From Sunshine Valley to Egypt Lake and Back
by Theodore Turner

The pack, all thirty-five pounds of it, weighed heavily upon me. With my legs almost yielding under the weight, and aching and weakness almost driving me to despair, I looked up. Ahead lay the trail and the others. We had just left our vehicles and were beginning a three day hike from the Sunshine Parking lot in Banff to Egypt Lake and back. My feet left the parking lot and mechanically set out on the trail which began its steady ascent from civilisation to that other world. A world with which I was unfamiliar.

I was a product of the late twentieth century. I had lived a life of relative ease. Sure, I had played lots of sports and had jobs that demanded physical labour but there was always a reprieve. I thought I knew what it was to push myself to the limits. I had done long distance running as a teenager but it did not compare to what lay ahead.

I looked again at the others. Should I tell them I was sick and needed to go back? Was I sick? Or was I that out of shape? My body begged me to stop but I did not listen to its common sense pleadings. I focused upon the task. Each step was a singular effort, willed in ignorance. If I had known what lay ahead, I would have turned back.

We made our first stop. It had leveled out somewhat and we found a place where we could sit to have our lunch. I began to notice my surroundings. I was familiar with the outdoors. Indeed, I had lived in the country for most of my life. I had gone on many walks in the woods. I had slept under the stars, letting the heavens speak to me their words of hope and assurance, but now as I looked upon the scene, there was a difference. Nothing seemed real. Who were these strangers I was with? They seemed happy, at ease, unaware as they ate their meal amidst the chatter that fell naturally from their lips. I ate in relative silence.

We set out again, this time on a steeper ascent. The path wound up and away from the creek we had been following. ‘Up,' a word implying progress; ‘away,' indicating that we were leaving someplace behind. I didn’t want to leave the creek behind nor did I feel any progress.

I noticed the weather begin to change. It had been cloudy when we had set out but the sun had greeted us and warmed us through midday. Now the wind began to chill. Some rain fell and then turned to snow as we climbed higher.

The trees began to thin. I picked my way through the rocks and water at my feet. The path was now a single groove that cut a mocking line up through the pass. It was a path fit only for goats but it had been adorned by signs and markers as if it were fit for man. I now felt only pain and weakness. I was sweating. I was freezing. Voices urged me on. They assured me that we were almost to the top.

One of the voices came from a man who was carrying the pack of some poor soul who had ventured on this trail in seeimg ignorance. His double burden seemed nothing to him. Was he human, a vision or was this some evil dream? The physical sensations told me all was real, too real - a dream I could wake from.

The path disappeared and gave way to knee deep snow which sometimes held my weight and at times gave way filling my boots with snow. I tried to follow in the steps of the others whose faint trail revealed that they were far ahead. I pressed on. It had been a long time since the prospect of returning to the cars, and home, had presented itself to me. I had left that thought quite early on but now I sought only a grave. Where on this mountain could they bury my body? Maybe they could leave it for the wild beasts.

The top was now in view. Words of encouragement urged me on. I cannot describe what ecstasy consumed me as I looked down the other side. The pain almost seemed to disappear. I had made it. I screamed shouts of delight and victory.

The victory was short lived, however. Now began the descent. Up, hard; down, easy; or so proverbial wisdom would suggest. The pain, the weakness, the effort; all were greater as I stepped down from my triumph. How much farther?

Somehow I reached the campsite. With one last effort I sat down. It took some time to gather enough strength to remove my pack. I sat on a log. I took my pillow from the top of my pack and hugged my familiar friend. The others busily set up camp. Some had been here for a while and described with what ease they had arrived. Those that noticed me took humour in my pillow. I took comfort knowing my pillow and I would soon be fast asleep. My son Micah, God bless him, after much whining on both our parts, set up my tent. I crawled in.

Sleep did not come. At least not sleep as I had known it. Fragmented and illusionary images passed before my mind’s eye. I saw rocks and water and grass. I marched. I awoke. I ached. I was cold and sweating. I was feverish. I lay there for a long time before I finally slept.

When I woke in the morning it was early. I cooked some porridge and sat there. I could do nothing else. I couldn’t walk as such. Each muscle had decided enough was enough and all had left for vacation at once. I was left alone with my thoughts, that is, no thoughts. As the morning wore on, I sat by the fire. The others had left me as they went traipsing about on their day hikes. I tried to read my Bible but was unable to make sense of a single word. A forest ranger came by and had me put out the fire. I must have been a sorry sight as his anger turned to obvious pity. He gave me some scolding about bears, food, fires and such and then left. I sat there.

After noon I was finally able to stand and cleaned up the site a bit. The others came back. I told them of the adventure with the ranger. I had some lunch and slept awhile. I awoke with a clearer mind.

I walked down to the creek, a distance of about thirty yards. It was cloudy and a light mist fell. I entered another world, a real world, a vivid world. The sound of the water dancing on the rocks, the colours, the trees and plants that surrounded me, that enveloped me, that held me, are hard to describe. The air, I breathed it. It filled me. I breathed again, this time deeper. Life, real life filled me or at least a promise of life. I beheld the living colours that were all around me; rich greens that were not green, or more than green, as if a thousand hues had been added to green. Red, blue, orange, yellow, purple and a thousand other colours, each alive and multicolored greeted my senses. I took it in. The water, the rocks, the moss, the trees, all were alive. The sound that spoke to me came from all around. It was the stream speaking, not with a single voice but with a thousand voices that spoke as one voice.

So much of my life, my life before now, had seemed without purpose. I was a failure. Work, family, church and even my dreams and ambitions were nothing but failure. I had been hanging on, hoping that something would happen to turn the tide. I had always been stubborn in my optimism, proud of the fact that little could discourage me. Now I saw it for what it was. I saw the truth though I did not yet yield to it. I was insignificant. Not that I didn’t matter, just that I could do nothing, understand nothing, know nothing that could be significant. I couldn’t undo what God was doing. God was doing something with my life in spite of my best efforts to ruin it. A different kind of optimism urged itself upon me, a hope that would not let me go.

I went back to the camp. Some of the stiffness had left me and strength returned. I wish I could say that since my moment by the stream I had been forever changed. It had a profound effect upon me but it did not change me, at least not all at once.

The next day we returned to our vehicles. The journey back was easier. I took my time on the ascent back up the pass, worried that the weakness might return. My fears were unfounded. Besides a lot of stiffness, an appropriate tiredness and a few blisters, I was fine. Also, my desire to go back burned within me. What was it I encountered by the river?

Since that trip last summer, the external problems in my life only grew worse. Conflicts and stresses have abounded. Strangely, I am at peace. I did two more trips last summer and one already this year. I have not had any further experiences. I am planning a two week trip at the end of July. I want to have the time alone, to write, to think and to pray. I may have something to write about when I get back or I may not. That is the thing about life; it’s unpredictable. Yet, God has His plan and I want to fit into it. He made it to fit.

Memories of my first backpacking trip in June '03