Thoughts from the Other Side of an Epic Adventure

September 1, 2003
Michael Evans
  

As the storm clouds gathered we plodded along, carefully weaving our way through a tangled web of burned out forests and boulders, taking careful note of the mountain lion scat along the nearly impassible trail, but oblivious to the real danger that lay before us.

If you’re wondering what this is all about it’s because you didn’t read the July-August column where I laid out a challenge for fathers to consider taking their children on an epic adventure.

I argued that such adventures are especially critical in the  shaping of masculine souls.

Our adventure was a seven day backpacking trip to the Bighorn Mountains of Wyoming, with my two sons, an old buddy Shannon, and his hardy 11-year-old son Erik.

I wasn’t planning on devoting an entire column to it again, but Karla’s gentle persuasion won out in the end.

Well, we made it!  No one ended up seriously hurt…though we all returned with some impressive close calls. 

The food was great. The company even better!  The trout were cooperative.  The stunning night sky was filled with ten times the number of stars we see from Earlham.

The packs were heavy.  The boys were cheerful and good natured.  The memories are cemented forever. 

The fifteen dollar tent, however, was a mistake which we found out about the very first night.

After packing in seven miles and nearly 2,000 feet in elevation the first day, all five of us were thoroughly exhausted. 

We set up camp, ate a huge meal, and went to bed…probably around 6:00 p.m.  No watches, but there was plenty of sunlight left. 

Just after sunset a storm rolled through.  That’s when I wished I didn’t have a fifteen dollar tent.  The tent was 7’X7’ with me and two sons occupying this space.

As it began to rain I quickly realized that the undersized fly on the tent actually covered only half of the ceiling. 

I say quickly because at every point where contact was made with the outer wall or ceiling, water dripped in. 

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to put three human beings in a tent this size and not touch the walls or ceiling?  It’s like playing Operation with a pair of channel locks.

Anyway, we huddled together in the middle of the tent, laughed, prayed for protection, and that it wouldn’t rain for long.  

It’s one thing to be camping in your backyard when it starts to rain.  It’s an altogether different experience to be camping at  high elevation, miles from civilization, with thunder, lightning wind and rain… and a deficient tent.

The next day we hiked up two more miles to Seven Brothers lakes, and secured a base camp.  We fished, talked, played, swam… briefly, and together soaked up the wonders of God’s manifestly glorious creation.

Two days later we planned a day hike to a lake we’d never been to before.  Looking at the maps we knew it would be a challenge.  When the day began I told the boys: “This is character day.”  How true it was.

We plotted as direct a course as we could to Lake Angeline.  There were no trails to follow at this point so we just pulled out the compass…more on this in a moment.

After an exhilarating and challenging four hour day hike from Seven Brothers base camp up to pristine Lake Angeline, we were determined to find an easier way to traverse the three miles back (as the crow flies) to camp.

After carefully studying the topographic maps we plotted a course for the return which would have nearly doubled the distance, but cut in half the difficulty and danger. 

As it turned out we did indeed double the distance, but we also unwittingly doubled both the difficulty and danger. 

Truth be known neither Shannon nor I actually know how to use a compass in a technically accurate manner. 

Oh sure, we know how to find North (just put the red end of the arrow on N) but dead reckoning is only a term that sounds good. 

Our problem is this: We’re just not afraid to dive into about anything… regardless of how little actual knowledge we possess about that particular subject.  Never have been and probably never will be.

This is not a neutral quality.  It’s both bad and good, though seldom at the same moment.   It either gets a guy into trouble or makes him look somehow larger than life.  This time it got us into a little trouble.

With our brave little soldiers behind us we demonstrated a profound case of topographic dyslexic syndrome, something inherent in the male gene pool. 

Without so much as the luxury of a convenience store not to stop at and ask directions we stoically plodded along.  We knew a general direction to head, but little more.

This brings us back to the first paragraph of this article.  It was our intention to try and intersect with an old abandoned trail that used to connect the Lake Angeline Trail to the Seven Brothers area. 

We couldn’t find it, but by the time we realized we weren’t going to find it we had already gone way too far.

In our effort to avoid going directly over a mountain pass we were essentially trying to walk around it where the elevation is much less severe.

It would be like going from Des Moines to Minneapolis, via Chicago, only there is a four lane Interstate between them all. 

What faced us was the extremely difficult task of traversing miles of forests which had been ravaged by fires several years ago.  No big deal right?  Wrong!  These were large trees!  Every step was an effort! 

There were times when it took ten minutes to  make fifty yards of forward progress. 

At one point a one-hundred pound boulder shifted under Shannon’s feet as we descended a mountain side.  After a loud crash I turned around to see Shannon lying on the ground with his backpack between him and terra firma, oddly resembling an overturned cockroach.  Bruised but not broken.

Minutes later Benjamin slipped on another boulder and fell headlong into yet another rock…but the angle of impact was such that rather than being a serious injury it was just a normal goose egg on his head, the kind that nine-year-olds get once a week.

At this point, with sunset drawing nigh, and camp nowhere in sight the two adults began to grow more than just a little concerned.

But we kept on, step after step.  Perseverance and character were the words of the day.

At sunset we finally arrived back at camp with nothing left to spare.  What a day!  In our eyes our boys became young men on this day, July 31, 2003.

Don’t let this one episode lead you to believe that we had anything less than an overall terrific experience!  It was a fantastic week of fun, bonding, high adventure, and spiritual refreshment.

I want to thank all of you who actually prayed for us during this adventure.  There were several potentially life-altering moments when I consciously thought that our  safety in that moment was related to faithful saints praying for us.  Thank you!

One of the special moments for me was a late night “nature” call.  As I made my way out of the tent and out into an open area I looked up at the sky.

Since it was a new moon there was nothing but the radiance of stars and planets and galaxies to light the skies.  This is probably as close as I’ll ever come this side of glory to conversing with a burning bush.

The Bible says “The heavens declare the glory of God and the skies proclaim the work of His hands.  Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge.   There is no place where their voice is not heard.  Their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world” (Psalm 19:1-4).

How does a night sky display knowledge?  How can it be true that there is no “voice” or “language” where their voice is not heard?

Because the message of the heavens and God’s earthly masterpieces, like glorious mountains and lakes is this: I’M HERE AND I’M GLORIOUS!

For every tribe, language, and people group on this wide universe the universal message is still the same, but especially so in the Bighorns in late July, 2003.

What a joy and sincere privilege to share this epic adventure and experience with my sons and Shannon and his son.  May the Lord Himself give all of us fathers of boys wisdom in cultivating the masculine souls of our sons.

And may the American Psychiatric Association pay me $10,000 for inventing the phrase topographic dyslexic syndrome.