The View from the Hole
What a Twisted Ankle in the Wind River Range Taught Me About Pain and Beauty
If ever there were a TMI (too much information) post, it’s this one.
But we’ve established a baseline in these weekly posts in which I pretty much tell you everything about myself—what I’m working on, how I fail people, and what I’m learning. Self-preservation and embarrassment died a long time ago.
In August 2019, we decided to backpack the Wind River Range in Wyoming. Ninety-five percent of this 40-mile route was off-trail, meaning we would spend a week navigating some of the most brutal terrain in the United States without a trail. You can think of this area as broken and beautiful. Every step among the boulders is an uneven balancing act. But when you aren’t fighting to keep yourself upright, you are mesmerized by its magnificence.
We got up early the second morning to blue skies and crisp air at ten thousand feet. We had a couple of miles on trail before we would begin relying on maps, navigation, and route finding. Our spirits and collective optimism were high. We were chatting away when a mosquito landed on my forearm. I was quick to smack it but took my eyes off my path to wipe it off my arm. Within seconds, my feet were over my head (literally), and I hit the ground harder than I have ever hit it. I stepped on a softball-sized rock, causing my ankle to turn a complete 90 degrees.
I knew I was hurt badly. But we had planned this trip for six months. I couldn’t be the reason we had to pull out. I tightened my laces and assured everyone I would be fine for the next 38 miles.
The truth is that I should not have been walking on it, let alone navigating the most difficult land I had ever walked. I slowed us down. I am certain I tried the patience of the other guys. During a break to pump water and eat a snack, I sobbed. It was a top-five cry of my life. I was really hurt. I was letting everyone down. It was impossibly difficult. It was the worst.
We were a hundred feet below a snow-covered pass at 11,000 feet. I was nauseous. I had to poop. I felt like I could vomit. I told the guys I needed a few minutes. I hobbled down behind a boulder and fished out my trowel to start digging a hole. How was I going to squat with a damaged ankle? I sat beside the hole and stared at the horizon, trying not to throw up. I’m not sure I have seen anything more beautiful than what was in front of me. Despite my situation, I didn’t miss the profound irony—immense pain and palpable delight, a hole meant for human excrement and the sheer radiance and allure of the horizon, tears of both suffering and joy.
The reality of my misfortune could not erase the brilliance around me. No amount of ankle pain and swelling could cancel the majesty of the moment. No hole full of muck could obscure the transcendence. To disregard one to the neglect of the other would be dishonest. A binary mind attempts to crown one over the other. The unwise can only see a veiled reality marred by catastrophe, shaming others for honest attempts at seeing both realities. However, an honest and wise perspective sees reality for what it truly is and can hold them perfectly in tension, grieving with one part and singing in praise with the other.
Question
Where in my life am I tempted to see only the hardship or only the good, instead of holding both together?
Peace,
Brandon