Just a little masochistic

From the tent-log, July 5th, 2008, Middle Moose Creek, Denali NP.

Sometimes, it's obviously worth it. When the freezing rain lifts and you see those first glowing rays of sunlight over the mountain you've been trudging up. When you stand triumphant at the peak, catch a glimpse of a mama grizzly and cubs in a berry patch, or realize that you can see for miles and there's not another soul to be found, it's worth it.

But let's be honest- sometimes it is not all fun and games on our outdoor adventures. Rain, mosquitoes, blistered feet, heavy packs, and endless uphill bushwhacking- frankly, it can get pretty misreable. Usually, it's worth it in the end.

Sometimes, however, it's not. Sometimes, it's just a test of endurance for the sake of testing your endurance. Here, in the shadow of Denali (A pretty good looking shadow, I have to admit) I think of the mountaineers testing there endurance up there- freezing temperatures, heavy loads, and days of waiting for the perfect, storm free conditions to attempt the final ascent, to achieve for a few moments the triumph of standing on North America's highest peak. But then, it gets cold really fast up there at 20,320 ft, so you can't stay long. They hurry on down. The accomplishment, the impressive part, is more from the process than the peak, more endurance than excitement.

Down here, I'm testing my endurance in other ways- like mosquito misery. Why do I keep hiking every day- hating the bugs, the bushwacking, the boredom? Well yes- they pay me. But they pay the guys who wash the tour buses a lot better, and yet, here I am. Why? It's not the scenery keeping me here- views of the stunted black spruce tundra through a dark mosquito haze can be a little lacking on poetic inspriation. It's not the salary.

It's sheer stubborness. I'm not going to quit, mostly because I want to. I need to prove that I can handle ten days in a headnet, purposefully dehydrated because everytime I take my pants off to pee I get enough bites that my eyes tear up, trudging through wet, unfriendly terrian, where the best thing to look forward to every day is smashing that last mosquito into a bloody smear on the side of my tent so I can hope for some sleep in peace.

My coworkers have commented that it's a lot like hell around here. Yet, we are still here. There's a fine line between outdoor adventure and masochism sometimes, and I think we've crossed it. And it's not just us exhusted, itchy botanists. Adventurers in every category are pushing their limits- how high, how cold, how many days on only couscous, how many bites to the ass can we handle? Before what? Before we give up and cry, and press that magic escape button? Not likely, we push ourselves until proving it is the only option. Stopping to cry only leads to a larger swarm of bugs- it's keep moving or die like a sick caribou, unconcious from blood loss to the bugs out here in a day or two.

I'm not trying to say that surviving 10 mosquitoey, misreable days in Denali's less famous lowlands ranks with climbing it's peaks, or any of the other incredible feats that endurance junkies push towards. But it is pushing through the misery without the summit or the scenery, no 'it's all worthwile' moment. It's not logical really, to make yourself misreable, unless misery in some messed up way, gets you off too. Diagnosis- masochism.

I am not diagnosing myself alone. I'm diagnosing this club of "higher, faster, tougher" adreneline-addicted folks that I'm slowing joining. Is this masochism a problem? It's not that there is anything wrong with being tougher than a little pain, than the misreable moments. It's when the motivation turns away from all that makes it worth it to simply just making it- that we might need to confront our own masochistic tendancies.

I killed 33 mosquitoes with 1 strike of my hand today- and I have small hands. I'll climb out of my tent tomorrow and do it again. And again. So I guess I'm getting a little sadistic out here too.