Recovering

S. has taken off work and driven up to help me through my hernia repair surgery and the first few days of recovery.

At the hospital after they have put in my IV and after all the nurses leave and we are waiting, I say to S. in a quivering voice “I’m scared of dying.” My voice has an intensity that I’ve never known.

“But you’ll be dead and won’t even know,” she replies, “What exactly are you scared about?”

 I admire S. because she genuinely is not scared of dying.

“I still need to finish hiking the PCT,” I say earnestly, “I don’t want to die yet.”

I can feel the fear rising up in my throat and S. must see it on my face because she pulls out her iphone and opens up Gaia GPS and starts asking me questions about map layers and topo maps and trails. It calms me down and I can feel the hope creep back into my heart. And then they come in and wheel me into surgery.

***
I wake up with a giant wound in my core. I am completely helpless the first few days. I sleep more than I am awake. The surgeon told me there would be a lot of pain but I couldn't have imagined this. Like a mountain lion ripped out my insides.

Getting out of bed to go to the bathroom is a major endevor and I can barely manage it. My brain is a fog from the anasesia and then the pain killers. I hate not feeling like myself so I try to come off them too early and my body reels from the pain, shaking.

S. brings me ice packs and food to take with the pain meds, waking up at at midnight and again at 4 AM.  Then all day she is making food, bringing more ice, making reassuring sounds to calm my fears.

S.

It feels strange to be so vulnerable and completely dependent. But also strangely comforting to be completely taken care of too. I know there is some deep life lesson here. One that I think might change me, if I pay attention and don’t allow myself to forget.

***
After four days of not leaving the house, S. gently reminds me that the surgeon says I need to walk. So I ask if we can go watch the sunset at the park. Getting out of bed still requires a huge struggle. Once I am finally upright I look down at my feet and they are so far away. My leg hovers a few inches above the ground but I can’t will it up any further.  “S. can you put on my socks for me?” I whimper.

Up at the overlook, I take slow, unsteady steps on the pavement in the parking area while S. walks across the slickrock. Then I have to go back to rest in the truck and watch the the pink sunset glowing on the La Sals through the windshield while tears trickle down my cheek. It is the most beautiful sunset I've ever seen.

 (Even though you probably think I say that about every sunset.)

***
My supervisor brings over flowers and I position them in my room across from my bed. I can’t manage enough brainpower to watch a movie so when I am awake I stare at the red-orange blossoms and broad green leaves. Keeping my heavy eyelids open is difficult. Like postholing in deep snow with a backpack going uphill difficult.


After living such an active life, it is mind-boggling to not even be able to even put on pants and socks, or to walk the few steps from bed to bathroom without major effort. I am reminded of Kafka’s Metamorphosis. Waking up to find you’ve been transformed into a body that is not your own. Only this is my body. I'm stuck with it and must learn basic movements all over again.

***
I finally attempt an excursions down the street. My legs wobble as I weave down the driveway. I clutch the incision. My gait is tentative, my legs don’t respond properly, I feel like I may topple over. Finally at the junction of the driveway and the sidewalk, I pause to rest, before turning up the street. Each step is a major endevour. I make it to the next-door neighbors driveway, then the next house.

The epic adventure of the sidewalk.

 I turn around and gaze back to my house and the distance seems impossibly far. Full concentration is required for every single step. Like when you are climbing a mountain and you’ve gone up a several thousand feet of switchbacks but you still have a few more hundred feed of slippery scree left to go. Only this is two houses down, not even two blocks. Using all my willpower, I make it back again up driveway then across the living room and finally collapse back into bed.

***

I think about how glad I am to live in an era of modern medicine, antibiotics, anesthesia, and good surgeons. I try to imagine what it would have been like to get a hernia 100 years ago or a thousand years ago.

I think about how fragile and vulnerable we are as humans. It makes me realize how much I used to believe that if I take good care of my body and exercise that I will have good health. But I know that isn’t true. Things still happen no matter how much we exercise and try our best to be healthy. The surgeon told me repeatedly that there was nothing I could have done to prevent getting this hernia. Nothing except maybe staying on the couch or maybe picking parents better (my dad had one too). This is just part of being alive.

