Backpacking in Wyoming
Haikus From My Journal
The Wind River Range
This past summer, I went backpacking for 25 days through the Wind River Range in Wyoming. Many of my friends and family members have asked me about the trip, and I've found that I often struggle to answer these types of questions. Where do I start? Do I talk about the breathtaking views from every single summit and valley? Sliding down an 1000-feet mountain on top of my backpack? Or maybe I should start with the people I went on the trip with, and the weird personality quirks that made each character unique?
When I was on the trip, I thought a lot about what I wanted to remember. I didn't have a phone. I didn't have a camera. All I had was a journal, and a single Pilot G2 pen that I was desperately clinging onto. So at the end of each day, I wrote about a page in my journal about my thoughts, feelings, and reflections, accompanied by a short haiku—a type of Japanese poem that follow a 5-7-5 syllable structure. Some nights, I’d spend no more than five minutes journaling; other nights I’d be the last to fall asleep.
Through these selected haikus, I’d like to share some of my personal reflections from the trip on nature, life, relationships, spirituality, joy, and what it means to live simply and fully. I hope you enjoy.
Haikus on the Trail
Under each haiku, I've included a short blurb that I wrote specifically for this blog! I always enjoy looking back on these entries from my trip; they're like translucent snapshots into what I was thinking at the time.
tonight, the world sleeps
breeze of wind, flowing water
is this true silence?
I grew up in Somerville, Massachusetts, a city right outside Boston where the hustle and bustle of construction projects seems to never end. As I drifted asleep in my tent on the first night, it felt so surreal to experience the sound of nothing—to be immersed in the absence of sound, so quiet where you could trace the rhythm of your own heartbeat and observe how the world could be so empty, peaceful, uninhabited, yet also flourishing with life.
walking breathlessly,
i watch trees paint the canvas
luscious, verdant greens
It’s such a shame that cities confine trees to small, little rectangles nestled in the concrete. On our way to Pinto Park Pond, I couldn’t stop admiring the aspens and how they dominated the mountainside, sprouting up in the most unimaginable places from steep inclines to hard rock. These trees are much more resilient than I gave them credit for. I had never seen so many shades of green in one place.
standing at the pond,
a stranger stands before me.
i ask: who is he?
I happened to be the first one to get up this morning, so I went down to our campsite and climbed this gigantic rock overlooking Pinto Park Pond. Curious, I walked over the edge of the rock and then looked down into the water.
I was expecting a grandiose, Hollywood moment where I'd look at my reflection and see a completely changed version of myself... and it somewhat delivered. Even though the water was murky and the ripples distorted my reflection, the message was clear: I needed a haircut. Badly.
What a wonderful opportunity for a metaphor about how much I've changed!
take me away, map
let me unfold your secrets
and chart my own path
I learned how to read a map. It was nothing like the clean Google Maps interface I was used to; I had to use the compass to orient myself, identify ambiguous features using topographical lines, and make lots of incorrect guesses as to where you were.
When we were first learning, there were a few times when our mentors knew we were going the wrong way, but didn't tell us until we realized we weren't even on the map at all.
I've realized that I'm someone who generally enjoys the comfort of logic and precision: clear directions, informative feedback loops, precise coordinate systems. However, I will admit that there was something oddly liberating about trusting my intuition and going with my gut.
clouds come rolling in
first the flash, then the thunder
LIGHTNING POSITION!
This was the first day it stormed. There’s a big difference between watching lightning strike through an apartment window versus being in a position where you’re prone to being struck… I remember one moment when it struck the lake about a mile away, and my life literally flashed before my eyes.
After the storm, the Earth looked pristine – perfectly spherical balls of hail coated the ground, even filling one of the pots we had left outside. I was soaked and uncomfortable. My socks, which I had left out to dry for the day, were now drenched. And it was frightening to hear the thunder so close while feeling so exposed. I suppose this is what it means to live in harmony with nature, to be fully subjected to her will.
If I had to choose a definitive moment when I realized what I had gotten myself into, it would be on this day, hunched in the understory of the trees as the storm raged on.
up the pass, I walk
each step closer to the peak,
i drift far from home
We crossed the Continental Divide! Woohoo! I vividly remember looking at the divide just above the horizon on Day 1 or 2 and thinking, “Are we actually going to make it there?” It took six days. I was amazed at how much distance we had covered.
