I knew I would climb. I didn't know I would change.

As I sat down to work through the planning of my pending 8-day wilderness adventure, I knew I would climb. What I didn’t know, however, is that I would change.

My unexpected adventure began in the spring of 2010, when my boyfriend, Jordan, pitched the idea to go on a backpacking trip through British Columbia's Stein Valley. I am eager to try new endeavours and explore new areas of the world, so this seemed like the next logical step.  I researched the hike by reading blogs and trail descriptions until I felt I had an understanding of what the 100-km, back country traverse would entail.  However, I knew I was in over my head when the day before departing when, while reviewing the items to somehow pack into our bags, Jordan asked me to choose between taking a bottle of extra fuel or a flask of Crown Royal.

I soon experienced first-hand the phrases that I had skimmed through in the trail descriptions. The hike started with 12-km of alder bashing, bear dodging, and route hunting. I had my first taste of dead falls, hurdling over 3-km of sloping logs with a 45-lb pack. Of course, the first day would not be complete without a lesson in climbing up boulder fields. When we finally reached camp, my aching muscles were just a physical symptom of the change that was to come.

The next day, we ascended into the alpine. We started off the morning deciphering our route with compass and topo map in hand. To reach the alpine ridge, we had to climb up a steep slope of enormous boulders, some the size of Volkswagens.  I will admit, navigating boulder fields had previously required some pack assistance from Jordan. However, something was brewing inside me that morning. I was determined to tackle the boulders on my own, carrying the full load of my pack. Slowly but surely, with extreme focus on balance and strength, I met Jordan at the top of the ridge. Winded yet beaming, I basked in my own success and felt overwhelmed with a sense of pride, accomplishment, and aliveness that the challenge had offered. The change had started.

Over the next 6 days, there was no shortage of personal mountains. Each physical challenge was paired with a personal challenge of focus, patience, acceptance, and gratitude. Day three involved sidehilling over more boulders and scree, where one misstep could result in falling into the frigid glacial lake below. Needless to say, 3-km took 6 hours of very difficult travel, trying my patience and my own acceptance of the slow progress. On day four, we walked a beautiful alpine ridge with no water source except the melted snow pack to hydrate our thirsty, exhausted bodies. I tried to focus on the breathtaking views rather than the exercise of water conservation as we descended along exposed switchbacks in the hot sun.

It became a habit to enter camp each evening sighing exhaustively, “That was a difficult day,” and realizing as we looked over the upcoming route that the next day would be just as difficult.

By day five, the rewards of my personal challenges were beginning to surface. Jordan and I came to a river with no apparent crossing except along a fallen log with water lapping over its exposed surface. As I cautiously stepped onto the wet log, I entered into a state of Zen. Gone were my fears about what was out of my comfort zone. Instead, I walked along the log with the utmost focus on the present moment repeating a mantra of “breathe, step, breathe, step”. By the time I had crossed the log, it was apparent that my abilities and attitudes were shifting. I was invigorated by my personal accomplishment and celebrated the change that this adventure was creating. Fortunately, this shift was well-timed for the next challenge of difficult route-finding, trail blazing, and hurdling sooty dead falls as we hiked for two days in the remnants of a forest fire.

As the traverse came to an end, it was difficult to leave behind the remote natural surroundings and majestic mountains. Life just wasn’t the same anymore. I had experienced a life-changing trip that built my tenacity, increased my mental and physical endurance, and strengthened my relationship. Now, as I live my day-to-day city life, I look at the mountains and crave to return to them with the next unexpected adventure. I feel empowered to lead small climbs to expose friends and family to the personal growth that can come if you embrace your environment and continue to climb.