Thru-hiking Towards Self-Love on the Great Divide Trail
It had taken me hours to get to this point today. I was on an exposed ridge, with steep drops on either side. The wind was strong, and I felt like it could blow me right off the ridge at any point. The cairns guiding my way had disappeared. I looked at the GPS route and looked ahead at the terrain. My heart jumped to my throat. I said out loud to myself, “there is absolutely no way I climb that.”
Despite my fear, I smiled, realizing that I truly valued my own safety. This sense of self-preservation hasn’t always been with me, but it was here now. I knew in that moment that I could trust myself to keep me safe while on the Great Divide Trail.
Part One.
Our van bounced as we hurtled down the final stretch of highway towards the Southern Terminus of the Great Divide Trail (GDT). I hugged my arms around my abdomen to help me feel slightly more comfortable in my skin. I felt like crawling out of my body. Over the last four days, my husband Brian and I had been dropping off my hiker’s resupply boxes at all my rest points. I had been crying on and off for days. Despite him being in the seat beside me, there was a vast distance between us.
In my clumsy attempts to reach out to him and truly connect before we part ways for three weeks, he had mostly shut me down. The closer the start of the hike became, the more I grasped at some form of connection between us, which pushed him further away.
We camped together in the van on my final night before starting my solo section of the thru-hike. In the morning, I stuffed as much as I could fit in my 60 L backpack, leaving a few items behind. Brian had to drive me to a different trailhead, because the start of the GDT was closed due to forest fire damage. He drove me to the Red Rock Canyon parking lot. I triple checked my safety items before slinging my backpack over my back. My body felt weak with excitement and emotional overflow.
My husband kissed me goodbye. The sparkle of the sun reflected off the proud tears brimming in his eyes. I turned away from him and our van. I took my first few strides of my 950 km journey. I looked back to see him waving and smiling at me and once I rounded the corner and couldn’t see him, tears streamed down my face as my heart ached to be with him.
First steps on the Great Divide Trail.
The first two days of hiking were easy. I had planned shorter days on purpose to allow my body time to adapt to being on trail. I made it to camp in the mid-afternoon the first two days. My biggest hazard was the heat of Southern Alberta. Everything was dry and hot. I struggled to find viable water sources at both my first and second camps. The forest fire damage was immense, eliminating the natural shade that would normally be offered by the trees.
Forest Fire damage on Section A of the GDT.
I had a hard time falling asleep the first couple nights. Each small sound around my tent seemed menacing. I remember lying in my tent on the second night imagining I was looking down at myself from above. It dawned on me how vulnerable I was alone in the wilderness.
My third day brought new challenges. I hiked from Jutland Creek to Southfork Lakes. This section of trail spanned 22 kilometres and consisted of 2,100 vertical meters of elevation gain and 2,100 vertical meters of elevation loss. I knew it would be a big day, but I didn’t know how exposed I would feel for the entire day.
It was a windy day, which makes ridge exposure feel even more dramatic. Halfway to La Coulette Peak I saw a large animal on the ridge above me. My heart raced. I was moving slow. My inReach stopped working and I couldn’t send or receive messages. I felt alone, isolated and out there. I hadn’t seen a soul since I started three days ago.
Barnaby Ridge continued to challenge me. My pace felt unbearably slow and I seriously doubted if I would make it to camp. At one point, the ridge became so narrow I crawled along it to keep myself from being blown off.
Something happened up on that ridge. I realized I fundamentally cared about my safety. I refused to take a route that didn’t look possible for me. It was in that moment that I truly believed I would keep myself safe during this thru-hike.
When I dropped down to Southfork Lakes that night I had to set up camp as the sun was setting and ate dinner in the dark. I crawled into my cozy sleeping bag to reflect on the day. As I reflected, I felt shook. I started to accept just how remote I was going to be for the three weeks I would be hiking alone. Sleep came easily to my weary mind and body.
I settled into a rhythm as I dropped out of the mountains and into the valley towards Coleman, my first resupply point. I faced fear on day four when I camped with other people for the first time and realized I felt less safe around strangers than alone in the wilderness.
Barnaby Ridge.
I struggled with my appetite feeling both anxious about the long hike that stretched ahead of me and heartache for my husband. I learned that even your wrists can sweat when it’s hot enough. I drank 6-7 liters of water per day. I felt joy every morning knowing all I had to do was hike. At some point I developed a blister that became raw.