Maybe the most important lesson I am learning is how caring the people around me are. S. driving down here to be with me. My coworkers checking in on me. Friends from across the country sending me cheerful, reassuring messages. Thank you all. It means everything.

Thank you S.

More information

Here is a great informational video about hernias. The video explains how there are different kinds of hernias and also what it's like to have one. (Mine was indirect inguinal). Skip all the WebMD articles they are too scary. This pretty much explains it all.

https://youtu.be/X8Ow1nlafOg
"Living With a Hernia" by "Weird Al" Yankovic

Reflections on 2016

Life continued to follow a different path following my 2014 Pacific Crest Trail hike.

Highlights of the year— first job at a national monument, returning to Montana for a second AmeriCorps term at a state park, and returning to the PCT for a month-long section hike-- were all things I never though I'd be doing before the PCT.

Plus volunteering at this national mounument in Colorodo at the end of the year

After the PCT, I switched from doing scientific research to interpretation and outdoor education. This year I really appreciated living in beautiful locations, doing work that felt like it made a difference, and having the opportunity to learn new skills.

Planting trees in Montana

Teaching about the water cycle

What I loved about working in parks
Because I lived in parks while I was working, my daily walks through incredible scenery were as captivating to me as my weekend trips. Even if it was three months of the same two miles.

Evening stroll around the park I was at in New Mexico

My mornings in Montana often included watching the sunrise from the park's overlook

Because I lived in beautiful regions of the country, my weekend trips provided easy access to spectacular locations. In New Mexico, El Malpais National Monument and Petrified Forest National Park became new favorites. In Montana, I continued to volunteer on loon and mountain goat surveys for Glacier National Park’s citizen science program. Despite my initial fear of grizzlies, I came to love Montana.

Mountain goat survey in Glacier National Park

Another thing I finally did this year was take a 72 hour Wilderness First Responder course. A few experiences made me realize I need more background in how to respond to medical emergencies and accidents, so I’m really glad I’ve finally gotten more training.

But there were downsides to living the dream
A lot of moving meant the sadness of leaving friends. Will moving ever get easier?

The No New Gear experiment helped me not dip into my savings with the low AmeriCorps stipend. But I wish I could not be so nervous about my bank account and my future job prospects.

Things got pretty busy this year. Looking back over my photos, I realized just how many trips I didn’t have the energy to write up.

One hike in Glacier that never made the blog

 The line between work and play was often blurred. Many early mornings were spent taking wildflower photos for the wildflower identification posters and guide I made for my state park. This was a project I’ve been dreaming of doing for years (even before I got to Montana) and allowed me to learn more about a favorite topic (plants!). Sometimes I'd wonder, why am I doing this? And then I'd remember, because this is what makes my life seem meaningful and fulfilling-- especially seeing visitors come to the center to ask me about plants or show me photos they'd taken of what'd been blooming.

Backpacking on the CDT and PCT with friends
Even though I moved a lot, one great thing was that my hiking buddies came out to visit me (in Glacier and New Mexico) and met up with me (in Washington and Oregon on the PCT). Despite having my highest mile day ever this year (30 miles to Mt. Taylor), the majority of my trips this year prioritized exploring the natural world, being with friends, and lollygaging (i.e. swimming in lakes and just sitting and watching).

Me and Jan on the PCT in Washington

This approach allowed me to avoid injury and I feel like it was a good balance to the hectic pace of working in parks. What I really wanted to do was connect with friends and really have a sense of place.

On the PCT in Oregon with Renee

What’s next

I’m moving yet again next week to start at another park. Hopefully I'll be able to talk a few friends into visiting again and hiking with me (hint- this means you!).

Finally thanks to all of you for reading and commenting on the blog! Really appreciate your support.

About that dream you have...

That thing that you always wanted to do… do it!

Yes, that’s really me in my NPS park ranger uniform.  Because, I DID IT!

We are not taught to live this way.  It’s easy to get caught in the trap of living for tomorrow.  Putting off our dreams until we retire.  Staying in jobs that make us feel stuck.  Instead of taking a leap and making our dreams happen right now. 

We make excuses. We think we have to do the job we went to school for, and then got a PhD for.  The ego gets involved and it's easy to start believing the size of our paychecks matters. Until we think that we didn’t have a choice anymore. 

