Death March

Since around Christmas, Ryan has been saying, "Mom, I'm ready to be a hiker." I've explained to him that hikers don't whine. This is a big deal to me. I can't STAND hiking with a Whiner. At the Warming House, we have a rule: You can't whine. You can weep, but you can't whine. Hiking with a whiner will bring you down to have a miserable experience faster than anything.

Josh is a self-admitted whiny hiker. Josh always thinks he's the ONLY one who's tired, thirsty, sore, blistered, etc. He's the ONLY one, so he must remind everyone constantly. Everyone else must feel perfectly comfortable, or they would be whining, too, right?

Aaron's always known the rule. Hikers don't whine. Starting last summer, when he was five, Aaron became a hiker in my book. He could hike long distances without whining. So, I took him on progressively harder, cooler and more fabulous hikes, because I could trust him not to ruin the day. And now he's pretty hardcore. And he tells everyone he's an "Outdoorsman." Aaron is my favorite hiking partner. He doesn't whine, he's super fit, he's about the journey and not the destination, he reminds me to take time to smell the rose quartz, he's great conversation, he's full of wonder and excitement, and his phenomenally-fit six-year-old legs hike the exact same speed as my not-phenomenally-fit 29-year-old legs.

Ryan's a whiner. Ryan can't even eat breakfast without whining. We call him Whinin' Ryan. But, he's been pretty jealous of the hikes I take Aaron on, and it's started becoming important to him that HE be included and seen as a hiker, too. He's been telling me for a few months now that he's ready to be a hiker, and that he's not going to whine.

Yesterday was the test. It was a beautiful day. I took Aaron, Ryan and Brandon on a hike in our neighborhood up a mountain. Our "neighborhood", mind you, is a small, rural mountain community, tucked into a small valley in the Rocky Mountains, and surrounded on all four sides by National Forest land. So, a hike starting on the border of our community is just as rugged as any other mountain hike in the area.

We were going to climb a nameless mountain in the area. There are two ways to climb the mountain - to go straight up the front side of the mountain is 1.5 miles. To go around the backside of the mountain is less steep, but 2.5 miles. I decided to go the long way, because the terrain would be easier for Ryan.

After a half-mile from the turn-off to go around the mountain, the trail appeared to peter out. I'd only hiked in this area once before, so I didn't feel confident about finding the trail again, so I said, "We're going to turn around and go up the steep way." I kid you not: Nobody whined. Nobody had whined up to this point at all. Ryan fell so hard that his shoe flew off, and he still didn't whine. He weeped, but didn't whine. Aaron's loop on the bow of his shoelaces kept getting hooked on the hook of the hiking boot on the other foot, and tripping him down to the ground. Major frustration and some scratches until we got it figured out, but no whining.

We started up the steep face of the mountain, that was full of loose rock and scree-like terrain. We were being blasted in the backs with 60 mph wind gusts, too. I was thinking that between the awful wind and the loose terrain, I didn't want Ryan coming down the mountain this way, so we would go down the back of the mountain... the way I'd originally wanted to come up until I lost the trail.

We got to the top, and marveled at the great view of our community, far below. We could even barely pick out our house, over two miles away. Aaron said, "I feel like we're in an airplane!!" Ryan was super proud of himself, and I was even prouder. No whining, and I knew he'd make it all the way back just fine.

We started down the backway, and, on this shaded side of the mountain, encountered a lot of snow and ice. There were also recent footprints, so we knew we were following the trail still. I was thinking that none of the terrain looked familiar to me, but that all of the trails had to lead back to our community eventually... right?

Down, down, down we went. Eventually the trail got down to a gully, crossed the gully and started up a new mountain in the complete opposite direction of our neighborhood. Now I knew we weren't on the right trail. I had a really hard desicion to make... we'd gone about 2 miles down so far. Way down, in fact. There was a chance that another, easy half-mile down, and we'd be back in our neighborhood. There was also the chance that we were headed to God-knows-where, and that a half-mile would be a half-mile further lost.

I was ready to panic. It's one thing to be "lost" by myself. (And by "lost"of course, I mean that I knew where we WERE, I just didn't know where we were GOING.) But, to be lost with two small children is a whole different ballgame. I know what my limits are. I know I'm capable of hiking 25-miles+ in a day, if I had to. I had no idea what my 6-year-old, and especially my 4-year-old on his first hike, were going to be capable of. I knew that I was already exhausted and sore, and could barely motivate myself to get back up that mountain - how was I going to motivate the kids?

But we didn't have a choice. We needed to turn around. The kids didn't seem nearly as upset about it as I was. And still, no whining from Ryan, bless his little heart. He did, for the first time, ask to hold my hand. I think he needed a little extra pulling.

We trudged back up the mountain. I know Aaron was enjoying the "survival" aspect of this. His favorite videos to watch are adventure racing and Man vs. Wild. I told the kids that we could stop to rest when we needed (although I hate dawdling too much until we're comfortably where I KNOW where we're at), but that we needed to ration our water, and not drink until we got back up to the top.

Aaron reminded me, from Man v. Wild, that one way to stave off dehydration is to chew on pine needles like they're gum. "And they'll also give us Vitamin C, mom." ("Vitamin" pronounced "V-it-amin" and not "Vite-amin"... because that's how Bear Grylls, the English Man vs. Wild, says it.) So, the kids enjoyed chewing on pine needles. Aaron also found trees that would make good shelters, piles of pine needles we could use for bedding, etc. I think he was half-disappointed that we didn't get stranded out there.

We made our way again across the snowfields. Slipping, sliding, falling. And then we were finally back to the top. It was going to be a long way down, slipping, sliding and falling on ROCK, with the wind blasting us in the face.

About 1/4 of the way down, Ryan whined.

He sat down, huge pout on his lips, on the verge of tears, and said, "I HATE HIKING!" I sat down next to Ryan, yelled for Aaron and Brandon to wait (Aaron was practicing his "scree run" technique, as Bear Grylls had taught him.)

I sat down next to Ryan and said, "Ryan, I am SO proud of you. This was such a hard hike, I know it was. I would have never taken you on such a hard hike. You ARE a real hiker, honey. You are. And, you've proven to me today that you can go on real hikes now. I'm super, super proud of you. You should be proud of you, too. Any other hikes will seem easy-peasy compared to this one. You got to our neighborhood today in a way that most people never get to see, because they can't hike as good as you can. I know you're tired. I know your legs hurt. I'm tired and my legs hurt, too. But, we have a choice to make... We can pout and be mad and sad all the way down, or we can be proud of ourselves and happy that we did so well all the way down. What's your choice going to be?"

"Be proud."

And he was. He totally changed his attitude. It was slow going because of how slick it was, and the slick rocks kept me from being able to assist him by carrying him or anything, but he had a good attitude.

We got back to the car and Aaron said, "I could climb that mountain two more times!" Show off.

When we got home, I showed Ryan which mountain we'd climbed. I said, "We're going to call that mountain 'Ryan's Mountain'."

"Well, that's a silly name!" he laughed.

I'm so, so proud of Ryan. I had no idea he had it in him. All in all, he hiked about 8.5 miles. I promised to take him on a much shorter and much easier hike next weekend.