My fifth day brought me into Coleman through ATV tracks and logging roads. I stayed at A Safe Haven, where the hosts truly are trail angels. They made me feel safe and comfortable. I also met a fellow thru-hiker. I stayed two nights here so I could have a full rest.
With Section A of the GDT complete I started to feel more and more confident. I mailed a few items back to Brian that I didn’t think I needed enough to carry; these included, gators, a vest, and extra food. I walked along the highway, then to gravel roads, and finally to the start of the High Rock Trail, a Section B alternate route.
As I climbed into the alpine, my anxiety started to melt away. I arrived at Window Mountain Lake at sunset. As the sun dropped behind the towering wall of the Great Divide, I found an inner calm. I was starting to adapt to being alone all day.
The next few days were long and physically taxing, which left no time for thoughts and processing. I eventually caught up to the thru-hiker I met in Coleman. I gave him the trail name Avocado, which he accepted. We ended up on the same itinerary for three nights. It was really nice to have a friend to talk to.
On the morning of day 10, my body had finally adapted to hiking 20-30 kilometres per day. My legs and core felt stronger. The deep aching my legs had been experiencing for several days now started to subside. The incredible views along the way made every step worth it.
When Avocado and I crossed paths on trail near the end of section B we had to ford a river several times. The raw spot on my foot from the initial blister was now quite irritated and I worried about infection.
I resupplied again at Boulton Creek Campground area. Family members picked me up and drove me to a nearby hotel. I only planned one night here due to permits and I was seriously wishing I had two nights and one full rest day.
My feet started to carry me swiftly over the kilometres. I challenged myself with four 30-kilometre days in a row at the start of Section C. My friend Simon, who is a family physician, helped me understand how to tend to my wound on my foot. It progressively healed each day.
I settled into the simplicity of the life of a thru-hiker. I felt at peace. I felt deeply happy.
My pace slowed down due to permits as I began the Rockwall Trail. Leaving more time during the day for rest and reflection. My body needed it, as my legs had begun to feel achy again. But my mind was pulling me into dark places with more time to be still with my thoughts.
Mentally, this was the most challenging part of my hike. I had to dig deep to pull myself out of the dark places my mind was summoning me. I had nothing to distract myself with, no books and no hiking partners. I listened to the cruel words my mind was telling me and made the choice to change how I was speaking to myself.
On the third day like this I was finally on a quieter section of trail. My mind was pulling me into a dark hole again of self-doubt and lack of self-love. I stopped my stride abruptly and screamed, “WHAT WILL IT TAKE FOR ME TO LOVE MYSELF?!”
My heart whispered at me, “this.”
And I finally found the love for myself I had been searching for over the last 500 kilometers.
The next step I took was the first step since I was 21 that I took as a woman who loved herself completely. I found the compassion to forgive myself for all the times I had treated myself without love and respect. A weight started to lift off my shoulders.
The next day, my solo section was over. On my final night on trail I found a small path from my tent pad to the glacial stream. The sun was starting to set over the mountain range to the West. I splashed my body with ice cold water, closed my eyes and felt the last of the warmth from the sun caress my face. I felt lighter, happier, stronger, and more authentically me than I have ever felt.
Part two.
After finding my stride alone both mentally and physically, my husband Brian was due to join me. I couldn’t reconcile the two strong and conflicting emotions of excitement to be with my love again and fear of losing my new-found peace within myself when reunited with another person.
The first day we were together we were both excited and happy to be with the other. But, in the days that followed, we began unpacking all the issues we had put on pause while I was on trail. Not only did we feel like we were on different pages, but sometimes it felt like we were on entirely different books.
Some discussions even spiraled into us raising our voices at each other. This is something neither of us do – ever.
But with each kilometre we covered as we left Field, BC, we began to find a way to communicate with each other. We headed towards Howse Floodplain over the first three days of Section D. We faced river fords, difficult way-finding and soul-crushing bushwhacking together. With each challenge we overcame together we became the high-functioning unit we were used to.
Howse Floodplain.
We arrived at Howse Floodplain on a gray afternoon. The landscape was like none I had ever been to before. The vast plain with various side channels was filled with turquoise glacial water. The peaks of the divide towered all around us. The foliage on the ground was both delicate and robust. We fell in love. The difficulty of the previous few days melted away, as we understood why the trail was taking us here, specifically.