But you do have a choice.  You can do that thing you always wanted to do.  You can ignore the “what ifs” and stop making excuses.  You can carefully plan your escape, step by step.  Then you can work to make it a reality, even if it takes a while.

My first step was serving as an AmeriCorps member in Montana State Parks.  Next, I volunteered (nearly) full-time as a VIP at a national monument.

 It won’t be what you expect. It will be frustrating, terrifying, and stretch your limits.

Sometimes I thought, “Did I spend all those years getting a PhD just so I could take out the trash and clean bathrooms?”

Sometimes I thought, “What am I doing shoveling snow and not even getting paid?

But I was genuinely happy working outside in one of the most beautiful places I’d ever been.  I got to help other people enjoy the trail.  Which is, basically, the one thing that I believe in the most— helping get people outside and enjoy nature.  When you are doing the thing you feel is your mission in life, you find that deep satisfaction within.  The little stuff, like the size of your paycheck and your status, don't really matter as much as you thought.

Plus, I got paid in sunsets.

When you finally get to do that thing you’ve always wanted to do, it will feel like you have a smile warming your heart all the time.  It will be so much more than anything you imagine.

The smile sort of says it all.

It may turn out to be only sort of what you expected.  You may think, "What have I done!?”  But then it’s also the coolest thing.  It feels so incredibly right that you can’t imagine why you waited so long.  You wake up every morning and think, WOW, I’m living the dream.

If you are out there, wondering if you should take the leap and make a change in your life.... DO IT!

The Most Beautiful Place

"What’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever been?"
My reply: “Right here.”

 Doesn't get any better than this.  Poia Lake in Glacier National Park.

I'm an overnight backpacking trip.  How could I be surrounded by epic beauty as a weekend backpacker?

View of Kennedy Lake.

I am walking through incredible mountain scenery, U-shaped valleys, seeing glaciers and rock spires and hillsides of wildflowers. I make a connection with my hiking buddy that's meaningful and wonderful.  I have a sense of being immersed in the wild. 

Blanketflower sunrise over Poia Lake.

Having a best-ever conversations about life as we watch the evening hail storm from the shelter of our tarps.

 My favorite things are botany and hiking.  So this is pretty much the ultimate of both.

And I will be back at work tomorrow.  But it is work where I feel like I am contributing.  At this moment, I have a glimpse of what it is like to feel that balance I've been seeking.

Taking time out of hiking to do a mountain goat survey for the Citizen Science Program at Glacier.

View of Kennedy Lake.

I used to think that nothing could be better than backpacking long distance trails.  This trip is evidence that I can get into even more beautiful country, and have just as quality of an experience, with more life balance, as weekend backpacker.  I just had to take a new path in life.  Sure I still have my doubts about finding a permanent position.  I still wonder if I am "wasting" my PhD.  But I think in time I will figure that out too.

High point of the trip.  Red Gap Pass.

My first sight of a glacier.  They are melting and won't be around much longer.

On the descent to the trailhead, I ask, "Do those dark clouds look like smoke?"  But no one around knows if its really a fire.  How can the smoke build so quickly?  It looks close to my car.

The start of the Reynolds Fire.

Back at the trailhead, we learn its a fire,  the start of the Reynolds Creek Fire.  It grew to thousands of acres in the time it took us to emerge out of the backcountry, and grew to over 4000 acres a few days later.  Change, it happens fast.  You don't know what will happen next, but change is inevitable.

Don’t put things off.  Live your dream right now.  Make this weekend the best weekend ever.

Detour around the Reynold's Fire on the drive home.

This trip:
From the Many Glacier in Glacier National Park, we took the Red Gap Pass Trail and camped at Poia Lake, then went over Red Gap Pass and back through the Ptarmigan Tunnel Trail to Many Glacier.  Backcountry permits were required.

Why I joined AmeriCorps

 A few people have asked me what I've been doing out here in Montana.  The answer is that I'm serving in AmeriCorps at Montana State Parks.  This is why...

When I was hiking the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) last year, I was happier than I had ever been.  I was surrounded by incredible beauty on a daily basis, and felt a sense of community and purpose in my life.   It was exactly what I’d been wanting to do for a long time.  I was living the dream.

