As I mentioned yesterday, the trek was a wonderful experience. I loved having the opportunity to visit the actual sites of such amazing historic importance. I loved being able to visualize a little bit better the extent of sacrifice and diligence offered by the pioneers, who were willing to give all they had to follow the prophet and to receive temple blessings. I loved getting to know the youth of our Stake better. I loved having my own beautiful daughters in my trek family. I loved having my husband with me. I loved the overwhelming spirit that was felt on numerous occasions. I loved the thought-provoking messages provided by our Stake Presidency and the senior missionaries. I loved the touching musical numbers, including the simple a cappella singing of hymns by our trek family each evening.
But that doesn't mean there weren't trials and tribulations along the way.
Things like:
tight schedules (no time for hair combing),
tight "tent" quarters (not really tents, just tarps),
sleeping on the ground with the field mice (I didn't share that with the girls),
limited bathroom facilities (with lines that go on forever),
long hot bus rides without sufficient air conditioning (some with NONE),
endless heat without shade (sagebrush aplenty),
sitting in allergy-inducing grass all day (poor Lex couldn't stop sniffling),
being the last company (which means we were last in line for EVERYTHING - but only for a day),
occasional jumbled communications (two Stakes with two different schedules led to some confusion),
freezing feet the last night (yes, it freezes in July in Wyoming),
hunger pangs (two of the days we went 8 hours between breakfast and lunch),
and sunburnt lips (looks like I had a few botox injections).
I probably wouldn't campaign to go again, but I would go if I was asked to. And I would smuggle in a few extra things to make it go a little smoother. Like a real tent. Perhaps a cot. And some candy. Lots and lots of candy.
Hiking to Martin's Cove the first day.
Dutch oven dinners. We camped with a different trek family each night. Some combinations of families worked better than others. We loved camping with the Crandalls. (Look for our friend Dave on
Wipeout Sept. 8th.)
Our "tents." You could sit up inside IF you moved to the center. We had to set up camp every evening, and tear down every morning. Luckily, we did NOT have to carry everything we needed in our carts. The Penske truck helped to transport the sleeping gear and our individual buckets from camp to camp.
The second day we did a 7-mile hike that included the Sweetwater Crossing and the Women's Pull.
Our company captain was a bishop of another ward.
He was awesome.
Bathroom facilities were few and far between.
The line to the women's bathroom.
Sitting in the grass. Our entire family (not to be confused with our trek family) had problems with allergies. I came prepared with Allegra, Zyrtec, Claritin, and Benedryl (or their generic equivalent), none of which seemed to alleviate all symptoms. Lex struggled the most, however, poor girl.
Cooling off in the Sweetwater.
Right before the Women's Pull, Lex was assigned to sit in the cart, and our trek daughter Miranda was assigned to be an angel. She could only walk along and give verbal encouragement. I was not allowed to help, although I grabbed a squirt bottle to spray the girls as they climbed up the steady, and often steep, incline.
By the end of the pull, three of our girls were in the cart, one was pulling (Shilo), and one was pushing (Cheyenne). Right as we got to the top, one of our assigned "angels" was permitted to help. This whole activity was super tough for me to watch! I thought I knew what to expect, since Britta (also an assigned cart occupant 4 years earlier) had told us about it. I figured that it would be difficult, but was completely shocked when leaders kept pulling girls out of a helping role, and then placing them in the cart. Everyone was crying, some out of frustration and anger (the girls did NOT like to be in the cart), some out of exhaustion and exertion. I absolutely hated that I couldn't help, but was glad that I wasn't asked to get in the cart like a few Ma's were.
After lots and lots of sweat and tears, the girls finally made it to the summit. It will be an experience we will always remember.
The Willie Rescue Site.
On our last day of trekking, our youth had to make the 14-mile Rocky Ridge trek alone. BLM regulations would only permit 220 per group to be on the trail. We had 216 youth in attendance. Prior to coming, the trek planners had been reassured repeatedly that the size of our group would not be an issue. The day before the Rocky Ridge hike, it became one, and strict compliance was required. Our Stake President prayerfully made the decision that the youth would trek alone, with the Trail Boss, 2 nurses, and a Stake Presidency member as the only adults (along with two accompanying senior missionaries). They called youth captains, and a youth Ma and Pa for each family. That in itself, I'm sure, was historic. The youth took on the responsibility, and did an amazing job.
The senior missionaries are on the horses. How fun would THAT mission be?
The adult Ma's and Pa's sang hymns and waved good-bye as the youth began the Rocky Ridge ascent.
We hiked in at the mid-point of the day to have lunch with the youth. I was expecting moans and groans, complaints that they couldn't go on, and long, drawn-out countenances. They came in to the designated lunch stop with energy, smiles, and enthusiasm.
I was amazed at their stamina. Lex was our trek family Ma for the day, and she did a great job.
After lunch, we sent them on their way to complete the rest of the 14 miles.
I think everyone was relieved to have them make it safely into our campground at Rock Hollow at the end of the
long day.
Our last night of the trek, while camping in Rock Hollow, temps dipped
below freezing. Frost covered the "tents," feet and fingers were numb, and everyone was thoroughly chilled. Our trek family took a moment to contemplate the Willie Company, camped in that very spot after the long 14-mile ascent of Rocky Ridge
in a blizzard, starving, exhausted, and freezing to death. Our discomfort was such a
pittance in comparison. We walked by the common grave in which 13 members of the company had been buried, and the gravesite of two others, who had died after helping dig the common grave. I was deeply touched as I considered the tremendous sacrifices made for the gospel. I resolved to more
consciously appreciate gospel blessings in my own life. To not take them for granted.
To give more, serve more, and sacrifice more.
The 7-hour+ bus ride home felt like an
eternity. It was hot, and three of the window shades on the sunny side of the bus were broken. We had air conditioning... kind of. Not enough to sufficiently cool to a comfortable level. I won't complain, though, since one of the other buses broke down. One stopped to help. One had to gas up along the way. So even though we were the last bus en route, we arrived to the Stake Center in a somewhat timely manner, for which I am truly grateful. I didn't know how much longer I could have gone before going into a hormonally-induced hot flash tantrum.
That would have been embarrassing.
Today my nose, forehead, and chin are peeling. My lips are still swollen (honestly, no botox), and I have to smile cautiously, lest they split and start bleeding. But I had a wonderful trek experience, for which I am grateful.
Time to carry on.
