My husband is in back surgery as I write this. I am sitting in the waiting area looking for a way to keep my mind busy. It seems like the perfect time to relive the latest Newkirk adventure.
So David's surgery was scheduled a bit sooner than we expected. Even though we knew it was on the horizon, the timing surprised us and we didn't really feel prepared. Not that there is really anything you can do. It just helps to pretend like you can. So all the emotions of being immobile for a while and not being able to lift the boys for 3 months caught up with us. I came up with a fabulous (I thought!) stay-cation idea where we would go do all the fun stuff that David won't be able to do for a while. I'm thinking the zoo (crazy hills and I hate pushing the stroller there!), the beach (anything to avoid me having to cart our clan through the sand!) and a few other fun things.
David thought about it for a moment. It wasn't doing the trick. Then I saw the spark. The glimmer in his eye. And right then, I knew. I knew I was in for it.
"Backpacking. Celia, we are going backpacking. I might as well crawl into surgery."
Excuse me, what? Just me and you? That sounds 'kinda' fun. Nope. All of us. We are voluntarily going to be filthy, purify our water, poop in the woods. The list goes on.
Thankfully I had less than 1 week to rally...so there was little time for reality and sheer panic to set in.
And thanks be to God, David's dad and sister came along for the adventure. In hindsight, we all should have known better. This is not the first time was have been suckered into one of David's grand ideas. But...we wanted to support him through this dumb surgery, so we decided to sacrifice ourselves (literally.).
Oh yeah... the other condition was that he did not want to see another human. So we were seriously in the wild. Thankfully we stopped at a ranger station and wrote down our names. That made me feel better that there was documentation somewhere of the stupid family that took there 3 small children to be eaten by bears.
As I reflect on 3 of the craziest days of my life, I honestly feel like it must be a dream .No way we really just did this and survived. It was a comedy or errors. No joke.
Starting with the first red flag. We could barely fit everything we were going to PACK IN in the van. Um...cue number 1 we are going to have problems. But, of course David had a plan. Why would I doubt? It included zip ties and duct tape. I was stupid to worry.
So we get to the trailhead. Much later than expected. We are chasing the sun, knowing it will most likely get dark as we hike in. Red flag no. 2. Stop. You are being dumb. Sleep in the van!!
Nope. We load up 2 bikes with plywood, zip ties, bungy cords and duct tape. Kristina pulls a bike trailer loaded down with about a hundred pounds. I throw Max in the hiking backpack, have a pack on my front, David has a pack taller than his head, I take the little boys hands (both with light packs on), Ed grabs the other bike... and with somewhere between 400-500 pounds of crap, we head to our demise. The trail is steep (imagine Kristinas leg bruises!), the terrain is rough. It gets dark. Like seriously dark. But lucky for us there were all kinds of eyes in the woods giving us light (eeeekkkkk!). I have to ditch the boys hands because the trail isn't wide enough and I have to carry the back side of the bike over the river and through the woods. Ed is powering through with his perfectly balanced bike. Kristina is pulling the wagon of death behind her. Boys are starting to get scared. And it's getting freezing. Awesome. An expected 2 hour hike now turns into almost 4. I think the rest of the hike is already blocked. It was seriously traumatic. And I'm never dramatic, so you know I'm telling the truth. :)
Skip forward to taking a wrong turn at the creek with the log across it (what?? we passed a million creeks with logs!) and we are not where David thought we were. It's not the place he had in mind. Yep, he's been here before. And still was convinved that we could do it! I love that man. Nothing intimidates him.
Anyway. We say we are done. We are stopping and setting up camp here. We will not take another step. And so we do. We scramble to start a fire. We set up our 10 man tent (HA!) and climb in. And so starts the longest night of my life.
Freezing temps (very different than my husbands casual "it will get chilly" as I'm packing), nobody is sleeping, we are sharing mummy bags with the kids, and everyone has to pee. You can picture the rest. It was not good.
But, thank The Lord, joy comes in the morning. And so does campfire coffee. Hallelujah. Praise Jesus. I could kiss the inventor of Starbucks via packs. Such a small little pouch. Such glory comes from it. So we were determined to have a great day. We were in the wild. Not a soul for miles. Even though we could barely walk, our shoulders we on fire and our noses were thawing, we were going to have fun. And so we did. It truly was a glorious day. Full of commando fishing, hiking, exploring and soaking in God's glorious creation. It really was all worth it. And we have my crazy husband to thank for it.
