There is something magical about pitching a tent in the wilderness and spending a night outside, miles away from the comforts of home. The air is filled with the scent of pine needles, you are tuned in to every sound around you, and the sunlight streaming into your tent early in the morning will wake you much, much earlier than you had planned.

There’s even a certain heaviness to the type of sleep that you experience when you are out in the backcountry – if you can fall asleep and stay asleep that is. I’ve had some of the deepest, restorative slumbers swaddled in a sleeping bag, but also some of my most restless nights.

Flashback to July – I had checked the weather one last time before we roamed outside the range of cell service. While there was a slight risk of rain, I was particularly optimistic and quite confident we would be blessed with sunshine and a clear night for stargazing.

Fast forward to the following night – we were haphazardly pitching our tents as a rainstorm blew in, quickly finding shelter underneath the thin nylon fabric, the wind howling as it shook not only my nerves but the rain fly aggressively. In the safety of the tent, and my sleeping bag, I took a couple deep breaths begging my mind and body to relax just enough to allow me to drift into a slumber.

Just when I thought I had successfully squelched the panic I felt rising in me and was close to dozing off, the freezing rain arrived, pounding down on the tent with a vengeance.

The tip of my nose felt cold to the touch as the temperature around us continued to drop. Even though it was mid-summer, I should not have expected balmy and sunny weather at such a high elevation. Instead of finding humor in the ridiculous weather we were having that night, I was honestly running through all the reasons in my head why we wouldn’t die out there.

Attempt at calming myself down: Marissa, you invested in a good tent, a three-season tent SPECIFICALLY designed for all types of weather, and in the off-chance that the wind DOES in fact blow away the entire rain fly, you and Alessandra both have rain gear so at a MINIMUM you can wait out the storm and stay dry wearing rain pants and rain jackets… and even though you FEEL cold, you both have down sleeping bags rated for 30 degrees and it’s not that low a temperature (yet)…. 

Attempts at rationalizing went on and on in my head like this for what felt like HOURS. The left half of my brain was doing it’s best to come up with logical reasons for why we would be okay, but the right half of my brain was freaking out.

As I lay there somewhat successfully convincing myself we would survive the crazy weather that night, I realized that being in the position we were in was a combination of couple things – a stroke of really good luck and a CHOICE. We willingly and excitedly entered a lottery for this backcountry camping permit, winning against the unlikeliest of odds.

Just a couple months prior to our trip, I was standing outside my car fussing with the gas pump after a sales call, when my eyes filled up with tears – happy tears. As of that morning, I had given up any hope that 2019 would be the year for backpacking in and spending a night camping out in the alpine wonderland known as the Core Enchantments. Through rushed whispers, I wasn’t sure I heard Alessandra correctly… “WAIT DID YOU SAY YOU WERE PICKED IN THE LOTTERY!?” I squealed into the phone. “Yea yea I think so but I’m at work and I can’t talk right now… I’ll check my email and call you later” she told me in yet another rushed whisper.

Alessandra had no idea how lucky she was that day. She had not just won a backcountry camping permit, she had won the golden ticket. 

Everyone who has completed the Enchantments hike, whether in a day or on an overnight backpacking trip, has a story to share.  The staff at REI will enchant you with stories of the hike as if it is a legend – the mountain goats will chase you when you try to pee, chipmunks will sneak into your backpack looking for crumbs, or better yet, they’ll actually chew through your gear looking for a snack, and the steep hike up Aasgard pass will make you question why you ever attempted the hike in the first place.

Despite all of this, in 2018 alone over 20,000 applications were submitted for an overnight backpacking permit in the Core Enchantment Zone. A permit in this zone allows you to camp for the night around 10 miles or so from either trailhead, allowing the lottery winners to actually hike at a reasonable pace and spend time in the Core Zone – rubbing elbows with mountain goats, dipping in alpine lakes, and gazing at the rocky peaks that surround you.

The permitting system enforces a strict camping limit of 24 individuals per night in the Core Zone from mid-May through October. With such a limited number of weekends during prime hiking season and even fewer places to pitch a tent, the odds of winning are extremely slim – hence why Alessandra had won the golden ticket.

That stormy night in July as I lay in the tent, I was overwhelmed with an awareness that we were multiple miles (literally hours on foot) from civilization in every direction and even a single bar of cell service. I zipped my sleeping bag even closer up to my chin, sealing out as much of the cold air as I could. After trekking ten miles on foot that day, including ascending the notorious Aasgard Pass, which by the way climbs 2000 ft in a quarter mile of trail, and later glissading down a steep snowfield, Rachel, Steph, Alessandra and I already had quite an adventure for the day. This was all before the wind picked up and the sleet started.

After saying a few Hail Mary’s in my head (third attempt to calm my nerves and a last effort to hide any hint of panic in my voice), I turned toward Alessandra and whispered “I wished we liked beach vacations.” Instead of lounging beachside for the long holiday weekend, we CHOSE to enter a lottery and were rewarded with a golden ticket to spend 4th of July weekend covered in a unique mixture of dirt, sweat, and DEET, a weekend menu of dehydrated food, trail mix, turkey jerky, and a trip itinerary that included willingly hiking over twenty miles in just two days’ time.

I remember years ago, sitting on my bed in New Jersey, flipping through Backpacker magazine and daydreaming of treks through alpine meadows and fields of wildflowers, a heavy pack weighing down every step, setting up camp in some remote location, and gazing at thousands of stars that you can only see without the intrusion of light pollution.

There’s something magical about the great outdoors, especially sweeping vistas and sharp peaks that pierce the horizon.

