I just finished reading Jon Krakauer’s Into the Wild. It was recommended to me by a very good friend out in Montana who has spent many years traversing the backcountry of America’s West. I was fortunate to travel into some of this terrain with him on two occasions and have learned much from him in terms of survival skills, increasing my already healthy respect for the great outdoors.

The book chronicles the short life of Chris McCandless, a young man who left behind a loving family and promising future for the lure of the West. He eventually died of starvation in Alaska in 1992; however, the book does an excellent job of neutrally capturing how Chris arrived there and what may have led to his death.

When I confided in Carl that I was finally reading the book, he had much to say about it, reminding me, yet again, how important it is to always enter Nature prepared for everything and anything. He’s right. On our second expedition into the wilderness, I had packed in a sleeping bag that was guaranteed to keep me warm at 0 degrees Fahrenheit. However, after improperly storing it for a few years and after encountering colder weather than was expected, it would not keep me warm. My body temperature had already dropped during the day due to the wind and late arrival back at camp and by the time the sun went down, I was already shaking violently and feeling very, very cold. Carl laughs and jokes about it now, but if he had not spooned me, sharing his warmth upon noticing that I was in danger, I probably would’ve been in major trouble.

The point is that the wilderness, as lovely as it is, can also be dangerous and it’s always a good idea to know what you’re getting yourself into before you head out to explore its valleys and mountains.

Of course, I’ve always loved Nature, spending countless hours as a child playing in the woods near my home and running through sunkissed fields whenever I could. And, like Chris McCandless, this love of Nature grew exponentially upon my first encounter with the West, arriving under the guise of Montana, in the early 90s.

My sister and I would spend parts of summers riding bikes, swimming and hiking in and around the small town of Seeley Lake, MT. And, I think it’s fair to say that neither one of us had ever known such beauty or contentment before; it was addictive. Nestled about an hour north of Missoula, Seeley Lake had become my aunt’s adopted home and it quickly became ours, too. In college, I continued my love affair with Montana, even dating a young man from Helena, Montana my freshman year, visiting him there on one of my summer trips.

During later years, I would travel to Montana in the late winter and cross country ski on a frozen Seeley Lake, marveling at the density of the ice and allowing the sun to heat my body. A few years ago, I returned to Montana and did a week long backcountry hiking and camping trip with my then boyfriend, Erik. I was petrified! I had never camped a day in my life, and, as much as I loved the outdoors, the thought of trekking through Grizzly Country was terrifying. After seeing two bears on the first day (one being a Griz), I crawled into the tent, had a panic attack and seriously considered scratching the trip.

I stuck it out (much to the delight of Erik) and came to enjoy myself and the silence and simplicity the backcountry offered. Aside from almost falling off a mountain cliff, caught and saved by Erik, I considered the trip one of the best things I’ve done in my life. I went well past my comfort zone, was tested by Nature and survived, relishing the surreal beauty around me with every step. It was this feeling that came to me again while out traversing the Beartooths with Carl this past summer. Though not as well known as Yellowstone and the Tetons, it is one of the most breathtaking slices of country I’ve ever seen, even rivaling Glacier National Park.

Even now I can close my eyes and feel the icy wind on my cheeks, the bluebirds which greeted us in the morning near our tent and the carpets of wildflowers we crossed as we roamed around the area. It was lovely.

I say all of this because it highlights the addictive quality of the West, and I found myself understanding the impetus behind Chris McCandless’s trek into the wild as recounted by Jon Krakauer.

I don’t want to spoil the book or the recently released movie by saying much more about it here. However, I would like to leave you with these words in the hope that they may inspire you to read this story and to safely find your own slice of Nature to explore:

“It is easy, when you are young, to believe that what you desire is no less than what you deserve, to assume that if you want something badly enough, it is your God-given right to have it. When I decided to go to Alaska that April, like Chris McCandless, I was a raw youth who mistook passion for insight and acted according to an obscure, gap-ridden logic. I thought climbing the Devils Thumb would fix all that was wrong with my life. In the end, of course, it changed almost nothing. But I came to appreciate that mountains make poor receptacles for dreams. And I lived to tell my tale” (p. 155).