a thru-hiker on the Appalachian (sounds like ap-uh-LAY-chun) Trail. That means he had walked the whole 2,190 miles (3,524 km) from Georgia to Maine, U.S.A.
Guybe and I talked a lot about long hikes. He told me he thought I could do a hike like the Appalachian Trail. I wasn’t so sure. Maybe I could do the Buckeye Trail. That’s the long-distance trail that loops around my home state of Ohio. That might be something I could do. But I wasn’t so sure I could do anything quite like Guybe did. To me, he was a mythical creature.
Once during that three-week summer trek, he helped our whole group get through a scary situation. The trail had washed out after a storm. Thinking there was no way to get across, we stopped short. To our left was a wall of dirt and rocks that spilled across where the trail had been. To the right, the earth dropped off. I didn’t see how we could get around it.
Guybe skipped across the loose, wet rocks in his sandals. Then he looked back and told us “c’mon,” like it was nothing.
A friend of mine refers to hiking as “land snorkeling.” You can see a lot when you’re on foot. When you walk through the woods—as opposed to driving or being on a bike—you notice everything. You see animals moving through the shadows. You see the bark on the trees. I always tell people to “hike their own hike.” Go where you want to go. Stop when you want to stop. And take your time as you land snorkel through the woods.
A couple of kids made it across the 10-foot (3-m) gash in the trail. But when it was my turn, I looked over the edge to the right. Roots dangled out from the side of the hill. Sharp rocks were piled a long way down below. My heart pounded. My feet wouldn’t move.
Guybe looked at me. “You can do it,” he said, “just go fast.”
I took a deep breath and launched. I went fast. The rocks skittered under my feet. I slipped and stumbled and went down on one knee. I heard the smash of a rock as it sailed over the edge and landed against another rock down below. I couldn’t believe I wasn’t dead yet.
Guybe had a way of making me believe in myself. I focused on his calm voice. I got up. I kept going. It all happened kind of fast. Suddenly, I was on the other side. I was terrified! But I was also laughing and talking with the other kids about the crossing. It was like pushing a boundary in a different kind of way. I had pushed myself.
Another time on that trip, we paddled sea kayaks around an unpopulated island off the coast of Vancouver. When a summer storm rolled in, I felt like I was paddling through a cloud. There was so much rain and mist that I couldn’t see a thing. I was cold and wet and had no idea where I was going. But I had trust in my guide, and I was gaining trust in myself.
Did You Know?
Early Arctic nomads hunted in hand-carved sea kayaks.
After our group paddled to shore, climbed out onto the beach, and secured our stuff, Guybe taught us how to build a sauna on the beach. It was a fun way to get warm. We dragged branches and logs in from the woods. We set them up and built a teepee with a tarp. Then we built a fire inside it and put rocks on the fire. When the rocks got hot, we poured salt water on them. Warm steam filled our makeshift teepee. I breathed in the warm, salty air, feeling tired but strong and resourceful.
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