Harvey: Backpacking with a 13-year-old delivers good and bad times

HATCHER PASS — It was the kind of rain that happens when you're up high enough to be in a cloud. The mist was persistent and occasionally became thick enough to turn to steady droplets. A view of green-blue Lower Reed Lake sharpened and blurred as white fog rolled back in.

My husband, 13-year-old stepdaughter and I looked at the view for five seconds before shouldering our backpacks again with a round of "oofs" and turned down the muddy trail. My husband and I looked back briefly. My stepdaughter did not.

This overnight backpacking trip several weekends ago was my stepdaughter's first. It went far worse than expected — and better too.

Helping my stepdaughter get ready in the days before we left got me thinking about backpacking as an activity. I suddenly remembered not finding much joy at all when I first tried it.

That was a school trip. I was a couple of years older than my stepdaughter is now, maybe 15. I decided to go because until quite recently I'd been a severe asthmatic. In an attempt to distance myself from that identity, I thought I'd do what non-wheezy people do: hike.

I remember the borrowed navy-blue backpack, dusty and suspicious-smelling from someone else's adventures. I recall filling the tall water bottles and stashing them in the pack. I rolled thick socks into plastic zip lock bags and crushed them to get all of the air out, repeating that process with many layers of clothing and then stuffing them into the pack. In went a sleeping bag and pad. In went group food, then parts of a tent, a stove, camp shoes and a headlamp.

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Watching my stepdaughter's eyes widen as she wrestled her backpack up off the ground, I remembered looking around at the other kids to determine if their packs were as heavy and uncomfortable as mine. It seemed they were. I strapped my waist straps on, and it felt like I was giving myself the Heimlich maneuver.

So why was I going backpacking again?

In it for the candy

On this family trip, we took a break about two miles in. This is technically halfway to the lower lake, where we planned to camp, but also concludes the flattest part of the walk. We broke out the snacks.

Two days before at the grocery store, my stepdaughter cautiously asked, "Can I get candy?" When I said yes (unusual), she declared, "I like backpacking!"

Now she sat eating her Reese's Pieces contemplatively, looking up at the first set of switchbacks up ahead. Her backpack sat next to her. It wasn't raining … yet.

Her dad was unusually chipper, singing made-up songs and climbing on top of rocks, peering down at us and making goofy faces.

I tried to be more reserved, although I was absolutely thrilled to be outside with my family. I wanted my stepdaughter to feel camaraderie — not that she was outside with two adults made slightly lunatic by the contrast between their desk jobs and their need to walk outside for days with heavy things on their backs.

As we put our backpacks on again and started uphill, we went slowly and I again remembered that first trip. I felt like my lungs would give out. I stopped or at least slowed every 10 steps. I became frustrated when the entire group — except me — got a break as they waited for me to catch up.

This time we took frequent breaks. More candy was consumed. I tried not to point out the view — just let it be and contain my own giddiness. There's something about letting others discover a sense of a place for themselves.

After navigating the boulder field, we arrived at the lower lake and found a camping spot. Five minutes after we set up our tents the clouds finally bowed to the ground and it started to rain.

Choosing laughing over crying

Although we stayed dry in our tents, it was still raining when we woke up the next morning. Eating pre-packed bagels and drinking hot coffee and hot chocolate in our rain pants and coats, we made the decision together: Instead of giving it another night, which we'd come prepared to do, we'd pack out that day.

My stepdaughter was in surprisingly good spirits, and she remained that way the entire walk down. At some point on the slippery, soggy trail she said, "I feel like at this point I get to choose either crying or laughing. So, I'm laughing."

What I remember most from my first backpacking trip isn't the pain, of which there was plenty. I remember that feeling of getting to the top of a mountain one step at a time and realizing I had everything I needed right on my back. What an incredibly powerful feeling for a young girl to experience, even though (or maybe because) it wasn't a purely wonderful trip.

I hope my stepdaughter took away this feeling too, or that maybe over time it sinks in. Maybe it will get her back out there or help her through something else in her life that feels difficult, miserable and insurmountable.

And if that all fail, and backpacking becomes just a bad memory buried by other good ones — at least there was candy.

Alli Harvey lives, works and plays in Anchorage.