After I got off the PCT last October, I felt lost.  I couldn’t go back to what I’d been doing before after tasting such happiness.

But I didn’t want to have to have my life revolve around scraping enough money to support a series of long distance hikes.  Being miserable while I was saving up for future hiking trips seemed unbalanced and unsustainable, like a sure path to depression.  What if something happened again, like my stress fracture, that prevented me from hiking?  I needed to find a way to make off-trail life fulfilling and meaningful.

Making a Difference
Seeking a new path, I traveled around last winter.  I visited Still Waters who was serving the homeless with the AmeriCorps program.  For those of you who aren’t familiar with it, AmeriCorps is like a domestic version of the Peace Corps.  Volunteers work all across the US on critical problems including homelessness, the environment, energy, and education.  She urged me to volunteer at the soup kitchen and shelter as I searched for jobs.  As I watched Still Waters listen to her clients and find ways to help them, I could see that making a difference was part of the answer for what I need to do next.  As I peeled mounds of sweet potatoes, I realized I didn’t need to change the world, I just needed to do a small part, to make a contribution. 

I thought about causes I believe in. I am most passionate about the environment, our trails and parks, and connecting people with nature.  Maybe not as critical a problem as homelessness, but it felt more personal and compelling to me, and like something that has served as a driving factor in my life.  It was also related to one of my childhood dreams.

Living the Dream
If I could make my dream of hiking the PCT a reality, then I could turn my bucket list and all my childhood dreams into a to-do-now list.  A childhood dream of mine was to be a park ranger.  I wanted to lead interpretive programs, answer the nature questions at the visitors center, and know every trail, plant, and bug in my park. 

It feels like I'm making a difference when I share my excitement about the natural world with these children.  Plus they call me "Ranger Joan."

I have found a way to make a difference in helping people connect with nature, and get to (sort of) be park ranger.  I’m serving with AmeriCorps in Montana State Parks. I support the state parks by leading and developing interpretive nature programs for children and adults, help with volunteers, and work on land improvement projects like invasive weeds and trail maintenance.

Working with the Montana Conservation Corps for National Trails Day.

This is only a temporary solution to the problem of what to do after the PCT.  But I love waking up everyday with a purpose.  I love helping people connect with the outdoors, nurturing children’s curiosity for the natural world, and caring for this park.  I have supported trail crews that maintain the trail network in the park.  Most importantly, I am part of a community of wonderful volunteers.

My AmeriCorps Team!

“Making a difference” used to sound really naive to me.  It was something I heard my undergrad students say, not someone in her mid-30’s with an advanced degree.  Sometimes I worry about how I am not building my retirement account, how I have abandoned my old career path, and how I struggle with the $4.80 an hour living allowance.  But serving with AmeriCorps and doing work that I love also seemed to me the only sensible response to the the overwhelming kindness and generosity that I received on the PCT.

Guess which one is me.

First graders mesmerized by a click beetle.

Responding to phone calls from park visitors about fawns too close to the trail is part of my job.

Am I as happy as I was on the PCT?  It’s hard to compare.  This is a different kind of happiness. It feels like I am closer to living a more sustainable and balanced life. 

If anyone out there is wondering what to do after a long-distance hike, I hope you seriously consider finding ways to give back.  Committing to serve in national service program like I did is just one possibility.  Volunteer at a local park, join a trail crew, find a cause you support, and get out there in the community and do something.

Plus, this is the view I get from "work."

Learn more about AmeriCorps
AmeriCorps website
Montana State Parks AmeriCorps

Finding balance in the Jewel

When I had to get off the PCT last year with a stress fracture, I was confronted with a painful truth—I lacked balance in my life.  Nothing felt as good as being on trail.  Post-backpacking depression is a huge issue in the long-distance hiking community.  It’s so common to chase trail after trail and have a life that revolves around getting the next long-trail fix.  But because I was forced by my injury to stay off trail and heal for 10 weeks, I could see how tying my identity and basing my happiness in just one thing was a recipe for disaster. I resolved to seek ways to find fulfillment when off-trail, and to build a more sustainable life.

