Thoughts on Bushwhacking
Early this morning, I dropped into the bottom of a saddle between two mountains. The night before had been wild. High winds, thunder, lighting, and bit of rain. The temps were dropping fast, and I could tell it wouldn’t be long before snow would find us if the conditions held.
Standing there in the middle of the saddle, I felt defeated. The wind slammed into my face, unrelenting. Battered and exhausted, I hunkered down behind a tree and soaked up a sliver of warm sunlight.
I stared at my feet, searching for any excuse to not keep hiking.
So I ate.
Looked at my map.
Then drank some water.
Looked at my map again.
Still staring at my shoes, I remembered, my tent was wet! Perfect I’ve found an excuse.
I spread it out in the sun and waited. Even after it dried, I still sat there, not wanting to move. Eventually, I gave in, packed up, and started walking again just a touch more energized (it must have been the three Snickers).
As I rounded a bend, I looked up expecting a beautiful view only to see it.
A wall of willows. Heart sinking, dream crushing, endless, willows.
I was crushed. I wanted nothing to do with any sort of bushwhacking. Nothing. I was done. Physically and mentally.
Convinced I had to be lost, I leaned on my trekking poles, checked my navigation yet again, groaned out loud and proclaimed that I didn't deserve this (I was nearly 3,000 miles into the trail after all). I then shook my head in disbelief, farted, and put my head down.
Deuteronomy 8:2-3 New Living Translation (NLT)
2 Remember how the Lord your God led you through the wilderness for these forty years, humbling you and testing you to prove your character, and to find out whether or not you would obey his commands. 3 Yes, he humbled you by letting you go hungry and then feeding you with manna, a food previously unknown to you and your ancestors. He did it to teach you that people do not live by bread alone; rather, we live by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.
Turns out, I wasn’t lost. I hadn’t taken the wrong path. I was led here. I was exactly where I needed to be.
Standing at the edge of the willows, I could see the faint trail threading through the mess of tangles. Everything in me wanted to turn back. But I had to go forward.
I thought of the Israelites being led through the wilderness, by fire at night and cloud by day, And realized I was in my own version of that story.
Brendan Leonard once wrote,
“Bushwhacking, although probably no one’s preferred method of backcountry travel, is a necessary skill, and not even so much a skill as a way of thinking…You are not doing it so much as you are withstanding it.”
He’s right. You’re never really lost out there. As my buddy Matt Saxton says, “Wherever you are, there you are.”
So you push forward. Through the thorns, through the mess. Maybe you’ll hit a lake, a ridge, or a high point. Hopefully something familiar shows up on the map, if you even have a map. Otherwise…good luck.
A Humbling Experience
“…humbling you and testing you to prove your character…”
“I don’t deserve this! I yelled. I’m about to be a Triple Crowner! Where are the trail maintainers? Why do the Colorado Trail hikers get nice paths? This isn’t fair! I’m going to get soaked! My legs are going to be shredded!”
Maybe that was the point.
Would I keep trusting God and moving forward even if it meant another round of the infamous Willow Wash? Would I swallow my pride and accept this as what I get to do now?
How important is humility to God?
Out there, alone, that question got real.
Obedience
“…testing you to prove your character, and to find out whether or not you would obey his commands.”
So I stepped in.
The first branch smacked my shin. Another caught my arm. I nearly lost a trekking pole in the chaos. But after a while, my head was down, and I was just pushing forward.
There is no right way to bushwhack. No coaches, no tutorials, no form to follow. You just do it.
And maybe that’s the point.
The outward expression of humility…is obedience.
Depending on God
I was so exhausted I finally broke. Every muscle in my body screamed. My pride, my comfort, even my sanity, it all felt gone. And yet, there was a strange peace in that torn shirt, bloody shin moment.
I couldn’t do it on my own, and that was okay. I just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other, letting the trail lead me, trusting that every thorn, every branch, every obstacle was part of the path I was meant to walk.
Somewhere standing in the middle of all that willowy chaos, I realized: this is what dependence looks like. Not dramatic or flashy. Not in control. Just leaning on the One who’s already mapped every inch of this journey, trusting that He knows the way better than I ever could.
So I pushed forward. Branch by branch, step by step, inch by inch. I got scratched. I got wet. I swore a little more than usual. But I also laughed, I kept moving, and I remembered that sometimes the hardest parts of the trail are where the lessons are found.
Bushwhacking isn’t fun. But sometimes the hard, messy, exhausting parts are exactly where God shows up and where we learn to trust Him most.