Born to Be Brave: A sneak peek of my book!

I hope you enjoy this sneak peek of Chapter 3 of my book, Born to Be Brave, The hard work of processing, recovering, and healing from this trauma is not over, but, I can say with certainty that I have never felt more alive, awake, and connected in my entire life than I do now. I can’t recommend that people go out and get themselves lost in a 628,115-acre forest to have the type of emotional, spiritual, and logical transformation I have had, but I can say that mine has been profound and I don’t for a second question why I had to go through what I went through to be where I am today. Writing this book has been a huge part of this healing process for me and I hope that if my story touches one person’s heart and helps them with their own profound transformation, then I have heeded the calling that this book has required of me. I hope you enjoy Chapter 3 of my book, Born To Be Brave: My 56-Hour Battle For My Life In The Olympic National Forest and you can get my book everywhere books are sold in ebook, paperback, and hard cover.

Perspective 3

“If it comes to mother nature and her, she has a very good chance,” her former platoon sergeant Keith Schiffer told First Coast News early Monday evening. But at that time he couldn’t know with certainty that she was alive, and voiced concern that foul play was a possibility.

“Stephanie is like a daughter to me,” Schiffer said, recalling that as one of her superiors in her early days he noticed an unusual tenacity about her. He said that she was also meticulous about preparation, using her hikes as an example.

“She always carried a medical backpack, she always carried a firearm for protection,” he said.

Excerpt from an interview by First Coast News, Jacksonville, FL with Retired Army Sergeant Major Keith Schiffer, my first Platoon Sergeant and whom I fondly call my “Army Daddy”

Chapter 3

We were in a little town called Forks, apparently famous for being the setting of the Twilight series of books and movies, but what most vampire drama fans don’t know about that little town is that it is the home of the Olympic National Park. I had never been so far Northwest in our country and it was a thrill to me being a typical Sagittarius to mark that notch in my proverbial travel belt. Not only is the Olympic National Park located in Forks, but it is surrounded by the much larger, and much less visited Olympic National Forest, which consists of 628,115 acres, encompassing the Olympic National Park and the Olympic Mountain range. What I also learned was that Forks is home to the only actual rainforest in the continental U.S. (the Hoh Rain Forest)! I was in hiking heaven: beaches, lakes, dense forests, and mountains.

The problem I ran into very quickly was that aside from the few short, very overcrowded trails located in the Olympic National Park, there was more unreliable than reliable information about the much less utilized hiking trails in the Olympic National Forest. I was using a popular app for hikers while I was there, as I always did, and I kept getting guided to trailheads that literally did not exist. My level of frustration was growing to find a great, long, quiet trail that was at my level of skill while we were visiting that area. Days went by and I did a few shorter trail runs, but my disappointment began to grow. I wanted to experience the Olympic Peninsula away from the vampire teen angst-loving crowds. I wanted my hiker’s solace.

Two days before we were supposed to leave Forks, Brad and I had booked a local fishing guide. We got up at the butt crack of dawn to meet him out, go out on his boat, and fish for coho salmon. It was a relationship-long desire of mine to go fishing with Brad. He grew up surf fishing, I had never actually caught anything on a fishing line in my life. Brad, being the lifelong fisherman, was going to show me how it’s done.

As we launched into the river that morning, it was cold and foggy. Dawn was just breaking, and the sun was just creating this wash of light grey clouds across the river. The stillness of the river, the salt of the nearby ocean in the air, and the fresh cold air on my face were intoxicating. It’s one of those moments in life so startling that you can barely believe it exists and you’re lucky enough to experience it. I always think of my Dad in these moments.  Maybe it’s because he died so young, and I think of life experiences that he could have shared with me. Maybe it’s because his spirit is in some way with me. It was one of those magical moments on a magical day.