Backpacking in the wilderness is an experience that’s personal and collective at the same time. On every trip I’ve been on, the people I’ve shared it with have made all the difference – whether it’s bonding over the way hiking at altitude makes even a gradual incline particularly challenging, making up silly trail names for each other, or breaking out in song on the trail, there’s no bonding experience quite like it. Every trip is a unique – the people, conditions, climate – the pieces you cherish and the pieces you laugh about and hope to never experience again.

Even though I haven’t done any solo hikes, the experience of backpacking has also been a personal journey. Nothing compares to being completely dependent on your own ability to plan and be prepared, making key decisions that keep you dry, safe, warm, and well-nourished, for the duration of the trip.

It’s empowering knowing that everything you need to survive you have carried with you on your back, for miles.

If nothing else, backpacking even teaches you to appreciate the smallest of joys – like how good a Snickers bar tastes as a pick-me-up when you’re not sure you have the energy to walk even one more step.

Since that stormy night in the Enchantments, I’ve thought a lot about why I continue to seek experiences that scare me. Whether it’s signing up to run a full marathon or willingly going off the grid and sleeping in the woods – pushing the limit of what’s comfortable is one thing that simultaneously makes me feel alive and strong and capable. Each experience is a little reminder that what seems impossible and terrifying, maybe isn’t so.

It makes me realize that even when something sits at the very edge of my comfort zone, maybe it’s something I can not only do, but find joy in doing, even if it scares me half to death. Little by little, that zone of comfort expands and I know I’ll be able to do more than I ever imagined that I could –  surviving challenge after challenge with a smile.

On another backpacking this summer, my friend David and I timed our hike perfectly so that we could watch the sunset from a glacier before descending back to our tree-lined camp at lower elevation. We hiked up to the glacier camp in the late afternoon and ate dinner on the rocks before descending from the Sahale Glacier just as the sun was tucking itself behind the mountains.

As David and I boiled water to rehydrate the meals we packed with us, he told me that if you shrink the Earth down to the size of a marble, it would actually feel smoother than a marble does. As I stared out at Mix-Up Peak, opposite the glacier, it was a nearly impossible thought to wrap my head around. Exploring the rest of the camp on foot, I realized and I wasn’t the only one who was moved by the sheer magnitude of the mountains and overwhelming beauty of the place. Gazing out from the top of the camp, David and I noticed that everyone around us also had their eyes glued to the ridge. In unison, we stood facing the mountains.

I’ve thought a lot about why I continue to hike further and higher on a continuous quest for mountain views. While in comparison to the size of the world, these mountains may be less than a scratch on the surface, but standing in their presence is incredibly humbling. Whether it’s their massive size or knowing the thousands of steps it required to reach any summit, standing atop a mountain and gazing out is something I can never get enough of.

The sunset in North Cascades National Park that evening cast the warmest pink glow on the mountains in front of us – Cascade Peak, the Triplets, and Johannesburg Mountain. Despite being mesmerized by the sky as we descended back to our camp at dusk, David and I quickly snapped back to reality as we turned on a switch back and were suddenly sharing the trail with a black bear.

I had played this moment out in my head countless times since I moved west – expecting a bear to pop out of a berry bush every time I pass one on a hike out here. I thought for sure I would freeze under pressure, losing my ability to react rationally.

David yelled “HEY BEAR!” and I raised my arms, hoping to look big and scary, for which we received a lazy look from the bear. We both reached into our packs for the cans of bear spray we had carried with us and walked past the bear, quickly increasing the distance between us.

Afterwards, I realized that the experience wasn’t nearly as scary as I had built it up to be in my head. Each and every time I go hiking, I’m prepared for the worst – rain gear and dry bags to combat unexpected storms, a first-aid kit for unexpected injuries, bear spray for chance wildlife encounters – but the the most magical part about continuing to adventure in the wilderness is that some experiences you cannot be prepared for.

Whether its being surprised by a crescent moon or a black bear, being in awe of a sunset or of how well you selected food for the trip, or being shocked by how scary certain sounds can seem in darkness when you can’t tell what’s causing them, the magic of backpacking lies in all the little surprises.

Thinking about scary noises while on the trail, as much as I believe thin tent fabric is a blessing due to its lightweight nature, sometimes I can’t help but wish to be better insulated from all the noises outside the tent when I’m trying to fall asleep. One of the greatest illusions of camping is that the thin material that makes up tent fabric actually keeps you safe from the things that go bump in the night.

If you asked me whether I felt safer inside or outside a tent – I would for sure say inside, even though I know that tent fabric can easily be shredded, trampled on, or chewed through.

It still makes me sweat to think about the last trip I was on, when I woke up at 12:25 AM to the sound of an animal running past the tent. My body froze once my mind registered that the sound was likely caused by hooves, and for some reason I thought lying in complete stillness would keep me safe.

It’s incredible how quickly your body is primed to take action. In just a matter of seconds I was wide awake, the well-known fight or flight mode activated in a moment’s notice. Whatever was happening outside the tent probably lasted 5 minutes but it felt like 40.

If you asked me whether actually seeing a bear or hearing an unidentified sound outside the tent was scarier, I would hands down say the sound (and animal) that I never actually saw.

It’s funny how sometimes the things you expect to be the scariest don’t always turn out to be so. It’s usually the unexpected that challenges me more than I could have ever imagined.

Backpacking to remote areas is exhilarating, exciting, and downright terrifying all at the same time.

The rational part of me is screaming inside, knowing that I can only rely on the items I’ve carried on my back to keep me warm, safe, and dry. The adventurous part of me just can’t get enough. The stars are brighter when you are hours away from any streetlights and the sunsets glow with an unparalleled intensity. Watching the sun tuck behind the jagged peaks of the North Cascades on my last backpacking trip, blanketing the landscape in a pink glow, is an image forever seared in my memory.

If you asked me whether the scary moments are worth it… I would say always 🙂