I wasn't planning a spiritual journey when I went on my very first backpacking trip in August 2000. Instead, I was just acting on a simple plan that I'd dreamed of for years: spend a week in the Pharaoh Wilderness area of the Adirondack Mountains, photographing its remote ponds, writing in a journal, and listening to the loons and bullfrogs as I fall asleep. Alone. I was 22 years old.
Now, I realize that most people would say that going into the backwoods alone is an unsafe thing to do. I was no expert on survival; my knowledge of the subject came only from books. Still, I have always felt at home in the woods, after growing up in two small Adirondack towns and exploring the backwoods surrounding them. I feel closest to God in the forest and have always felt safe there. Maybe my plan was foolish, but I refused to stay home safe yet bored, looking but not finding any meaning to life, stuck in the same rut and routine.
I was careful, though. I left my itinerary with the ranger at the nearby campground, and brought more food, clothes, and supplies than I needed for a week. The night before I left I wrote "Psalm 91" in my journal, planning to recite it every night as a prayer for protection.
The first few days I spent in log lean-tos or my dome tent, cooking simple meals on my propane stove, photographing the scenery, and doing a lot of thinking. That week, I felt at peace with the world and myself. Every day I became tired and sore but felt I accomplished something. I often did nothing more than the basics of living, and sometimes did nothing at all.
I had constantly felt God's presence and protection that week. But I never felt it as strongly as I had the night I slept on Treadway Mountain. I was to spend my last night on the mountain, before I hiked back down to the campground the next day to catch my ride home.
Back in 1995, I had climbed the small mountain for the first time…a time when, I admit, I was in better physical shape. This time the trail seemed to go on…and on…and on. It started out easy enough, on a wide woods road that passed a couple swamps and berry thickets, but soon grew much steeper and rockier as it neared the rugged summit. If I hadn't been wearing my heavy load, it wouldn't have been a big deal at all. However, by the time the dense forest gave way to patches of open bedrock and scrubby pines, I had to slowly pick my way to avoid losing my balance.
After much plodding over the granite, slippery from the quartz embe dded in it, I came to a deep wooded ravine. There was a small cliff leading into it, about ten feet high, with rough patches for hand- and footholds. Now, without a load, I could practically scamper over those rocks. But then, I nearly lost my balance because I tried to sit and slide to the bottom. I had unbuckled my hip belt, which was a mistake. The two metal pipes on the bottom of my packframe got caught in a crevice, and without the belt to hold it to my body, I lost my balance and almost fell headfirst. I grabbed a pine tree sapling growing from the cliff and realized that I couldn't move. If my load shifted, I'd be going down.
As I swayed there, probably looking ludicrous but too scared to care, two black-and-white dogs appeared further up the trail. They stopped at the base of the cliff and looked up at me, wagging their tails. Following them was a man about 30, with glasses and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache.
Although I was embarrassed, I was grateful that someone had come along. The man didn't even seem really surprised to see me.
"Do you need help?" he asked in a soft, calm voice.
I nodded and tried to sound confident and casual. "If I had known about this, I would've stayed at the campground."
The man didn't say anything. The strangest thing was that I didn't remember how he took off my backpack and helped me down the cliff.
"Do you want to continue going on?"
Of course I did, but I only nodded.
"OK. The summit isn't too far away, and there's a ledge up there with a beautiful view. Good luck."
"Thank you."
As I watched the hiker and his dogs disappear down the trail, I began to wonder if he was a regular person at all, or an angel. I remembered the verse in Psalm 91 that says the angels will "lift you up in their hands so you will not strike your foot against a stone."
Whether he was an angel or an ordinary person sent by God, that man was one of the nice people you meet in the woods. The majority are, I found, and I was glad that he had come along.
After the cliff incident, I walked off the trail, hoping to find a hidden place to leave my backpack. A nearby hilltop looked flat, and somehow inviting. I climbed up and found a good sleeping spot overlooking the trail, left my backpack there, and continued to the summit with only my camera and canteen. It was a hazy day, the mountains bluish blurs against the sky. The gusting wind felt almost strong enough to blow me off the rocks, and I didn't stay there for too long.
Back at my camp, I spent an hour and constructed a two-sided shelter with stakes, rope, and an oversized plastic tarp. I was high above the trail, which wound downhill into the ravine, hidden by the hemlock and beech trees. As I watched the hikers from the summit descend the trail below me, I set up my camp, feeling satisfaction.
My main reason for camping on the mountain was to photograph the sunset. Once I again reached the summit, all I could think was, wow. I felt as if I had entered a whole other realm.
The familiar landscape looked somehow different, so impressive, nothing but woods, mountains, and lakes as far as I could see. No houses, or any other signs of civilization. Of course, I knew about all the roads, trails, and my fellow campers in the forests below, but I felt like I was the last person on the earth.
The wind was still blowing as I wandered around taking pictures of the sunset, but that time it didn't feel like it was pushing me off the rocks. It brushed against my face warm and gently, almost companionably.
The sun set over the view of some distant ponds. It was all pink and orange on a dark blue sky, the clouds nearest the sun glowing like neon signs at their edges.
I stood there, awed and humbled, as I realized how alone I was. But it was a good feeling, a feeling so intense that I felt it deep within.
It was just the most overwhelming feeling of joy and contentment. I stood tall on the rocks with a big smile and welcomed the breeze that drifted over me. I knew, could actually feel that God was all around me, felt so attuned to the mountain that I felt a part of it, just another part of nature instead of a visitor. It was the most incredible feeling of total peace and freedom.
The feeling lasted long after I returned to my camp to write the day's journal entry. It was a clear, starry evening. The half-moon made a soft glow on the leaves. The only sound of civilization was a distant jet somewhere overhead.
I woke up late that night to high winds and heavy rain tapping the tarp. I was surprised, since it had been so clear when I fell asleep, and was glad that I set up the tarp instead of sleeping in the open the way I'd planned. It felt cozy and safe; the rain didn't seep in anywhere. As I had on the summit, I lay in my sleeping bag with a big smile, never feeling so alone, yet so free.
What I had thought might be a bad idea, risking my neck on the rocks and trudging up the mountain with a fifty-pound load on my out-of-shape body, turned into my best night out there. I had trusted God to keep me safe in a potentially dangerous situation that I'd embarked on by choice. He had been my only companion on my journey, sent help in a time of trouble, and showed me what I hoped was a glimpse of heaven. After my night on Treadway Mountain, I knew that I would never again have anything to fear.
