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Illustration by Jaimie Shelton
This summer I came face-to-face with three deep-rooted fears – heights, bears and aging – though not necessarily in that order.
A couple of hiking pals had agreed to join me at a retreat in the British Columbia Rockies. Since two of us are septuagenarians and the third recently turned 80, we figured we’d better go for it while we still could. (See Fear No. 3.)
Our adventure began with a harrowing drive up a steep, winding mountain road, where truckers (barely) avoid head-on collisions through staticky alerts on their two-way radios. Fortunately, our driver was as adept at manoeuvring large vehicles as she was at guiding nervous hikers across slippery slopes or identifying the many varieties of edible wild berries that grew to waist level along the trails.
Our off-the-grid resort was just east of Radium Hot Springs. It was charming, a cluster of rustic log cabins in a large, rolling meadow where dogs and horses meandered freely. The property was surrounded by dozens of trails bordering both the Kootenay and Cross Rivers. Our cabin overlooked a glacier-fed pond and wood-fired sauna. It was the ideal location for conquering fears.
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I’ve always been afraid of heights and most of my life have managed to avoid them or at least avert my eyes. On one hike, however, I found myself clinging to a wire on a bridge composed of two partly rotted tree trunks high above a set of roiling, rock-strewn rapids. I would never have attempted it without the support of our guide, who walked across backward in front of me, carrying my poles and mouthing reassuring words that I could barely hear over the water’s roar.
Keeping my eyes firmly fixed on her boots, I shuffled along the narrow, swaying logs and tried not to think of Butch Cassidy’s ironic movie line upon learning that Sundance couldn’t swim: “The fall will probably kill ya!” Miraculously, I reached the other side intact and felt a brief but intense rush of elation, mixed with huge relief. Nancy: 1; acrophobia: 0.
Half an hour later, we encountered bears. Some telltale paw prints and berry-encrusted feces had prompted our guides to repeat their earlier instructions about making a lot of noise as we walked. Enthusiastic “DAY-O!”s were interspersed with yodels, yelps and even a creditable wolf call. But eventually the urgency tapered off and creating raucous distractions became more of a game to pass the time.
Until suddenly, time stood still.
My two friends and I had just finished navigating some submerged, slippery rocks across another glacial stream when the guide who’d stayed back with us declared quietly: “There’s a bear.” Looking up in shock, I saw not one but two grizzlies standing 10 metres above us – the cinnamon-coloured mama in front of her darker brown cub. Without missing a beat, our guide told us to get behind her while she reached for the can of bear spray in her pack.
Scared speechless and heart hammering, I couldn’t help noticing how beautiful the bears looked in their natural setting, like a Disney montage come to life. I wondered if that image would be my last memory.
As the mother grizzly began moving toward us, we recovered enough to holler and make ourselves look big. We yelled in unison and swung our hiking poles high overhead. The puzzled grizzly paused, taken aback by this apparition, then slowly veered away with Junior in tow. Our now energized human family beat a noisy retreat in the opposite direction to rejoin the rest of our group. Another of my fears quelled!
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On our last morning, the lodge guests and guides gathered in a circle after a silent, thoughtful walk through the forest, where we’d each been instructed to bring back a “meaningful” stick, rock and leaf. Then we were asked to share with the group what would “stick” with us from the retreat, what we felt “rocked” about the past five days and what we’d like to “leaf” behind.
I knew that what would stick with me was the sense of camaraderie we’d experienced. I’d learned that women supporting each other rock and I fervently hoped I would be able to leave behind some fears.
Our young guides expressed admiration for us seniors – praising not only our level of fitness, but also our resilience and positive attitude toward the challenges we’d faced. They said they wanted to be like us in another 30 or 40 years!
Those unexpected words swelled my heart and helped reduce my third fear, of being “over the hill.” To be feted for our accomplishments and valued for what we brought to the group dynamic felt like winning an Olympic medal – even if just for participation.
Nancy Dorrance lives in Kingston.