5/11/19, Rattlesnake Creek, Montana

The tree used to cross Rattlesnake Creek.

I had survived the great Missoula blizzards of 2019. Sharp numbness wrapped around my hands like gloves on a cold winter day. Warmth was a sense my frigid body had long forgotten. Now that winter is over, what would I do if not use every ounce of my strength to raise my body temperature just enough to walk to school and earn a college education?

The Rattlesnake Recreation Area is now clear of snow and open to all adventurers daring enough to walk into its dark canopies filled with 400-pound black bears roaming the steep hills. Completely alone, I challenged the cunning Rattlesnake wilderness. I stepped onto the foot path with the bravery of Neil Armstrong making his first step onto the moon and immediately went off onto a side trail. It was off the main trail, but it was no laughing matter. I climbed across fallen trees, scaled sharp inclines and I might have stopped to look at a few flowers, until my eyes laid upon a body of water that made the fountain of youth appear like a mud puddle. I had discovered a pocket of swirling water that formed just off to the side of a mini waterfall in Rattlesnake creek, a pocket of water that was the perfect size to take a dip in on a hot summer day. Excitement rushed through my spirit as I imagined the days to come that would be spent swimming. My joy had a run in with a reality as I saw that there was no way across the raging whitewater, but I couldn’t give in just yet. I investigated the shoreline for anything that could assist me across to the stretch of land on the other side. The distance between the two parts of land grew, but my hope remained. Doubt was building until there it was at the end of parallel shorelines, a fallen tree that almost completely connected the two pieces of rocky land. I hopped onto the tree and it appeared stable. The tree was just wide enough like the bridge in “Indiana Jones: The Last Crusade” and like the “The Last Crusade” it would take faith to make it across. I slowly made it a quarter of the way across, but the rushing water beneath me deterred me from continuing. I walked away in shame, defeated by a H2O.

This embarrassing creek failure would haunt my mind for weeks to come. The trees taunted me on every hike subsequent to that wretched day. Drowning myself in sugary sweets every night before bed masked my shame. With no motivation left, I wondered if I would go outside ever again.

Weeks into my melancholic down slide, my alarm went off at 9 a.m. one bright morning and since it has been scientifically proven that no human being can sleep through the annoyance of an alarm, I rolled out of bed. Lying on the ground, I looked up through my basement window to see a ray of sunshine breaking through the curtains.

In that moment, I was faced with a decision. Do I try again to take up arms against the forces of nature or was I satisfied with comfortable couch cushions? I lifted my arm towards the skinny ray of light and like superman I was empowered. Not only had my motivation returned, but something greater: “purpose.” My purpose: to clear a path to the swimming hole, so my roommates and I could have something to do this summer. First though, I would have to build back up my strength. I created a routine of running to Pineview Park and back to my house. It was a short run, yet almost unbearable. My mind drifted towards thoughts of eating ham sandwiches. All my body could feel was the draining heat of the day. Sitting on the front doorsteps of my house, I pondered if I could ever muster up the strength again to challenge the wilderness. Back in my house, I flipped open my laptop and opened YouTube. A video by David Goggins, Navy Seal and ultra-marathon runner, was on my recommended front page. I listened to his inspiring words and like a butterfly that just hatched out of its chrysalis I was ready to fly! The running continued and the distances lengthened. It was now time.

On May 11th, 2019, I drove back to the Rattlesnake Recreation Area with a vengeance. I knew exactly where to find the tree and this time nothing would stop me. Climbing onto it, I found my balance. I tried the old tested and true strategy of not thinking about what I was about to do, because the longer you think about it the more time you give fear a chance to build. I took a few steps across and could see the water reaching for me in my peripherals. Adrenaline was pumping, but I couldn’t turn back. I could not let all my training go to waist, but most importantly I wouldn’t be able to look straight into the eyes of my roommates and say that there was no way to the swimming hole. With only a few steps left, I rushed across. I made it to the end of the tree, but there was still a small gap between the roots of the fallen tree and dry land. I crawled across some thick fallen branches laying by the tree unsure of there supporting capabilities. With dry land only a few inches away, I leaped across the branches landing on solid ground. Adrenaline still pumping, the shock began to settle in. The death-defying stunt was accomplished, but what awaited me was just as treacherous.

The brush was much thicker than it appeared from the other side. I toiled to find a route to the swimming hole no more than thirty yards away. I followed a semi-beaten down trail till I came up behind the swimming hole. I could see it, but there were still small amounts of rushing water in front of me and my mission wasn’t accomplished. I walked up a fallen tree and attempted to drop myself down onto another fallen tree directly beneath me. I used the branches of the two trees for balance but was foolish to put my trust in the forces of nature. The branches snapped sending me towards the perilous watery grave. Luckily, I was close enough to land that the majority of my body landed safely allowing only my shoes to submerge. I hopped from tiny spot of land to the next, until I reached another fallen tree overlooking the swimming hole. It was a beautiful sight with the exception of a floating tennis ball in the water. Looking down the length of the rotting tree supporting me, I saw that it led to dry land. There was in fact a simpler way to the swimming hole with one minor obstacle. A large thorn bush had concealed this tree of use from the other side. I painfully brushed the thorns to get to the other side, but I knew my work wasn’t finished. I couldn’t let my roommates trudge through all the brush that almost claimed my skin a few moments before. I had to eliminate the thorn bush. I attempted to brush past the bush again, but the thorns were to thick from my current side of the tree. I found a large branch to shove down the thorn branches. After a few different ways of maneuvering the thorns, a clear path was made. I left the branch beside the tree for future use and began my long journey home.

I met again with the tree overhanging the raging water. I’m grateful for this tree, because it is the only means of accessing the swimming hole, but at the same time I wished there was an easier way. I stepped onto it taking my time. I took a few long breathes and began the long walk. My balance was focused, and I made it to final quarter stretch of the tree. Within that last stretch, every ounce of fear that had been building up for the last couple weeks had dissipated and triumphantly I jumped back onto dry ground.

I returned home with water from the creek in my water filter like a conquering hero, anxious to tell my roommates of what I had found. Now the more incredible challenge of finding a time that worked for every single roommate to go down to the creek with each other was underway.