My competitive perfectionist persona settled in, and I was determined to ace this fishing thing. I listened attentively to all our guide’s instructions, took his corrections and his feedback, threw my first cast, and spectacularly tangled my line in a tree. It took the guide about 20 minutes to get it free. I felt so awkward and unnatural, like learning a new language. To be fair, Brad looked as awkward as I felt and seemed to be struggling just as much as I was. It wasn’t that we were not trying, it was just that we both really sucked at this.

A couple of hours went by, and we caught nothing. I fought my disappointment down. I told myself I should just be happy for the opportunity, I would have loved to have caught something, but I would not let that ruin my warm feelings for this day. Our guide offered to take us back upstream a short distance for one more try. We got to our new spot and our guide immediately proclaimed our luck. He urged us to cast our lines immediately. He pointed the direction and Brad and I cast. As I intently stared at my lure as it slowly made its way back to me. Then I saw her, a large fish following my spinner. My heart leaped out of my chest with anxiety, but I kept steady and continued to lead her at the same pace. Then she took it! I felt a massive tug on the line as she began thrashing.

“I got one!” I yelled and began frantically reeling. I felt a moment of panic realizing that with all the instruction I had received that day about my stance, casting, reeling, spotting, etc. I never was told what to do if I got a fish on the line. I give our guide huge credit, he called out instructions and encouragement, but he didn’t intervene. He let me fight my own fight. Predator versus prey. Just when I thought my arms would give out, she splashed up out of the water. My guide grabbed her into a net. I dropped the pole, and sat down hard on my seat, sweaty, panting, and exhausted, but in exaltation. I had a huge, shit-eating grin on my face. I had just caught my very first fish!

As we got the boat onto the shore, our guide made sure that the picture of me with my fish was expertly taken. I don’t know if I am giving up some secret fishing society Illuminati information here, but there is a very specific way to take the picture of you with your catch to make it look way bigger than it really is. Of course, I must assume a man invented this technique. She was a beauty. We figured about 10 pounds. Our guide expertly fileted her and threw the offal back into the shallows.

As we stood there chatting, a flash of white caught the corner of my eye and I turned, a bald eagle had swooped down and was taking the awful in its talons on a flight up to its perch for a fresh tasty breakfast. I turned to Brad and said, “How Pacific Northwest was that?”

It was just heaven. I loved the Pacific Northwest so much, and this fishing trip, combined with my planned last hike the next day was going to be the icing on the cake before we left town.

The next morning, I emerged from the RV in my hiking clothing. I had chosen one of my thicker hiking pants and long-sleeved shirts because it was still pretty chilly that morning in upstate Washington, even though it was August. I grabbed my trusty hiking pack and filled the 3 Liter water bladder and the additional 1 Liter plastic bottle I carried that was a part of my UV water filtration system. I knew my pack had its minimal emergency provisions in it, I never took those out of the pack. I failed to, however, check my pack for the other items I normally carry: a beanie, a raincoat, and a fleece. All of which I had I had removed from my pack to use as we traveled through rainy, chilly Montana, Idaho, and Washington State in early summer. I usually check my pack before I leave, putting a military-like “hands-on” confirmation that I have all the essential items and being sure they are there rather than relying on memory. I let my impatience to get the perfect Pacific Northwest hike done on our last day in town override my normally militaristic preparation process. I kissed Brad goodbye and told him that I was only planning on about an hour and a half hike. I joked about the app I had been using possibly failing me again that day. As usual, before I left, I texted him a screenshot of the trail name from the app and let him know what time to expect me back.

