Turning Around
There is a difference between “hard skills” and “soft skills.” Hard skills are those skills that you can learn, techniques you can practice, and knowledge that you can acquire. In other disciplines, this is what some (R. Heifetz, for example) describe as “technical knowledge.” I learn how to read a map and use a compass. I learn the knots that are helpful in the wilderness (I still haven’t ever had to use a bowline knot and don’t think I ever will). This is technical knowledge or “hard skills.”
Soft skills are more difficult to teach. These are the skills that rely on intuition and experience. If we keep with Heifetz’s writings and thoughts, this is akin to what he and others describe as “adaptive knowledge/learning.” This is being able to read a situation and to make a decision that is particular to that situation. Soft skills are knowing if it is important to refill water, knowing when to take a break, and for this post, knowing when to turn around.
Let me be clear, how one uses soft skills is different with each situation and there is not one right answer for every moment and encounter. I cannot tell you the temperature or the humidity or the barometric pressure that must be met to say that it is right to turn around. There are so many other variables including the gear you might be carrying, how the day has been going, the people you are hiking with, and your own level of experience. Soft skills are primarily gained by hiking and learning and going into the wilderness again and again. Talking to others, learning together, and reflecting on hiking experiences are all ways to gain your own set of soft skills.
For me, one of the most important and difficult soft skill to learn was when to turn around.
It was a crisp, clear, and cold February in New Hampshire. I had my micro spikes, snowshoes, and my extra emergency gear so I would be ok if I had to spend the night even though I was only planning on hiking for the day. I had plenty of food, layers of clothing and extra layers just in case, and a good, early start. My plan was to take a long 17-mile day to climb one mountain in New Hampshire. It was a good start for what I assumed was going to be a great and successful day.
However, the snow was fresh. I am told that fresh snow is a great thing for skiing. I have never gone downhill skiing because I am afraid of trees. Actually, I am only afraid of trees when I encounter them at a high speed. And, I am afraid not of falling, but landing and stopping after the fall. And, I am a bit of a dork. I was that kid in Jr. High who would argue with everyone who had a lift ticket on their jacket that cross-country skis give you a much better cardiovascular and overall comprehensive workout. I didn’t have many ski buddies in Jr. High. Truth be told, I didn’t have any ski buddies in Jr. High. Now that I think about it, I really didn’t have many buddies at all in Jr. High. I don’t think it helped that I kept referring to potential friends as buddies. The point is. I don’t know if fresh snow is good, but I am told that it is – if you are skiing.
Yet when you are snowshoeing, walking on a path that has already been cut, a path that has tracks already on it is much easier than trying to create your own trail in fresh snow. You don’t have to lift your legs as high, your feet don’t sink down as much, and it is just easier. But this day, I was looking at fresh snow on the trail that had no evidence of any previous hiker. I was going to have to cut my own trail.
It didn’t start out that badly. It was uphill (I was going up a mountain), but the snow was not more than a foot deep. I was breathing hard, but I was making fairly good progress. There were a couple of places where I was not sure which direction the trail went, but overall the hike was moving along. After a while I got to a place where the ascent leveled off and I assumed things would get easier. I was walking through a forest in-between one ridge and the next, but it was here that the snow got deep. First, it was knee deep and my paced slowed down a bit. Then it was thigh deep and my pace slowed down some more. Finally, the snow was waist deep and I was moving very slowly. Mind you, this is all with my snowshoes on; I do not know how deep it would have been had I taken my snowshoes off and I did not want to find out. I had images of me sinking up to my neck in the snow; not a comforting thought. I was making progress, but it was very, very slow. The majority of this time I was still in a forest, not having any sense if I was actively climbing up the mountain or if I was still working my way to the actual base of the mountain. Around noon I took a look at the map and made an educated guess as to how far I have gone. I was a little more than half-way to the summit of the mountain, but still had a considerable way to go. Now I was starting to get frustrated. I was pushing through the snow, and often falling over into the rising banks and drifts surrounding me. I was staying warm enough, the sky was still blue, and I was ok, it was just very slow and very difficult. And then I couldn’t find the trail. The trees were not marked with any yellow blazes, there was not a clear tunnel to follow, and I was not positive which way to go. I kept pushing forward, foot by foot, hoping to find something until about 12:30 when I thought it would be a good idea to stop and have lunch. While eating lunch I went over my options:
1.) I could keep pushing forward, assuming that I would eventually find something that would resemble the trail and I would find the summit. I would most likely be taking a risk with my return. I may not get back until 5:00 or later meaning it would be dark. Yet I would have a great story to tell about that particular mountain.
2.) I could go forward for a little longer, until 2:00 at the latest, and no matter what turn back. I was hoping that if I turned around by 2:00 I would be able to follow my well-groomed tracks before it got too dark and would be able to find my way back to the car.