As we are making the fire that night, the dread begins to set in. The freezing night. The hike out tomorrow. Can't we just live here now? After all, we basically brought our entire life in. For heaven's sake, David packed in the pack-n-play. Because Max not sleeping was going to be the biggest problem.
At least at this point we had a plan. We loaded on all our clothes (seriously), stayed by the fire as long as possible, then headed in to the tent of death. Thankfully the exhaustion was so real that we slept! We woke with frozen faces, but we slept. We even took a picture to celebrate. :)
The moment we had been dreading had arrived. It was time to hike out. That steep terrain was now a mountain of death. It really was about as steep as everest. We all were stretched beyond belief. But David and Kristina are my heroes. Knowing that there was no way for us to get out the way we came in, they decided that they would hike out twice. Twice. They would carry out as much as they could. Then come back for us, and take the rest out. Love. That is love.
So off they went. David with his pack loded 2 feet above his head, 10 man tent in 1 hand, pack-n-play in the other. Kristina with a loaded pack and the cart of death dragging behind her. They head off. UP the trail. Ed and the boys enjoyed one last morning of fishing. I got to roam the land while Max napped in the ergo. It really was nice. But the whole time I had this nagging, guilty feeling knowing what Kristina and David were going through. I honestly couldn't imagine. When I saw David's head pop around a tree, I cannot tell you the relief I felt! I really thought I might be stranded there forever. But, just like him, he had a huge smile and just said "that was insane." Kristina was the same. Both in amazing spirits, feeling like they had just conquered death and could now face anything! Even having to do it all over again.
And so we set off. At nap time. So the kids were obviously in great moods and ready for a 4 hour walk. Awesome.
But like they often do, everyone suprised me. We all rallied. I was able to laugh (most of the time!) at Max assaulting my head and pulling my hair the whole time, David was tingling and shaking from head to toe, Kristina was... Kristina. She powered through. Same with Ed. Just plugging along, getting the job done. And the little boys were amazing. They hiked the whole way out. Jumped over logs, climbed on sharp rocks, and even spotted some amazing animal homes along the way (thank you Wild Kratts!). At this point I'm really realizing the wisdom in this adventure. 2 days before surgery. David's body is done. That is an understatement. But he got his wish. He basically crawled in this morning!!
We were almost done. At this point the pack had kind off spread out. We all had to keep our own pace or else we might never take another step. So we see the trailhead. Hallelujah!! It is more beautiful than I remember. It says Golden Trout Wilderness. Amen. There were trout. It was the wilderness. I never want to see that sign again. But just as soon as I tasted freedom, Sam had to pee. I told the others to keep going. The end was in sight! Just up one more hill and then across the bridge. I sent Sam over to a tree to go. Then he couldn't get his shorts up. The button wouldn't snap. At this point it really was the most horrible thing that could happen to a 3 year old. There was always someone else to help with his pants. But now, I was alone. Stranded on the last hill. I had a 30 pound kid in a backpack. I knew that I could get down. But my quads. They were not going to stand back up. So there I am. I made it down. I buttoned the pants. I'm on my hands and knees, Max sliding over my head. This is it. This is where I'm going to die. So close to the end, yet so very far away. I start kinda hysterically laughing because it seems better than crying. Do I crawl the rest of the way? Will they hear me scream (Yes...David was barely ahead of me)? But in moments of panic, things seems very desperate. A log. I see a log. I can crawl to the log and hoist myself up. Then a super strength rose within me. I powered my way up. I was victorious. After the insanity of the past 3 days, I am absolutely most proud of this final moment. :)
WE MADE IT! We did it. We loaded all our filth into the van. We used an out house which felt like a hotel. It was amazing. And in all honestly, we wouldn't change a single thing. We all agreed that while it was a wild adventure and we are truly amazed we made it out alive, we are so grateful for the experience. But, I will never do it again. I already feel a little like I did after delivering each of my boys. The fog sets in and you start to tell yourself "that wasn't that bad! I could totally do that again." No. Don't let the fog take over me. Don't ever let me do it again. If I even talk about it, smack me.
So a big thank you to my amazing husband. He should be out of surgery soon. Our family would be very boring without him. Our boys would not have these amazing, risk taking, conquering your fears, memories. I am thankful for that. I'm also slightly thankful that he will not be able to lift more than 5 pounds for 3 months. But don't tell him that. ;)
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