As I drove down the long road into the Olympic National Forest to find the trailhead, I was taken aback at how quickly the forest closed in. It really did feel like a rainforest. It was August, everything was grown over and dense and all hues of greens could be seen as far as the eye could see. I lost my cell signal as I continued to drive deeper into the forest. I got to the trailhead parking area and my aggravation at the app potentially leading me to a dead end again dissipated. There were 2 other cars parked here, so I was confident that this must be the trailhead. I wandered around the parking area for a minute, unsure of where the trailhead was. I saw nothing. I checked the screenshot of the description of the trail I had on my phone, which I always do because of the usual lack of cell phone service in the areas where I hike. It didn’t say anything specific about where to find the trailhead. Just a description of the trail along with the map. I circled back around and looked more carefully in the wood line, it was overgrown, so I may have just missed it, and yes, there it was. A clear path that had been hidden by some overgrowth. I pulled out my compass and checked the azimuth in the direction the trail led off, confirming it was the correct azimuth. I was in luck. The app said it was an unmarked trail, so I had no concerns as I started on my hike.

As I headed up the ridge, I put on my headphones and began listening to a podcast that I had downloaded. About 20 minutes into my hike, I began to have a hard time staying on the trail. There were animal paths that intersected with my trail, and at times, it looked like the trail veered off away from the ridgeline. Also, the trees were so thick, that I couldn’t really tell how far I may have drifted off the ridgeline. As I continued to have trouble staying on the trail, or what looked like the trail, I was beginning to get concerned. I removed my headphones and stopped walking. I was pissed. My last chance to get a good hike in, and this is how it ends up, a shitty, overgrown trail. No views, and at about 30 minutes in, not near long enough to meet my standards for a good workout. My stubbornness prevailed. I had been on worse trails than this. I could figure this out. I took out my compass and pointed in the azimuth the map showed the trail going. I would just keep going in the right direction and I would most likely intersect the trail anyways, or at least parallel it. No big deal. I kept hiking.

About 15 minutes later, it became obvious that this tactic wasn’t going to work. The trees were getting denser. To continue, I would have to bushwhack through dense underbrush and navigate through densely packed trees. I cursed out loud at the hiking gods. This was not the way I wanted to end my glorious trip to the Olympic Peninsula.  I decided to throw in the towel. I pulled out my compass, shot a 180 azimuth of what I had headed up this hike on, and started my hike back. My thoughts raged. I was furious that I didn’t get a good workout, that the stupid app had failed me again, and that I had run out of time to get one decent hike in while in the Olympic National Forest. 

I had to stop frequently to keep checking my compass because the forest was so dense. Denser than I had remembered it being on my way up. It was much less dense on the first part of my hike. Why hadn’t I reached that part of the forest yet? My anger began turning into anxiety. This wasn’t right. My heart rate began to climb, and it wasn’t because the hike was that strenuous. I knew this feeling. I was disoriented. A feeling of ice washed down my body, cutting my breath short. I stopped, gasping for breath, a memory of the last time I had this feeling crashing down on me.

I was 17 years old. I was on the night land navigation course at Ft Jackson, South Carolina. I emerged from the forest to the noise of the generators and the bright lights set up under small tents, where the Drill Sergeants awaited. I walked up to one of the check-in stations with my coordinate list in hand, the minimal 3 out of 5 completed with the code from the post found at the six-digit grid coordinates I had been given. This was one of the required tests you had to complete in order to graduate Boot Camp.

The night land navigation test was one of the most dreaded tests in Army Basic Training. You arrive in the middle of a dense forest in the dark and are given five, 6-digit coordinates and a map. You are to navigate, alone, using no light but your red lens flashlight, to at least 3 out of 5 of those coordinates, and inscribe using a pencil shading the carving on the wooden post found at the coordinates. Although we had practiced this task in groups at night, I had never navigated out in the woods alone at night before. It was scary.

All the worst-case scenarios go through your head while you are out there. What if I get lost? What if they can’t find me? What if I get hurt out here in the dark and I am unable to call for help? Of course, they drill safety measures into your head to mitigate the risk. You learn about triangulation to attempt to find the point if you should arrive at what you think are the coordinates and cannot find the post. You learn how to back azimuth to your last location. You learn to stay in one place if you are lost. You learn to use your whistle, your white lens flashlight, and how to call for help.

