The sky was blue and the temp was just right, warm but not hot. We laced up our shoes and threw our 40lb packs on to hike the classic trail to the Grinnell glacier. Our packs weren't heavy with overnight gear; instead, each of us carried a kid, in addition to the essentials. Unfortunately, we were getting a late start (2pm) on this 11+ mile hike. We set out anyway, telling ourselves we would just see a bit and then turn around. But we know ourselves better than that, and we both knew we were going to make it happen.
When our children were very small (i.e. before they could walk), we still got out for some fairly significant adventures. As they grew, our outings became shorter and tamer. We are in that tricky zone with littles that are big enough to be mobile and have opinions but not quite big enough to do much that the adults find interesting.
Typically, neither kid will tolerate a pack. The older has obviously been out of a pack for several years, and he can hike about 3 miles before the whining is unbearable. Our two year old just wants to do everything "by self"! But here we were, in Glacier NP, and we wanted to do an actual hike to a glacier, not a boardwalk "hike" crowded with tourists who just exited the red jammer. So we packed lots of snacks and planned to go as fast as possible.
Everyone who passed us heading down as we headed up thought we were nuts. They didn't think we could/should complete the whole trail with young kids in packs and at that hour of day. We weren't worried about the fitness aspect, but we did have some concern about time of day and weather. As we got to the glacier, dark clouds appeared on the horizon. Knowing that weather can move quickly in the mountains, we didn't spend long at the glacier.
We ate some snacks and put the objecting kiddos back in the packs and hit the trail running. We listened to thunder the entire way down and watched the dark clouds roll closer. Our daughter increased her commentary about wanting to "walk by self", and we did our best to distract her, feigning dramatic interest in squirrels and singing ridiculous songs. Near the end of the trail, we came across a moose standing in a lake just below us. We spent some time admiring his girnormity before hitting the trail again. By now, my husband's neck was really bothering him from the weight and impact of the pack, so we took our son out and asked him to finish the trail. It seemed the thunder and lightning had passed us by, but huge raindrops were beginning to fall. So we all ran the last mile out and managed to clamber into the truck just before the skies unleashed.
It was bedtime by the time we sat down at the lodge restaurant to eat dinner. The kids were tired and hungry. The adults were a bit of each as well. We ordered beer with our dinner and celebrated our "epic" adventure. It felt great to do something a little crazy and irresponsible, to have walked that familiar line between comfort and discomfort, to have challenged ourselves and our kids as well. You see, epic is now defined as working through tantrums, bribing trail progress with candy, coming up with creative solutions to irrational requests, moving your body in weird ways to keep a toddler asleep, and, always, racing the clock.
Some of us are made for adventure. I don't feel alive unless I'm doing things that are wild, even if only just a little wild and not very often. As the kids grow, my greatest hope is that they love these experiences too, that they feel that tingling sensation in their souls that rejuvenates and connects them to the creator.
