The only way to grow is to expand the limits of what you believe you are capable of. Whether it be sticking to a diet or journeying into the unknown, it is this pushing beyond what we have already accomplished that is so telling.
As someone recently sober, I can honestly say that the act of simply learning to deal with life without the habit of seeking comfort through alcohol invoked fear in the beginning. It doesn't take a solo hike in the forest to challenge yourself and to find out what you're afraid of. However, it is only through walking onto an unknown path such as this that we discover new pathways heretofore untraveled.
It is only through looking our fears and ourselves squarely in the eye that we can learn to seek even greater challenges and create new healthier practices and habits.
That being said, it is hard, in the beginning to forge these new paths and pathways. Old habits die hard, and our perceptions have been molded over years of doing the same destructive things time and again.
To paraphrase a friend, "One path suggests we continue walking down this new way of life (new diet, new hobby, now cigarette free, etc.) in the spirit of curiosity, compassion and discovery. As it is an unfamiliar path, it requires more courage, even though we "know" it is the better way and intellectually should be the easier choice.
The other path is to throw ones hands up at the uncertainty continuing this unknown path will bring and leave it behind for the (binge eating, cigarette, drunkenness), the familiar hurt, a kind of pathological re-traumatization."
I put this out there for all of my friends and clients as a sort of challenge to take your own road less traveled, your wilderness adventure, your scarier path.
I sincerely believe in constantly pushing up against one's fears, which is exactly why I prepare regularly through my adventures to overcome my own limitations.
After having a coyote howl right outside my tent in Texas at 3 am, a pack of wild pigs less than 15' away that afternoon, stepping over countless rattle snakes on my hikes, sleeping solo in the wilderness, getting lost, being cold, being scared and having a bear eat my backpack, I can honestly say that each weekend I become more and more certain in my abilities toward one of my long-term goals which is a mastery of what it takes to survive in the wild.
I have much to learn and much to overcome, but each trial brings me jubilation.
This past weekend after being seriously cold 3 weeks before, I set out to be warm, dammit!
I decided to learn to build a heated rock pit and build an all night fire.
I arrived at my campsite Saturday about 3 pm ready to get to work. Saturday is usually a rest day from training for me, but today I had to make an exception. I stopped by Sport Chalet on the way there in hopes of finding a camp shovel, but alas, they didn't even have one in their selection. Lucky for me, I found a 2" thick piece of bark that was about 10" long near my campsite, which I would make work just as well.
I had about 2 hours until sunset, but I had to prioritize. First I cleared a pathway to the stream nearby. Then I set about to build a general fire. I also gathered about 15 nerf-football sized rocks, and after my fire had developed enough coals, set them deeply within, so they could get hot.
Then I set about to chop enough wood for the night. As I was going to make an all night fire, I needed more wood than usual. Although I sang the praises of my Bahco Laplander foldable saw my last adventure weekend, the little bugger was far too small for the task at hand, but I had to make it work.
I drug over about 8 fallen trees to my campsite, then I set about sawing their 8" diameter trunks into logs about 3' long for my fire. I turned each sawing venture into a WOD (workout of the day) of sorts. "Sawing for Time" was my favorite one, valiantly trying to make a game out of backbreaking hard work that I knew was going to take me hours. Undaunted, I poured sweat, made mincemeat blisters out of my hands and soldiered on.
"One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three", I'd pant, as I tried to see if I could saw this log in fewer strokes than the one I just finished. My heart rate would race, and I'd push myself to sprint the finish, sitting down afterward to catch my breath for the next foray into a fiercely anaerobic log-cutting race for time.
At about 8 pm, I decided to take a break and begin the arduous task of digging a grave. Well, it was a rock grave, anyway. I was digging a hole about six feet long and one foot deep. I started by chopping up the soil with my knife, breaking up the entangled grass, then shoveling it out with my new bark trowel. Once again, I found myself counting each stroke as if I was competing against my competitive teammate Julie for the highest score. My battery powered headlamp lit the way, as I feared not.
A hiker's headlamp peered over the ravine at me.
There was a small footbridge not 25' from my campsite that allowed travelers to traverse the now bubbling creek on the path from West Fork to Valley Forge, where I was staying. The last time I stayed here quite a few bikers arrived after dark, their headlamps aglow allowing them to be sure afoot.
I saw the headlamp, then it disappeared. Then it reappeared. Then it disappeared. I kept waiting for the hiker to cross the bridge, but they were holding back. Was there a campsite over there? I thought for sure there wasn't. Why were they taking so long? After a bit, their lamp disappeared. I figured maybe they'd turned back.
About three minutes later, I couldn't help myself. I grabbed my bear spray and my knife and I headed over to take a look.
The most wonderful thing about these adventures is that I always see something beautiful, and I always leave with more knowledge that from whence I came.
There staring back at me was a wolf. No, rather it was a coyote. You see, there are only seven known wolves in California, and they live in Siskiyou County. Apparently there may have been wolves at one time in California, but not likely in So Cal. Even then the proof of their numbers is sketchy, as coyotes used to be referred to as wolves at one time.
Fascinating.
What I found fascinating was that the reflection on his eyes was so bright, I was certain it HAD to be a headlamp and could not possibly be the eyes of an animal. Now I know better, and I know what to look for in the pitch black dark.
Mr. or Ms. coyote scampered off, never to be seen again all weekend long.
Back to digging my grave.A plane soared overhead. I wondered if its pilot thought I was burying a body. I chuckled at the absurdity of the thought (for me), but realized it isn't out of the realm of possibilities for a madman.
After about another hour, my rock pit was dug--now back to sawing logs.
At about 10 pm, I finally finished my task. Twenty five logs of similar length all laid in a neat little row ready to protect me from bears, keep me warm and rock me to sleep.
First, however, I had to try out my new hot rock heater bed. I had a small barrier to overcome in that I had made my fire in the requisite deep fire pit, so now I was faced with getting 15 scorching hot rocks over a ten inch barrier to their ultimate home in mother Earth.
Forty five minutes later, I had the rocks assembled in nice little rows, and I set about to cover them with the loose dirt. After waiting half the suggested two hours, as now I was beat, I set up my tent and sleeping pad over the dirt and got in to test it out.
Success!! Not only was the dirt warm, it was almost hot in some places!! Tonight I was going to sleep like a newborn baby in its admiring mother's arms.
I set about to prepare my all night fire. Laying 5 logs on the ground, I then packed the cracks that separated them with dirt leaving no holes. I then lay another set of five logs in the opposite direction filling the crevices with dirt in the same fashion. Three more stacks completed, and I stacked the top with hot coals and kindling and set the whole top row ablaze.
It was a veritable bonfire!! No bear would dare come here!
It worked beautifully as planned. The dirt prevented the hot coals from dropping to the layers below too early, so by the time they did drop, the upper portion was pretty used up. Add to that the additional warmth, and I really did sleep as if it was my last dying wish to be once again near my Mother's succulent breast.
When I awoke the next morning at dawn, coals were still going, and it took no time to get my coffee going.
I love it when things go right!
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