The Long Range

My best friend Raylene and I have always been extremely spontaneous and just a bit crazy. On a whim I booked flights to go visit her in Newfoundland early July with plans to do some sightseeing around the rock and hopefully get some hiking in. She had just gone to Europe for a month and I was entering my forth month living in Alberta so we had plenty to catch up on given the fact that we rarely see each other. We talked about hiking in Gros Morne national park while I was still in Alberta but all we knew was that we were thinking that five days backcountry would be sufficiently challenging. Once I landed and got settled in at her place we started to chat about what hike we would do. She told me about one she had researched a bit called the long range traverse; five days, forty-one kilometers, and absolutely no trails or civilization  Immediately it sounded awesome to me so we started to make a list of things we needed before we started and permits we would need to get.
After a day of packing, shopping, and borrowing supplies from family friends we were ready to sleep, wake up horrendously early and hit the road for the seven hour drive. The day we left home Raylene’s mother nearly cried she was so scared for us, she couldn’t understand why we wanted to do something like this. I found it odd that she didn’t understand what we were about to do, it’s just a hike after all. We said our goodbyes, hopped in Sally, Raylene’s SUV and headed out. About halfway to Gros Morne we realized that we needed to make an appointment with the Visitor’s Centre to get our permits and listen to what we assumed was a briefing about animals and a pep talk. On the phone with the park staff we were told that it was crazy to think we could get a reservation to do the hike the next day but she would check for open spots just in case. As it turned out, there was just enough room for one more two-man group. After a long drive we were thrilled to wind up at the park and we cheerfully headed in to get our permits and briefing. We were told that we had to pass a small test on map and compass skills, plot our route on a map, watch a short video, get a personal locator beacon, and get a permit so we got to work. hen all was said and done we were quite tired and ready to find some place to sleep so we headed to a small campsite close by and crashed while it was still light out.
I woke up cold. I was still in my sleeping bag, and it was still night so I was confused as to how I could be cold already but I soon realized that the summer sleeping bag I had bought last minute wasn’t quite warm enough for chilly Newfoundland nights. It was a big concern to me that even down in this cozy campsite I was cold and I wondered how I would survive up high in the arctic tundra we were about to face. We cooked some oatmeal and groggily packed everything we would need for the trip into our two packs and just for good measure I threw in a blanket that Raylene’s mother had packed us. We drove to the parking lot that marked the end of the hike where we had arranged for a taxi to pick us up and take us to our start. As the taxi arrived so did the couple that we were to share the hike with, well, the campsites at least. As soon as we put our bags in the back the taxi drivers jaw dropped as he blurted that he couldn’t believe how young we were to be doing the Long Range. He drove us 30 minutes along the beautiful coast all the way to the trail head of Western Brook Pond for a meager 12.50 each. We thanked him and hiked a short three kilometers to a small dock in a huge pond. In Newfoundland, Shockingly large bodies of water are called ponds as all freshwater bodies of water there are. We got the boat tour tickets we bought the night before and snacked casually as we waited for the tour to begin. Hoards of fanny-pack wearing tourists flowed in as we approached the time of the tour and we prayed that there would be room enough on the tiny boat for both us and our packs. As we set sail the tour guide filled us all in on the history of Western Brook Pond and the tour company. I tried to be interested in what he was saying and just enjoy the ride but anxiety about what was to come began to creep into my mind. Whispers about what our small group was about to do spread around the boat like wildfire and soon enough people were overcome by curiosity and began to ask us questions like what we would eat for five days and how we would know where we were. As the boat pulled up to shore at the furthest inland point of the pond we stepped off the boat and were bid farewell by an entire tour cheering us on. it felt good.
