A Year of Failed Travel Plans
The Thing About Failed Travel Plans
We’ve all experienced The Benefits of Travel. If you want to explore that subject and put some reasoning behind the feeling, check out Laura’s post on the topic if you haven’t already.
But do all your trips go as planned? And when they don’t, how do failed travel plans affect you?
For me, it has been a surprisingly demoralizing year so far, as a series of disappointing events accumulated over an uncharacteristically short amount of time. I know this isn’t the most typical subject to shine a light on—especially when I was supposed to be writing the second part of our successful family backpacking trip to the Grand Canyon.
A more conventional take on failed travel plans would probably go something like this: You embark on a trip, nothing goes according to plan, but somehow you turn it around and end up having an even more incredible and authentic experience. If that’s where your energy takes you, that’s great news. In fact, that is partially the “plot” I’m planning to tell in the second part of our Grand Canyon story.
Not every failure immediately transforms itself into a beautiful travel lesson, though. By today’s standards, where everybody is trying to present their polished travel success story, I want to offer a more honest point of view before moving on.
Maybe this is another travel niche where surprisingly little has been written. Or maybe it’s simply a desperate call for justification on my part in an attempt to make myself feel better about some of the questionable ideas, decisions and plans I’ve made lately.
If all of this sounds highly pessimistic, I promise there is a plan for an uplifting conclusion. Somewhere toward the end, I fully intend to conjure up the mental image of fireworks and flying jets celebrating my glamorous victory over self-doubt.
Let’s see if, this time around, my plans actually reflect reality.
The Sequence of Events
A family gap year
The idea of a family gap year had been on my mind for a while. But how long does it actually take to restructure your life around a goal like that?
I shared my thoughts with Neli, and not long after, we put a plan in motion. We figured our kids were at an appropriate age for the lifestyle, and Neli and I were going to make this the final chapter of our 30s. We gave ourselves one year to make the necessary arrangements, after which we would be bound for a stay in Bulgaria—returning the kids to their heritage—followed by the exploration of entirely new travel destinations.
This was in May of last year.
The reality is that instead of a gap year, it has turned into the year of failed travel plans.
Who knew it would take so much time and effort to detach yourself from the societal fabric we have embroidered ourselves into—with professional responsibilities, random commitments and, as of lately, schools?
The disappointing outcome, of course, left a burden in the back of my mind—one that might have affected my rational thinking. The concepts of decision-making after disappointment and ego-awareness are familiar to me, and I have made a conscious effort over the years to improve in both areas.
And so, my inability to recognize what I had been primed for leads me to my next segment:
A New High for Rada and Another Low for Me
At the time, it sounded like a great idea to help my five-going-on-six-year-old daughter accomplish something remarkable: completing Half Dome, Rim-to-River and Mt. Whitney in less than a year. The first two were already in her pocket.
So, naturally, I hyped her up about this fun, beautiful and scenic route that would start with a family camping trip in Sequoia National Park, on the western side of the Sierra Nevada, and end at the tallest peak in the contiguous United States, on the eastern side of the mountains.
Or, in less romantic terms: a 60-mile trek deep into the backcountry, with more than 14,000 feet of elevation gain—not to mention another 14,000 feet of descent—over the course of six days.
We did the necessary preparation and, as planned, were promptly on the trail.
The first day was a success. We hiked more than nine miles, climbing roughly 4,000 feet to Franklin Pass, leaving it behind, and then descending another 1,000 feet to our campsite. We were right on schedule.
This is where I started having second thoughts.
Despite Rada’s heroic effort, could she really keep up this intensity for another five days without the adventure starting to feel like a punishment? And perhaps the more uncomfortable question: How had I not predicted this?
That place—and that moment—was also our tipping point. If we continued on Day 2, turning around afterward would become almost as demanding as continuing forward. By morning, I had mostly made up my mind that we should turn back. But I also wanted to take my own ambitions completely out of the equation and give Rada a voice in the decision.
And what a blind ambition this would, in fact, prove to be.
That became even more obvious a few days after we returned, when I secured a solo permit to hike Mt. Whitney from Whitney Portal in three weeks’ time.
As far as Rada was concerned, this was hardly a failure. It became another meaningful experience for her. Most importantly, she came away still fond of the trip—and determined to return next year and finally check this one off her list.
Try Once. Try Twice.
Mt. Whitney Trail is one of the three most challenging day hikes in the country. In my mind, completing it was finally going to get my mojo back.
So there I was, once again on my way to the mountain. I took the seven-hour drive from our home at sea level all the way to Lone Pine, sitting at about 3,500 feet. I spent the evening there and couldn’t get myself to sleep, but at least I treated myself to a couple of beers before the big hike. Later that night, I headed toward Whitney Portal, at about 8,500 feet, and by 1 a.m., I was on the trail with my trusty headlamp.
I was feeling inspired, and nothing was going to stop me from conquering that glorified pile of rubble.
I was advancing faster than anticipated and knew I was entitled to this long-awaited win. In only about three hours, I was already at Trail Camp, at 12,000 feet. The slight lightheadedness I was beginning to concern myself with wasn’t going to distract me from the mission I was on. So I passed the hikers beginning to stir in camp and embarked on the final switchbacks toward the peak.
At 13,000 feet, advancing became extremely difficult as enthusiasm and determination quickly gave way to nausea and disorientation. Still, I had made such good time that I figured I could simply take my time getting to the top.
Meanwhile, a multitude of firefly-like lights started to cluster below me. At the same time, the horizon to the east began to brighten. Before long, those lights started passing me by, revealing themselves as the same hikers I had so proudly gone by earlier that morning.
I had been stuck in roughly the same spot for a while when the rising sun finally illuminated Mt. Whitney. That showed me just how close within reach it was, but also made it seem as if it was mocking my naivety.
Clearly, I was suffering from an “attitude” sickness. Altitude was just the trigger in this instance. I carry the same habit into other aspects of life, where my own ignorance sometimes keeps me from seeing the obvious signs while navigating a challenge.
My only solace remained the privilege of where I was living, because only in California can you drive from the beach to the mountains in one day—and not climb that mountain the next.
As I descended toward the trailhead, defeated once again, the idea for this post came to me. And while my morale was at its lowest, I was weirdly optimistic about this awakening.
The question now was what my next step would be—and how I was going to climb out of the state I had gotten myself into.
Try It Right
And for all I've said, a little arrogance has its place after all. As long as you find the right tolerance setting, I suppose.
I came back one last time that same month, but never mind the result. Most importantly, I had been attitude-free for three weeks. Everything else was out of my control.
I don't want to read too much symbolism into this little life anecdote of mine, but in the end, it did leave me energized to think about what's ahead.
With that sentiment in mind, a couple more titles should soon find their way onto this blog. One exploring the different ways to approach Mt. Whitney. The other revisiting the idea of a family gap year, which still very much remains a goal in our near future.
POSTSCRIPT:
Guys Are the Worst.There is another self-reflective consideration in all of this. I just couldn't find the right cue to work it into the story. Even for me, this post turned out more dramatic than I'd like. I've written before about how Neli puts up with some of my obsessions. These up-and-down mood swings are no exception. And here's the funny thing: I don't think that's specific to me. For all the things men are so great at—like making you laugh or reaching the thingy on the top shelf—we can be quite the grown-up toddlers often enough. So thank you, Neli. I wanted to acknowledge that. You truly are my rock. And to all the ladies tired of our tantrums, on behalf of all the guys: WHY DO YOU KEEP HIDING MY KEYS?! |
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