Facing Buggery
Written by Georgina
Travel. Make memories. Have adventures. Because I guarantee that when you’re 85 and on your death bed you won’t think about that flashy car you bought, or the twenty pairs of designer shoes you owned. But you will think about that time you got lost in your favourite city. The nights spent falling in love under the stars and all the people you met along the way. You’ll think of the moments that made you feel truly alive. And at the very end, those memories will be the only valuable possessions you own. EKP
"Try something different. Surrender." Rumi
Granite peaks, sharp ridges and exposed trails, well that grabbed my attention. Why not? A new hiking group so I put myself out there. This was a relentless and arduous hike in remote mountains all in the name of pushing my comfort zone. After driving five hours and traveling fifty kilometers in pitch blackness on dirt road, it was a midnight arrival to camp in below minus temperatures.
I swore I would never do that on any of my hikes, that cold, but in hindsight that was nothing compared to the surrender I was about to experience. And seriously, who names a mountain Buggery anyway?
The hike was a 28 kilometer overnight round trip. Day one was meant to take about eight hours but it reached ten. I admit that was my fault.
Several hours into the trip as we were hiking steeply down Mt. Buggery, cursing under our breath and sweating profusely, I began to experience severe pain in my leg.
Every. Step. Hurt.
Becoming worse as I struggled to keep pace, starting to slow us all down, we stopped for a rest and then the tears came. I willed myself not to but between the pain and the embarrassment, they fell anyway. The hiking group declared an executive decision and that was to share my load.
Beating up hard on myself, ego suffering and feeling humiliated. As I sat taking pain relief and sugar energy drinks, the group began to dismantle my 17kg pack, sharing my contents around so they could take all of my weight. This is what physically got me to camp. Also sharing stories of injuries making hiking trips painful for them and the times they had to turn back. This is what got me to camp emotionally.
This awesome bunch of hikers cared about my safety and I think they might have been a tad bit hungry too. I jokingly asked them to push me off the side of the mountain so I could set off my PLB for rescue. They joked back that I better not be faking this. The group became about taking care of the weakest person, ahem me, and hiking at my pace. They put me out front and asked me to lead.
There was an undertone of concern but also great humor. The only way I could have got to camp and hiked back the next day was accepting their help.
Is there a moral to this story? There always is! Sometimes when I am in my own pain, struggling or battling through, it takes the care of someone else who can not only call it as it is but offer to share the load. Amazingly, when the load was lifted, I could just concentrate on one foot in front of the other without the weight and it was enough to get me home.
I still had to do the hiking (and the physio afterwards), that was mine to bear but I was surrounded by support. There is a parallel in my emotional life too, I sometimes am metaphorically climbing a Mt. Buggery in heartache and I cannot “see the forest for the trees”. I am thankful for those courageous and compassionate people who are not afraid to name it, and reach out their hand at the same time.
These call outs are what allows me to keep coming home to myself, time and time again.