As we started to hike away into the distance we were immediately feasted upon by what seemed to be all of the black flies in Newfoundland. After quickly bug spraying all exposed skin we headed off into the unknown. For the first hour or so we stuck close to Maggie and Anthony, the couple from Chicago that shared in our adventure. The trail was difficult to say the least, climbing over and under trees we got our packs caught many times on branches and their immense weight (nearly fifty pounds each) made in the smallest jumps and maneuvers almost impossible. At one tricky spot we lost Maggie and Anthony but thought little of it, we could see the trail and we had a map if things got tricky (Our GPS couldn’t acquire a signal since we were in a gully surrounded by two thousand foot cliffs on either side). For the next two hours we had begun to climb the steep stream bed up to the waterfall just like we had been briefed about. The climbing started to become quite difficult but hey, it was supposed to be the hardest day. We reached a point where it was impossible to continue upwards with our packs so we decided it must be the point where we needed to climb right of the waterfall, just like we were told. We left the open stream for a faint trail leading right into the brush and soon found ourselves bushwhacking through wild, dense, forest. As we continued on slowly I felt a familiar tightening in my throat, the very early signs of a panic attack, and I tried to calm myself by searching for some sign that we were going the right way. I could hear the tension in Raylene’s voice as we discussed whether or not we thought it was the right way. My field of vision was filled with dense vibrant green and the small portion of Raylene’s pack that I could see in front of me. The brush was so thick I couldn’t even see my feet, though I was more focused on keeping myself from boiling over. Suddenly I was gripping Raylene’s fragile wrist and I just watched in dazed confusion as she swayed softly over the edge of the cliff. I waited idly for my mind to catch up and explain what exactly was going on. I heard something very faintly, as though it were underwater or very far away and in one earth-shattering moment all detail and clarity came rushing back at maximum intensity. Raylene had fallen off the cliff that had formerly been hidden by the dense forest and barely caught a branch on the way down. The only things between her and the aching abyss below was her two slippery hands on a small branch and my weak grip on her bad wrist. With a fifty pound pack on and absolutely no foot holds we both knew that I wouldn’t be able to pull her to safety. It was in that moment that we realized how alone we really were.
I talked Raylene through pulling herself up, a feat which we still don’t know how she managed, and then we just stood, shaking and alone. I felt hot tears welling up in my eyes as the desperate nature of our situation made itself clear but I forced them back, we had no time for tears. We consulted the map and realized we had climbed the wrong waterfall and instead of being right of it, like we were supposed to be, we found ourselves on the left of it where we were warned by all not to be. The painful reality that all the climbing we did, the hours of exhausting work, was in vain and we had to descend back to the bottom in hopes of finding the correct waterfall came crashing down on me. I watched from somewhere outside my body as I cried and screamed at what I can only assume was God. We were alone and I knew no one could possibly hear us but all I could do was scream. After a few moments I collected myself enough to continue walking down what we had just climbed. We reached a point where we had to descend a short but vertical cliff and we knew we couldn’t do it with our packs on. Raylene made the decision to throw her pack down, down climb the slippery cliff and help me and my pack down. As we watched her pack sail down towards the bottom a flicker reason passed through my brain- there is a propane tank in her pack. Before I managed to speak the bag hit the ground and thankfully, did not explode. The rest of the hike toward the correct waterfall is very blurry. As panic attacks tend to do, my mind seemed to shut off as my body went through seemingly endless bouts of crying and screaming at the unforgiving sky. The human mind is an amazing thing because as my body exhibited unimaginable pain, my mind separated itself and I remember feeling very little. The only thing I was capable of feeling was tired and although that doesn’t seem so bad it consumed me entirely.
We found the correct waterfall and Raylene cheered as we sat for a map check and a small snack, it was four pm and we hadn’t eaten since breakfast at five that morning. I ate a pear and though of nothing. No joy of finding the correct waterfall, no pain, no fear of what was to come, I just wished to stop. Soon we were back up and climbing again, ladder-steep, up another waterfall. At the top we emerged to a vast plain of bare rock that sloped gently up to the horizon that marked the top of the gorge, as I looked back Western Brook Pond was laid out behind and far below us as a shimmering thin line cutting through the towering cliffs that we now stood nearly level with. I was overwhelmed with joy, pure unfiltered joy. we dropped our packs and hugged and cried, we had done it, day one.
We continued on to our campsite that night and slept deeply. The four days following couldn’t come close to the drama of that first day but instead proved satisfyingly challenging and equally rewarding. We climbed and descended, crossed arctic tundras, chased massive but sheepish moose out of their hiding places and took in some of Canada’s most spectacular views. The last day, we regained a very popular day hike up Gros Morne mountain and giggled at the tourists with their tiny day packs. The summit of Gros Morne Mountain was surprisingly uninspiring but we didn’t mind, we had already seen plenty.