This was also the day I also started to eat summer sausage (pork). Being Muslim has always been something I had simply accepted. But as much as I love the idea of being a Baha’i and its core message, it’s daunting to think about confining yourself to a set of morals and values—even if those values feel right.
Broadly, I think that humans aren’t good at wrestling with contradictions, particularly when they arise between a person’s chosen belief systems (religion, political party, etc) and their personal values. As humans, we are often too credulous, too willing to label, too ready to fully commit to a belief system without fully examining what that might entail.
And that’s what I’m scared of. I don’t want to commit to being a Baha’i without knowing everything there is to know about the religion, and I'm afraid of someday discovering something that would cause me to re-examine my whole identity.
into the thickets,
the weight of my decisions
fogs my clear vision
Today was my first time as the Designated Leader. The day started off intense, because Elise, Ben, and I had to hike off-trail for about two miles before finding the trail. In my head, I was able to intuit that if we just kept going forward, we’d eventually intersect with the river and then be able to find the trail. I think I could have been more confident with asserting the plan, rather than always making sure that people understood/agreed.
One of reasons why I obsess over this idea of "everyone buying into an idea" is that I never want to be the one solely responsible for making a wrong decision. If I receive confirmation that everyone has bought into a plan, then my mind tells me I’d feel less guilty if we all were to head in the wrong direction.
Leading this group taught me a lot about how I tend to go about decision-making, especially when they involve larger groups of people. A good example would be the difference between trying to minimize failure (i.e. how do we not make a wrong decision?) versus maximize success (i.e. how do we make the right decision?). When I’m trying to minimize failure, I’m much more consumed with making sure people don’t blame me, the leader, as opposed to focusing on the good of the group. On the other hand, the idea of maximizing success places less emphasis on the question of “who’s guilty/responsible,” and more emphasis on taking actions that get us closer to where we need to be.
Nobody wants to be responsible for a wrong decision. But in a wilderness setting where it feels like nothing is in your control, I think it’s really crucial for people like myself to let go of this fear of being wrong or blamed, and to trust in the power of intuition and in our own leadership.
against all odds,
no Mariel or Colter,
the BEANS will prevail!
Mariel and I were the designated leaders for the day, and we were also tasked with splitting people up into two hiking groups. Our conversation went something like this:
“Are you sure I can have Colter?” Mariel “Yeah!” Bryan “Are you SURE??” Mariel
For context, Colter and Mariel were known as the two people in our group that “knew what they were doing.” Part of the reason why I wanted to give Colter to Mariel is that I think that a lot of people tended to be over-reliant on them, and I think that put a lot of pressure on them to always know what to do in every situation. In some sense, we were the “underdogs” – and I think being the leader of that group and successfully making it boosted my own, individual confidence. The phrase “BEANS” came from the acronym Bryan, Elise, Anna, Nivad (Davin backwards), and Sarah. We definitely didn’t make it to our destination without a few hiccups on the way, but I’m really proud of our team, especially given how I felt on my first day as DL.
blood pumping through the veins,
i race up the mountain side
ankles left behind
Something I learned mid-way through the trip is that my body seems to be very optimized for outdoor activities.
- I don’t excrete any body odor (verified by Sarah, Anna, and Elise, who all lined up to take a whiff of my armpits).
- I don’t struggle with altitude sickness or falling asleep at night.
- I’m tall and lanky.
- Every so often, I would get these weird bursts of energy/adrenaline and race up the mountain without getting tired. I felt SO powerful!
And then I sprained my ankle! Embarrassingly, it wasn’t even when we were hiking, bouldering, or when I was jumping from rock-to-rock pretending that the grass was lava. We were taking a 15-minute packs-off break, and I happened to stumble and step on a rock.
There’s not much to say other than the fact that I had to power through it for the rest of the trip, but WOW. Some of these rocks are out to get you.
days turned to seconds
time flies in the Rockies -- OOPS!
it's July, not June...
“Thursday, June 11th: The Beginning.” This was the title of my first ever entry in the journal, and it wouldn’t be until two weeks later that I would realize that the month was, in fact, not June, but July.
Going into this trip, I thought that my sense of time would shift dramatically – that I’d somehow discover how many many hours there were in a day, and how productive I could be if I just put down my phone. But if I’m being honest, the days felt shorter – which might be a testament to how much I enjoyed the trip overall, but also how much work they put on our plate!
In an act born out of my own stubbornness, I titled the entry: “Friday, June 26th.”
as the fire burns,
embers, lost to the night sky,
find their way back home