As I exited the dark forest into the light of the check-in area, a wave of relief came over me. I made it. I got the minimum number of points. I didn’t get lost. I handed my sheet with my three pencil shadings of the post carvings to the drill sergeant. He looked them over, nodded, and then looked up at me as I stood at parade rest in front of where he was seated.

“Lincoln, I know you can do better than that. You are not a minimum score kind of Soldier, are you?”

I snapped to attention, “No Drill Sergeant.”

He smiled and handed me back my paper. “You have plenty of time, and there is one point nearby, I think you can go find that one and come back, at least get 4 out of 5.”

“Hooah, Drill Sergeant!” I grabbed my paper and headed over to the wood line to start plotting the point the Drill Sergeant wanted me to get to. I looked in envy at all the “minimum score Soldiers” sitting under the trees, some of them sleeping. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to rest.

“Damn it” I muttered under my breath. It really was a pain in the ass being an overachiever. I plotted my route, got my azimuth, and stepped back into the dark forest. Damn it was dark. Could it be darker now? I stumbled over roots and rocks. I could barely see anything even with my red lens light. I was shuffling my feet, trying to make sure I didn’t step in a hole and break my ankle. I cried out; a branch hit me right under my eye. I could have gotten my eye poked out! My heart rate was climbing. I was scared. I began speaking to myself aloud as I always do when I am scared or frustrated.

“Sending me back out here. God damn you. Why couldn’t I just lay down and go to sleep like the other Soldiers? No, I am special. I am exceptional. Fuck this!”

I had to stop frequently to check my compass and walk so slowly as to not break my ankle or poke my eye out. I felt like I was making no progress. I was going to run out of time. I stopped. I couldn’t hear the generators anymore. When had that happened? I turned in a circle, straining my eyes and ears, trying to hear the engine sound or to catch a glimpse of the lights through the trees. Nothing. My anxiety spiked. I frantically pulled out my compass and did a back azimuth.

“I’m going back. I’m going back.”

I repeated my frantic mantra and I began walking, very quickly. I didn’t even care anymore about holes or branches. Thorn bushes tore at me, I tripped over rocks and roots, a branch caught my hat, flipped it off my head and it was lost in the darkness. I didn’t care. I had to get out of that darkness. It had closed around me, sealing me off from the light and the noise. I needed to hear that noise and light again. My breath came heavy and panicked. I kept looking at my compass. I have to be there now. Why wasn’t I there yet? I hadn’t come this far. I was lost. I was so fucked. I was lost.

I doubled over, a panic attack seizing me. My blood pounding in my ears. I crouched down, dizzy, my vision blurring with tears. I took deep heaving breaths.

“I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe!”

I sat on my butt and put my head in between my knees, dizziness overwhelming me. Tears streamed down my face. I knew what this was. I had panic attacks countless times before. I knew that I had two choices at this point, I could get my thoughts under control and then my body, or I could continue to escalate this situation with my anxious thoughts and make this go from bad to very bad. I had to calm down. I forcibly slowed and deepened my breathing. My heart rate slowed. I could finally hear the wind over the thundering of my heartbeat in my ears. I got control. I sat there for a few minutes, just breathing.  Then I heard it. A voice echoed in the distance. We had been warned to keep our voices to a whisper, but someone had violated that rule. Thank God for that rule-breaker! I knew where to go. I quickly jumped up and moved in the direction of the voice. As I gained distance, I began to hear the generator sounds and then saw some flickering light through the trees. As I emerged from the wood line, I scrubbed my face with my sleeve just in case my breakdown had left tear tracks. I went to a different station this time to turn in my paper. I didn’t want to face the Drill Sergeant who had sent me back out and have to explain my failure to find the fourth point. I was ashamed that I had failed. I was ashamed that I had panicked and gotten myself lost. I didn’t tell a soul about that incident.

And now it was happening again. I was reliving it, but it was so much worse. There were no Drill Sergeants out there waiting for my return. There were no careless Soldiers speaking too loud to help me find my way back.

I was lost.