3.) I could finish my lunch and turn around and head back now.
When I plan a trip, I have a goal that I want to accomplish. I wanted to get to the top of that mountain. I was working on completing a list of summits to climb and this hike would bring me one mountain closer. I had a goal and I had to meet that goal. A big part of hiking is mental. It is being able to push through the discomfort. It is being able to push yourself to go further than you thought was possible. It is being able to make yourself work through the pain. Yes, you are tired, but you will be ok. Yes, it hurts, but you will be ok. There is a mental state that one needs to achieve to hike and to climb a mountain. It is a stubbornness that feeds you just as much as your food.
This is part of the challenge of knowing when to turn around. I have hiked with individuals who have given up only ten steps in because the hike was more difficult than they expected. I have been with people who have turned around much earlier than I would have recommended because they were tired and did not have the mental desire to push through. The mental desire can make a difference in getting to the top of a mountain. But it can also get in the way. For those of us who have a list, who have a goal, who go into that mental state where turning around is not an option, this place where pride and stubbornness can be dangerous. This is where I was, in a place where I was stubborn and where I didn’t want to admit defeat. However, I was beginning to realize that I may not have been able to achieve what I hoped I could. My fear was that the trip would be a failure.
In considering my options, I wanted number 1. I wanted to summit that mountain, to have that bragging rights, to return from a trip successful with a great story. But I knew that hiking in the dark in the winter is not a good idea, so I opted for number 2. I was honest that this was a compromise, to feed that part of me that wanted to get to the summit. I think I knew that getting to the mountain summit was already beyond my reach for the day, but I did not want to admit it. I made the decision to keep going for a couple more hours.
Yet about fifteen more minutes of moving slowly, of pushing through the snow, of making very little progress I swore aloud, and decided that I had to let go and go back. I was letting go of the goal that I had started with. I will be honest, I thought about saying that I had made it to the summit even if I hadn’t. No one else was with me. No one else was in the wilderness that I could see. I could have easily lied, said I made it, and have bragged about pushing through the snow. But the sense of shame and guilt were too much and I accepted that I would have to return from this hike admitting that I failed in my attempt. I turned around, and worked my way back towards my car, noting how much it easier it was since I was going through already made tracks and was going downhill.
Had I failed? This depends on what the goal is. One of the mental shifts that I needed to embrace is around what makes a successful hike. With every hike, I start with a plan, a goal, and in my mind a success would have been one where I accomplish that goal. This was part of what kept me from turning back right away. I needed to realize that the goal is not just to summit a mountain or find a pond. Any excursion into the backcountry involves risk. A winter hike involves much more risk and a very thin margin for error. I could have gotten lost, I could have fallen and sprained or broken something. Injury or death is a real risk with every backcountry excursion. Thus, the primary goal of a hike is not to make it to the top of the mountain, but to return to the car safely. That is the goal of any backcountry experience – to return safely. Everything else that happens during the hike is just a part of the experience. I am not hiking primarily to check items off a list, but to be in the wilderness. I am hiking to have an adventure in the wilderness. If I go into the wilderness and have an experience and adventure and then return to the front-country safely then it was a successful trip. This was the soft skill that I needed to learn.
Knowing when to turn around before reaching your destination is a soft skill. This is a soft skill that is not easy to teach. The place where one should turn around will vary for everyone. Once again, we are reminded how important it is to hike with a partner. The other person can be the voice of encouragement, pushing you, or the voice of reason, coaxing you to make the smart decision to head back. Or, that other person can be the voice urging you to push yourself just a little bit more and you may be the one to help make a good, smart decision. Yet, even when you are by yourself, it is important to have a plan and a back-up plan. Have a turnaround time; this is the time when you say that no matter what, it is time to start heading back. Have alternative routes to take if possible. And remember that a successful trip is one where you return safely.
Of course, this also applies to life. Every day we face decisions of staying the course or turning around. The small decisions happen quickly and often do not require a lot of thought. But there are those bigger decisions that we wrestle with. Do we stay with our job? Do we stay in a relationship? Do we keep working on the degree or stay the path that is before us? To turn back can feel like giving up, like quitting. For some of us, this is not an easy idea to consider. Yet is the goal to say that we never gave up? Is the goal to be able to brag that we lasted the longest in a relationship that was harmful or a job that was not life-giving? The goal is to be able to live, to be able to “return to your car” safely. As the philosopher Alfred North Whitehead says, we want to live, to live well, and then to live better. It starts with living. If you are being harmed, if you are putting yourself at risk, then maybe it is time to turn around, to make a different choice, or to find a different path. Push yourself. Aim for your goals. But not at the expense of your life (however that is understood). This is a soft skill, but one that can save a life.