When I am adventuring, one of the questions I get asked most is, “Aren’t you afraid?” Now, two days into my next adventure, I can honestly say I believe the most dangerous part is behind me. Even though I hope to hike for four months, statistically I was in more danger during the two-day, 1257 mile drive from my home in Vermont to Cornell, Wisconsin. Many more people get injured in car accidents than on trails, even when you take into account the number of people hiking vs the number of drivers on the road.

Another thing people assume I should be afraid of are animals. I did once get chased by a grizzly bear for half a mile, and I have seen plenty of blackbear. I was once stalked by a mountain lion, who I am pretty sure stealthily followed me for a few miles. I won’t deny that these were scary experiences, but they’re not all that common.

Rattlesnakes always make me jump when they rattle, but for the most part, they only strike out if they really feel threatened. The scariest rattler I encountered cornered me on the Pacific Crest Trail in the 1980s. I was on a narrow, switchbacking trail cut into the side of a mountain. The large timber rattler was coiled on a ledge just next to the trail, rattling away and making strikes when I moved my pole ahead of me to test what it would do if I tried to walk by. It refused to move. Since just before starting the PCT, I had completed a thru hike of the Appalachian Trail in winter, by the time I met this rattler I had been hiking for about seven months and was in the throes of serious hiker hunger. Everything was a potential source of food. As I stood there, unable to get past that coiled, rattling snake, I remembered they were supposed to be good eating. I dropped a rock on its head, skinned it and carried it to camp where it became a delicious meal, even if the headless body was still wiggling three hours later when I prepared to cook it. It really did taste like chicken.

As for fear, I was more scared the six times I have had my hair stand on end during lightning storms when I was on exposed ridges. The creatures I’m most “afraid” of on trail are ticks. Hikers ahead of me on the North Country Trail have reported getting 100 a day on them. I’m hoping that because I’m getting a late start, there might be fewer by the time I get there. I’ve already had both Lyme disease and anaplasmosis which are carried by two different types of ticks. But rather than worrying, I do what I can for prevention. I spray my clothes with pyrethrum as well as natural oil based tick sprays with an added dose of lavender oil, which ticks seem to avoid. I’ll check myself numerous times a day for ticks and I carry doxycycline in case I get bitten.

I have a saying about fear which I developed while teaching skiing to folks on the autism spectrum who were often quite fearful when first learning. First I acknowledge that fear is a normal emotion. I never say, “you have nothing to be afraid of.” Instead I acknowledge it is smart to be afraid and means they’re going to be careful. Then I say, “but just because you’re afraid, doesn’t mean bad things are going to happen.” By saying that, I separate the fear, which is the expectation, from the actual outcome of the event. Not only has this been helpful for those I ski with, but it’s been a helpful thing for me to remember.

While not afraid of the upcoming trail, I am concerned about how my foot is going to hold up. It currently has three spots that have cracked open after the last surgery. I’m going to have to be super careful to keep them clean, which is not always easy on trail, especially if water is scarce. Rain is predicted for four of my first seven hiking days. I don’t know how my foot will hold up if wet all day. A hole in an area where the skin has been grafted heals much slower than a hole in regular skin does, and while I don’t relish sitting in the rain to check my foot, I may have to do that. While not afraid, I do not want infection to set in.

I used to live all the time from a place of fear. I often managed to push through events and act like I wasn’t afraid, but even the hardest events, like skiing a steep hill or paddling a big white water section of river were less scary to me than being with people. Anytime I walked into a room with someone, I would trying to get a read on them, figuring out how they expected me to act what was I supposed to do. This became even more difficult in a group, and since I was never quite sure of what the expectations were for everyone I was never sure if I was getting it right. I always felt on the outside, fearful others would see how “stupid” I was, sure they would reject me or that I would get in trouble. Luckily, I’ve worked through a lot of the trauma which caused me to live from those fearful, external people-pleasing places. I’ve since learned to live from an internal place, recognizing that as long as I am kind and true to myself, taking one step at a time, living in the present without fear for the future, I can like myself and all my dissociated parts. I don’t have to be concerned about what outside people think about us.

I hope all of us can lessen the hold fear has in our lives. May we all find ways to fill the once fearful places within with peace, joy and whatever ever brings us happiness.

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