Not long after leaving the lake, I entered Lake Itasca State Park. This is known as a beautiful park, hosting the headwaters of the Mississippi River. I had been told the trail had been cleared and was looking forward to hiking there. Even though my foot was hurting, I still had hopes of making it to the 16 mile mark for that day.

I usually won’t take any painkillers like aspirin or ibuprofen when I’m walking because I don’t want to push through pain I should be aware of, but in this case I knew the pain in my foot was not something that was going be harmed by walking on it. I decided to splurge and take an ibuprofen. If I need to take a small amount of painkiller to get to Grand Rapids, I decided that’s what I would do. I had no idea what I was in for and in hindsight, I’m not sure if taking that ibuprofen helped or contributed to the situation that I’m currently in.

My first few steps into the park seemed great. There was less poison ivy and the trail seemed a little bit mowed.Then I ran into some of the all-time worst blowdowns I’ve ever been in.

Without a doubt, the worst blow downs I’ve ever pushed through were on the Lions Head bushwhack on the Pacific Northwest Trail. This consisted of up to 7 miles of huge, blown down trees in an area where no trail had ever been cut. Sometimes I would have to climb over five or six trees before being able to climb down to try to find a place to put my foot on the ground. It was exhausting and I was glad I had someone going through it with me at the same time.

The second worst blowdowns were also on the Pacific Northwest Trail, in an area where there had been a fire the year before. I had miles of going over, under, and around burnt out trees, navigating solely by a compass, GPS bearing and instinct since there was no trail to follow. Numerous times I had to take off my pack and belly crawl under something only to lift the pack over the next obstacle and try to crawl over. I remember wanting to give up but knowing that I had to go on or I would never get out of there. By the time I finished that mess, everything I owned was coated in black charcoal from the burnt out trees.

Third on my list of worst blow downs are those I encountered in the Bob Marshall wilderness on the Continental Divide Trail. The blow downs were so bad that the trail crew, who was trying to cut them out, couldn’t even find the trail. These trees were huge with many pokey branches waiting to puncture a hiker’s groin or back as they went over or under the mess.

The blow downs I encountered in Lake Itasca Park on the North Country Trail ranked fourth for worst blow downs, although they felt harder to me at the time because I hadn’t been expecting them and they came towards the end of a day when I was already struggling in pain. The ibuprofen I had taken was distancing me from the pain in my foot, but it was also making me feel tired, which gave me less ability to push through the mess. And it was also distancing me from what else was going on in my body.

What made these trees so difficult was their density. They had come down in a recent tornado and had all their tops attached. Not only was I trying to get over or under the fallen trunks for close to 2 1/2 miles, but I was also pushing through the thick, tangled tops of fully leafed-out deciduous trees. There was no clear way around any of these since the entire woods around these trees was full of blow downs.

I couldn’t take my pack off to go under these trees because of the tangled branches. Trying to pull myself over with my short legs was no easy feat for my old body. I often could not see my feet and sometimes a branch or log would roll or snap when I tried to put weight on it. I tried to be alert to any of the leaning trees knowing this was a dangerous situation, and when a big tree came crashing down about 8 feet in front of me, I found myself screaming, “just get me out of here!” I had a momentary thought of pushing my SOS button to be rescued.

But then I remembered those other difficult blow downs I had been through and how continuing on, one step at a time, would eventually get me out of them. I was thankful I had created a practice where I work to create conscious memories of how I have overcome hard times. By making these really conscious memories, it has become easier to recall them for strength when I encounter similar difficulties.

While I felt traumatized by the tree falling so close in front of me, I knew I wasn’t really in an emergency situation. I had, however, reached a point of no return. Even though I had no idea how much longer this mess would continue, I knew there was no way I was going to go back through what I had already done. I thought about how we get to these points of no return and wondered how many expeditions met disaster because of reaching these places. I didn’t have too much time to ponder this because I had to put all my focus on getting over those trees so I didn’t end up a disaster as well. I didn’t dare stop for fear of not being able to get started again. Instead, I pushed ahead through hunger, thirst, and exhaustion hoping it would soon end.

I had lost my water drinking tube in a series of blowdowns a few days before this, and was missing being able to drink water freely as I hiked. The mosquitoes were getting bad and I didn’t want to take my pack off to get my bug repellent. I had my bug head-net in my pants pocket, so I pulled it out and put it on. Because that darkened my view a bit, I took off my sunglasses and left them hanging on the cord around my neck. I find it interesting that when I tried to take a picture of the blowdowns, I ended up taking a picture of my sunglasses. The reason I find this so fitting is that just a moment later, while I was pushing through a series of branches, my sunglasses went flying and disappeared. I knew I was not going to take a step back to look for them in all that undergrowth. They were gone the way my drinking tube was. Part of me wanted to cry, but I knew I didn’t have the luxury of mourning their loss. I had to put every bit of energy I had towards continuing on through that vegetative mess.

I would get over one or two trees and there’d be another 5 feet further. For most of this 2 1/2 mile section I didn’t walk more than 20 feet before I hit another blow down. Knowing I wouldn’t go back, I forced myself to focus on the present moment and take whatever step I needed to get over one branch and then the next. Usually, as I approach a blow down, I plan my route and don’t have to stop when I reach it. At first, with these trees, I would stop and try to figure out the best route around, but sometimes I had to dive in blindly, not knowing how I would get from one place to the next. All I could focus on was the current branch I was trying to get over. I often had to do some incredible gymnastics, manually pulling my leg up to get it over while I was laying on the trunk. Even with the ibuprofen, my skin grafted foot was hurting because of the uneven footing and sometimes that caused my leg to collapse under me, twisting my hip.

Finally I hobbled into the campsite, which marked for me the end of the 13 mile day. The popular site was on a lake and required reservations online. When I got there and found it was occupied, I wasn’t sure what would happen, but I knew I couldn’t walk another step.

What happened next was nothing short of miraculous and I’ll talk about that in my next blog.

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