Desire for balance (as well as other things that I'll describe later) led me here, to Montana.  In the month and a half since I’ve arrived, the pendulum has swung in the other direction, and I haven’t done a single backpacking trip.  I’ve been focused on getting up to speed with my work, on getting settled.  I resolved to go out this weekend.

Everyone I’ve met in Montana raves about the Jewel Basin.  I look out across the Flathead Valley at it several times a day, wondering what all the fuss is about.  It’s much earlier in the season to go there, but the snow is melting faster this season.  A couple of people say that it’s possible to get up there, maybe.
***
Eli and I head up the steep winding FS road to the Camp Misery Trailhead.  We park where snow blocks the road, and hike up the snow-covered road to the trailhead.

It’s the most stunning country I’ve seen since the High Sierra in California.  Maybe even prettier.  I stare in disbelief.  How could it possibly be this incredible?  How can this beauty be less than an hour away from where I live?  I am overwhelmed with gratitude for being here.  So thankful to Eli for offering to go with me up here because I hadn’t the courage to venture up here alone.

Upward.

Glacier lilies.

 Up snow-covered trails, then over the pass to the sunny, snow-free side of the mountain. 

Views of the Flathead Valley.

Glacier lily and spring beauty country.

More views.  I don’t have words to describe it.  I feel small and insignificant and loose myself in the grander.  Fears and worries melt away.  I breathe in, I breathe out.  This is all that matters, this moment.  Peace.

Impossibly beautiful.

Then climbing higher into more snow.  Finally, arriving at Birch Lake.  Wow, so much thick snow.  A different world of ice and frozen country, and yet there is melting too, cracks.  Doubt we can go further to the next lake though, but let's go see the other side.  Yes, let's circle around the lake.

Birch Lake.

Birch Lake, another angle.

Around the other side of Birch Lake.

Cross-country travel around the lake is not easy.  Dodging tree wells, navigating around snowy traverses.  Eli seems to float over the snow, sliding down the steep parts while I try to control my way down.

At the edge.  Don't fall in!

Eventually, I catch on, and soon I am sliding, gliding, glissading.  Time to play.  Then, my feet give out from under me and I’m in free fall, then my self-arrest instincts kick in and I am stopping myself.  Fear of falling replaced by OH WOW THAT WAS FUN.  It’s OK to let go.  Mindset shifts. 

Happiness.

Bursts of wildflowers.

We run into a large group of people on the way back to the car.  The wild feel of the place, the illusion of solitude, it all cracks.

Eli and I decide to try for a lower elevation trailhead to find a place to camp.  I’d been starting longingly at the well-spaced trees for my hammock near the ice-covered lake, but up in that highcountry, Eli found nowhere suitable for his tent. 

We get to the Echo Broken Leg trailhead, and follow it into a different world of lushness and wildflowers.

Meadow rue.

An hour up the trail, and still no campsites. Next, into a logging area that smells like dead trees.  Then, lightening, thunder, and torrential rain.  Waterlogged, it is clear that Eli has had enough, and I don’t want to be down here either. 

Where are the campsites?

Let’s go home.  Are you sure?  Yep.  We retreat.

Back at home, I gather up soaking wet clothes and head to the laundromat. There is just enough time to do a load but not enough time for them to dry before they close.  So, my trailer transforms into a long-distance hiker hotel room, wet laundry and gear hanging from every surface, and despite the washing, hiker aroma filling the air.  It smells like long-distance hiking, like sharing a hotel room with a bunch of happy new backpacking buddies and laughing so hard my belly aches--all fond memories associated with the PCT and AZT.  The scent of happiness and home.

I curl up in my down top quilt in my little bunkbed and watch the city lights far below twinkling.  And that deep inner peace fills me, and I know in my heart that I am tasting that balance.  Because I can be here in my little trailer home, and not out in the backcountry, and realize it’s exactly where I want to be.  Here in Montana, I have found a place where I can have adventures and be in epic scenery that feels like the most beautiful place in the world, and also be close to my work.  If there is anywhere I can discover balance, it is right here. 

I didn’t need to go backpacking today to find happiness, I’ve got it right here, just like this.  Maybe next week I’ll go backpacking.  Maybe.

Beargrass.

For more information:
Jewel Basin Hiking Area
Jewel Basin map
Birch Lake Trail