Strange Encounters of the Human Kind

Were you worried I somehow got myself eaten by a bear in Montana?? If you say yes, you’re very sweet- now stop lying. Well I managed to make it out alive, but I owe this in part to the fact that I (1) did not see a bear from closer than half a mile, and (2) didn’t actually go to Montana. Although I do now begrudgingly admit that bears exist. So where was I, and why haven’t I written in weeks? I’ll tell you the whole story, but to preface it, Sheila and I were stepping into entirely new territory for us. Sailing into uncharted waters. We were spending time.. with other people. If you were going to gasp, now would be an appropriate time. 

I know, I was just as shocked as you are. But as the saying goes, even the dumbest bird gets a worm sometimes. And yes I just made that up, I have no idea how the actual saying goes. But regardless, it’s true- even the weirdest and most anti-social of us do manage to interact with the outside world from time to time. So here it is- my strange encounter of the human kind. 

It all started on a rainy Tuesday morning in Santa Cruz, when Sheila and I had had just about enough of the city life, so we picked up from our creepy-back-road parking spot and headed up the Pacific Coast Highway, then east to Montana. Actually I’m not sure if it was raining, or what day it was, but I’ve always wanted to start a post like the beginning of a Sherlock Holmes story. But I did drive east, with the plan of going to all three National Parks in the Montana/Wyoming/Idaho area- Yellowstone, Grand Teton, and Glacier National Parks. Yellowstone was the first stop, and it was beautiful- I got to go on a few very cool hikes, saw two geysers erupt, camped on some beautiful BLM land in Idaho about 25 minutes outside the park, didn’t see a single bear, and generally had an amazing time. But that’s not where it gets interesting. 

The real story started when I left for Grand Teton National Park. Sheila and I drove down to Alpine, Wyoming, to camp on BLM land in the area. For those of you that don’t know, this is just federal land that you are allowed to camp on free of charge. So naturally, as with most things that have the word ‘free’ in them, Sheila and I aren’t very far away. And on the second night in Alpine, looking out the van window at my no-cost million-dollar view of the mountains, I got a message on my phone. It said “Are you in Jackson?” I did a double-take; there was no way I knew someone in the area. I don’t know many people in general- the fact that one of my very few acquaintances was in the same part of Wyoming didn’t even seem possible. How did they know I was here? Should I hide under the bed? Should I delete the message and leave immediately? Change my name? Dye my hair? Flee the country on a cargo ship and start a new life in South America? But once the initial urge to run wore off, I crawled out from under the passenger seat and actually looked at who the message was from. It turns out it was a guy I had gone to college with. Now you know  how I feel about fake names, so in the interest of both privacy and my own entertainment, we’ll call him Freddy. Fred for short. Fred and I always knew of each other, but never really spent any time together aside from a one-off work conference a few years ago. So I was very surprised when he offered to come over for a beer. But man am I glad he did, because this beer was the start to an absolutely epic week. 

I’m from Maine. And in Maine, there is a game that everyone native to the state is required to know how to play. Well, ‘required’ is a strong word, but I dare someone to tell me I’m wrong. I learned how to play in the second grade, when a boy named Ian’s grandfather came into school and taught our entire class the game. It’s called cribbage. I have played cribbage on countless dates while drinking beer and staring at a guy in a flannel shirt, with Wicked Tuna playing in the background. I’ve even played strip cribbage once or twice.. an odd combination, but ‘when in Maine.’ So when two people from the state come together, cribbage is one of the only natural occurrences. And that night was no different. Fred and I sat outside Sheila and drank beer, played cribbage and talked. And during this talking and cribbage-playing, a plan began to form. I had told Fred about a hike I wanted to go on the next day, and my plan of hiking a shorter trail alone turned into Fred, myself and another friend of his hiking the Middle Teton together. If you aren’t familiar, the Tetons are a massive mountain range, and the Middle is the second highest peak next to the Grand Teton, after which the park is literally named. It’s do-able, but it is no easy feat for someone not extremely experienced in high-elevation hiking and scrambling.. or someone with my length of legs (which is very, very short). But we were committed from the second the idea came up. So the next morning, I woke up and drove the hour-and-a-half into the park to meet Fred and his friend before 8 am. 

From the first moment of the hike, I knew I had picked the right partners. Fred’s friend was a very down-to-earth guy, we vibed instantly (which is extremely rare for me- if someone is not on my level of weird I will basically become a mute.. not ideal, but one thing I am not is normal). And Fred just continued to surprise me. If I’m being honest, my past experience with guys who work in my industry gave me a very negative expectation, and that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. He was easy-going, had many (if not most) of the same views on life that I had, many of the same ambitions; even the smallest of our interests aligned. So the three of us had no shortage of things to talk about, and the first part of the hike flew by…but things hit a hard stop when we heard a massive thunder crack above us. This next part is a little serious, but bear with me. 

