The Slow Friend

At the end of February I set out for a an adventure with some of the REI ladies. I had drooled over the pictures from last year and was thrilled to get to be a part of Chicks with Sticks 2015. 2 days and 2 nights at the Izaak Walton Inn in Glacier, with a pit stop the night before in Missoula. It was everything I had hoped and more.

 We had joked about how the bears would be coming out of hibernation early and we should take a slow friend. Turns out this is the role I would be filling.

For our only full day in Glacier I was in pretty good shape, considering how much wine I consumed the two nights before, but I still didn't feel tip top and I was extra emotional. I knew a big snowshoe adventure was the plan for the day. The goal was to get to the lake that one of the inn workers said was about a 3 hour trip. Weather that was 3 hours round trip or each way was unclear.

I was a ball of nerves and insecurities. This would only be my second time snowshoeing. In my eyes, everyone was experienced and had far more appropriate gear than myself. I even had a couple minor breakdowns and cried for a minute privately in the bathroom. I didn't want to NOT go, really that was never an option for me, but I was afraid of not being able to keep up. And being really embarrassed about my lack of experience. 

We marched up the groomed trail and I foolishly thought how this wasn't as hard as I had built it up to be and right about that time we approached a small sign indicating the trail we needed to take to get to the lake.  The new trail split from the gentle groomed trail and jutted up the steep mountain in narrow daunting switchbacks. Shit. It was instantly much, much harder. My snowshoes were intended for easier trails and didn't have the gripping spikes I really needed.

A couple of the girls turned back in favor of some more leisurely cross country skiing and relaxing around the cabin. I had a moment where I had to decide if I wanted to continue up the difficult path or retreat with them back the way I had come. This would likely be my only chance to flee.

To continue or to go back?  That was the question. That is always the question it seems.

I was the new girl and I wanted to prove to them and to myself that I belonged here, that I was part of the group and I could do this.  So I took a deep breath and turned to continue up the mountain. A few warm tears ran down my cold face and I worried I was making a bad choice as I was clearly struggling, but it was too late, there was no turning back now.

Up and up we climbed on the slippery narrow trail. I was by far the slowest and had to stop often. I apologized multiple times for slowing them down, but they insisted it was no big deal and they were fine waiting for me. I still felt bad.

Snow started coming down in huge fluffy flakes and the trail became less obvious. We came across a clearing with a great view and stopped to take pictures and appreciate where we were. Snowshoeing in Glacier, that's pretty awesome. 

Then the trail was gone.  We decided to turn back so we wouldn't get lost with the snow coming down more and the possibility of it covering up our tracks leading the way back was real. We later found out that we shouldn't have even been on that trail due to avalanche danger. SO, that's exciting.

We made our way back down the mountain to the groomed trail and I let out a whoop! I did it! And more importantly I didn't give up on myself. 

We never made it to the lake. I'm sure they could have made it if they hadn't had to keep waiting for me. But they never once made me feel inadequate.  They encouraged and supported me and said they were glad I was there. I appreciate and value them and this experience more than they could ever know.

5 hours after starting our journey,  we made it back to the cabin where there was a hot tub calling us. We ate, drank, played Cards Against Humanity and Just Dance all night. It. Was. Perfect.