There’s no trail that leads up to the summit of Mt Breakenridge.
In fact, there’s not even a trail that leads to its base.
What does exist in the way of access is a decommissioned logging road requiring a vehicle with sufficiently high clearance, and a set of passengers willing to get out, chop up and clear fallen trees, and build bridges across the various washouts carved into the road, using fallen trees.
We didn’t know this going in, when my friends Tanner, Matt, and I decided to undertake what lives on as one of the most grueling, infuriating, dangerous—and correspondingly spectacular—excursions of our lives.
All we knew was that from our research poring over maps—satellite, topographical, and otherwise—of the area, the summit, and the valley leading up to it were irresistible.
And so, one July weekend in 2013, after several weeks of planning, we geared up, made the requisite 5 am pre-hike stop at Tim Hortons to pick up coffee and breakfast, and wound our—increasingly slow—way toward the summit.
A couple of hours—and several makeshift bridge builds— in, we reached the end of the line in terms of how far Matt’s truck could take us.
Which meant the real adventure was about to begin.
No sooner had we laced up our boots, hefted our packs, and hit the trail than it was time to remove them in order to ford a thigh-deep river.
If we had been looking for a portent of how the rest of the hike would proceed, this was it.
Over the next 2 hours, we proceeded to bushwhack our way through an almost impassible track of dense, 10-foot-high new-growth forest that had reclaimed what was once a spur of the logging road we drove in on.
On the far side of the new growth, we spent another couple hours scrambling over a series of precariously balanced scree slopes, overgrown with waist-high grass which made finding solid footing a challenge.
Then came the exposed slab faces, slick with seeping water, angling sharply upward toward the summit… and downward toward sheer cliff drops we did our best not to think about.
After each section, we rejoiced, relieved that we had now finished navigating what we were sure was the hard part… only to be greeted with some new challenge.
Finally, late into the evening, however, we reached a high alpine meadow, one of the most glorious in all my years hiking before or since.
And collapsed, in exhaustion, and in awe.
Before dawn the following morning, we donned our crampons and ice axes and made our way up the glacier, through the cloud layer, and to the summit.
Then, we headed back down, bushwhacking in reverse our way back to the truck, the highway, and finally, what was surely the best burger & milkshake anyone has ever tasted.
I think back on this trip regularly for many reasons.
For one, it was one of the most objectively miserable, difficult, and physically uncomfortable experiences of my life.
But it was also one of the most awe-inspiring and spectacular.
Sometimes, I think back to the blue hour descending on our basecamp—an alpine Eden at the base of a glacier—after watching the sun disappear behind the mountains across the valley.
More often, however, I think of the 10 hours of bushwhacking.
My shins bruising against the constant thwacking of springy new-growth branches. The dozen or so nearly-sprained ankles while navigating precarious scree slopes. And the constant, inescapable cloud of mosquitos clogging the air around my face.
I think about the bushwhacking we endured on the way up Mt Breakenridge for two reasons.
The first is as a reminder that no matter what I’m struggling with in the moment, at least it’s not as bad as that.
The second is as a reminder that some type of bushwhacking is unavoidable en route to any destination worth reaching.
There’s a lot we can do to strategize our way around various obstacles we face in our lives and work. But there are always going to be those stretches that we have no choice but to muscle through. And it’s these stretches where we often get stuck, searching for a less uncomfortable, less demanding way forward… that simply doesn’t exist.
And while head-down bushwhacking is not the solution to every obstacle we encounter, there are times when it is, in fact, the only one.
If we believe our destination is worth reaching, sooner or later, we need to face the discomfort inherent in forging ahead where there is no path.
And making our own.
Explore how to navigate a creative life that matters
This article originally appeared in my weekly Creative Wayfinding Newsletter. Each issue is the product of a week of work, and contains something not available for sale.
A fresh perspective, a shot of encouragement when you need it most, and maybe even some genuine wisdom from time to time.
Each week, we explore a different facet of the question “How do we navigate the wilds of creating work that matters?”
It’s something I’m proud to create and I’d be honoured to share it with you.
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