We were almost to the “saddle”, the area between the peaks, where it starts to get extremely steep. We had been climbing over boulders for hours, my ass and my ego were both pretty sore, and we were still chatting non-stop. But when we heard the crack, all three of us went silent and our heads snapped up to the sky. Immediately we realized it wasn’t thunder. I looked at Fred, and he was already running, so I started to run, and my foot slipped. In this moment, I realized that I wasn’t going to be able to get very far before the falling rocks could reach our location- we were immediately under the slide. But no sooner had I started making a mental list of the people I wanted to inherit Sheila when I died, than Fred’s friend yelled “get behind that rock!” We dove behind a massive boulder, and listened until the thunder turned to a light trickle of rock, then to silence. It had stopped high above where we were. We had just lucked out big-time. Grateful that I wasn’t going to have to leave Sheila to my second cousin or my childhood friend, I sat on the ground, and we all looked at each other in silence for a few moments before Fred spoke. “I just ran for my fucking life.” Then, as I do in almost all situations where laughing is wildly inappropriate, I started to crack up. I laughed way too hard at this response, and Fred’s friend and I both nodded in absolute agreement. 

This shook us up, but after a few minutes of serious discussion on the risk-reward and intense observation of the mountains around us, we decided that the safer option was actually to continue upward. We struggled, scrambled, crawled, sang, and chatted our way to the top. I got stuck once on the way down, and literally had to crawl/slide down about 100 feet to where the guys were standing. Very embarrassing.. but of course I made the whole thing into a joke as I scooted down this steep dirt cliff (I was silently freaking out, but there was no way I was going to admit it and look like a little bitch- I don’t have much pride, but I have a little bit). We started about 50 renditions of “Baby, why don’t you just meet me in the middle!” And 11 hours later we were back in the parking lot. Let me tell you, tacos and beer had never tasted so good. I crashed with the guys, and after a much-needed rest the next day, Fred and I went for another long hike called Table Mountain, via the Face Trail. 

The weekend passed, and I went hiking and trail running alone while the guys mountain-biked. But on Monday, Fred and I met up to go backpacking. We went for a 3-day, 2-night trip in the Wind River Mountain Range, an incredibly beautiful and remote area. We spent one day hiking into a place called Titcomb basin, another day hiking and fishing around the area, reading, laying out in the fresh air and just enjoying the incredible scenery, and a third day hiking out. It was by far the most enjoyable and easy-going backpacking trip I have been on, and the company made it even more fun. To be honest, this trip as well as my whole week in Wyoming were game-changers for me in a couple of ways.  Now I hate to be serious, and I hate to be sappy. But sometimes a girl’s gotta do what she’s gotta do, make herself very uncomfortable.. and talk about her feelings (yeah I know, I’m bad at being a girl. Sue me.) So here goes nothing.

The first thing I learned from my time in Wyoming is to never stop letting yourself be humbled. Now believe me, I really don’t think too highly of myself. But I have been getting into much better hiking shape lately, and this has given me some confidence in my abilities. So when Fred suggested the Middle Teton, I’ll be honest- the fact that it would be difficult didn’t even cross my mind. AllTrails said 12.7 miles, and I almost scoffed at such a short distance. I thought for sure that we had that hike in the bag before it had even started. But the beautiful thing about the mountains, and one of the major reasons why I love spending so much time there, is that the moment you start to get cocky, the mountains will humble you in a way that both puts your ego in check, and also reminds you that nature is something to be respected, and no matter how fast, or strong, or knowledgable you are, the mountains are always infinitely more powerful. They can at the same time make you feel incredibly small, and put you on top of the world. If another place exists that gives you this same feeling, I have yet to find it. 

But I was reminded of one more thing this past week. I honestly believe from the bottom of my heart that people come into our lives for a reason, whether for one second, one hour or for the entirety of it. They all have varying degrees of impact on our lives, but they all leave their mark in some way, and usually at the time when we need it most. And I believe that this week was no different. I pride myself on being independent, on loving my own company more than being part of a group or a crowd, but at the end of the day we are all human, and sometimes we need that human interaction to remind us of this fact. But I have learned that it’s the quality of the people we allow into our lives that matters, not the quantity. I will never forget a saying that my grandmother told me when I was young. She said “If, when you die, you can count your true friends on one hand, then you’ve lived a good life.” And the way she explained this saying to me was that you can make tons of friends in your life, but regardless of how many people you know, true friendship is always incredibly rare. 

Now, I’m not saying that Fred and his friends are going to be counted in my final tally of lifelong friends. But what I am saying is that I was beginning to forget how great it can feel when you click with someone on so many levels, and this week reminded me that even though I mostly keep my own company now, it’s still possible for me to make connections that matter. That people still exist who have the potential to be counted on that hand. And it gives me hope that there are more people like Fred out there who I still have yet to meet. So shoutout to Fred, for reminding me that the connections we make with people can go deeper than just surface-level.  

AND that’s about as much sappiness as I can handle for one post. Besides, as fun as it was to interact with the real world, we can only handle it in small doses. So with that, Sheila and I are off to keep screwing up, just the two of us- because when push comes to shove, I wouldn’t want it any other way.   

Oh, I also learned that “Tetons” is French for “tits”.. I got a good laugh out of that one, hopefully you will too. 

“We don’t meet people by accident. They’re meant to cross our path for a reason. If a relationship doesn’t survive the test of time, it doesn’t mean it still wasn’t meant to be. Not all encounters with people are meant to last forever. Sometimes people are in our lives to teach us something. Sometimes the ‘forever’ is not the person, but what we gain from them.” -Karen Salmansohn