We camped on the shore of the plain that evening. I selected a spot higher above water level than Brian initially suggested. It stormed all night, dumping rain onto the mountains, causing further glacial melt. We awoke to find the water levels had risen by almost a foot. The small side channels from the day prior were now rushing rivers. The colour of the water had changed from delicate turquoise to angry gray.
We felt the trouble we were in before we had time to fully realize it.
The trail travels inland on a few sections, but mostly follows the floodplain. We realized we would be fording many streams. The first one was to our mid-thighs in depth. We attempted traveling in the forest, but travel was next to impossible with thick brush and deadfall.
Back on the plain we finally accepted that to make it to our resupply that night in Saskatchewan River Crossing we would have to push forward across the plain, fording whichever streams were in our way.
We lost count of the fords. We worked together knowing Brian had more strength and body weight to get across. He tested the fords for strength and depth, often rerouting to find a path that would be safest for me. Only once did I feel my feet begin to lift off the bottom. I righted myself and pushed with all my might against the current, making it safely across.
When we made it to our final ascent out of the Howse Floodplain we exhaled in relief. The final stretch of the day was along the highway, which was a welcome change from the harrowing river fords we had faced earlier.
The veggie burger, fries and Gatorade tasted extra delicious that night.
As a hiking partnership and as a couple we had found our groove. We climbed into Section E after a day of rest with heavy packs and nimble feet. The alpine called to us as we made our way higher than we had been for all of section D. Brian’s body and confidence settled into trail life as we climbed up and over stunning mountain pass after stunning mountain pass.
This section brought us to places that moved us to tears, allowed us to find a deep understanding of each other and brought us even closer together. Brian learned about the importance of food rationing. Even though our extreme hunger by the end of the 8-day section made us short with each other, we still managed to find humour and laugh with each other about our predicament.
When I think of our two nights of rest in Jasper, all I can remember is the food. We ate and we ate and we ate some more.
Our final section together, from Jasper to Mount Robson Visitor Centre, continued to test us. We encountered a grizzly bear together and were confronted with ongoing bear signs for days. We walked through mud almost continuously, at times sinking passed our knees. We battled the worst bugs on the entire trail. The weather had turned to gray and rainy as the days got shorter.
Yet somehow, we had a great time. We laughed more together than we had in a long time. We moved through the simplicity of thru-hiking with an ease that can only come when completely in sync with your partner. We took turns taking care of the camping needs if the other person needed rest.
On our second to last day on trail we were to hike over Moose Pass and sweep West towards Mount Robson. When we rounded the corner of the pass, a huge mountain vista opened up before our weary eyes. Glaciers hung from peaks all around us as we strolled through fields of wildflowers. The magic of this place seeped into our bones. I wept with joy.
All of the choices and actions that led me to this moment came together. I knew in my deepest self that this moment was meant to be exactly as it was. Knowing what it took to get here, how many kilometres, how much grit and how many sacrifices made it all the more magical. And to share this moment with my partner was an incredible gift.
Our final morning was gray and drizzly. The weather seemed to match my mood. I mostly felt sad that this journey would soon be over. It didn’t take us long to make it to the shores of Berg Lake. I made us some instant coffee. We sat in the rain sipping on our warm mugs of coffee watching the low clouds swirl around Mount Robson.
Huddling together for warmth with our perpetually wet feet and hungry bellies, I realized my body was ready to be done, for now. I accepted that now was the right time for me to be completing this journey. And while this journey was so much more than a hike for me, Brian was feeling more like he had just joined me on a trip. He acknowledged that he never would have been here if I hadn’t planned and executed this trip. He was exposed to the fact that he can do longer expeditions like this one, often walking 30 kms in one day and up to 40 kms on our longest day. He made a promise to himself that he would start believing in himself and make these experiences happen for himself and us.
Hand in hand, we finished the final 5 kms on a road. I would like to tell you that we spoke about something profound in that moment, but we mostly spoke about hot showers and food. Our basic needs were at the forefront of our minds as I finished walking approximately 950 km.
It took me three weeks and more than 500 km for me to fully connect with myself and find unconditional self-love. It took me another couple weeks to reconnect with my husband and to find our groove.
I will be forever changed by the rugged challenges of the trail and the immense beauty it showed me. I dug into a depth of grit even I don’t fully understand. I felt immense gratitude daily for the privilege to be using this trail and moving my body through this land.
But most of all, I felt a deep sense of belonging, in my body, in my relationship, and in the mountains.
