Trudge, trudge, trudge, lift each foot with its heavy boot, step over a moss covered stone, and place it down on the pine needled trail. Thud. Your feet are leaden and sweat is running into your eyes bringing with it a burning drop of bug repellent. You need a rest. Don't stop now, make it to the top of that rise, then you groan as you let the straps slip off, and your pack hits the trail with the clanking sound of your cook kit as it settles.
You bend over, breathing hard, many pounds lighter but without real relief. You sit on a nearby stump and look at this collection of things you carry. In a moment you will need to pick it up again, and you dread it. What is in there? All the things you need to survive.
You stare at the dirty scuffed thing, like a medieval invention of cruel intent, with its aluminium bars and tightly cinched straps. You hate it in this moment, and everything in it. It's HEAVY. Everything in it is heavy. Early on your journey you lightened it several times, you let go of things that were nice to have, when you realized what it meant to carry them. It meant you would not survive, under the extra pounds and ounces you once thought you could not live without. That stage has come and gone--every piece inside is essential. There is nothing you can leave here by the side of the trail, no luxury or nicety you can let go of. These things you must have. They almost define you at this point. They are a part of you.
It is not true that you are never given a burden you cannot bear. A pack will be filled at the start of a trip with more than you could possibly carry, emptied, repacked, emptied again, re-evaluated, and hard choices made. You decide what you will bear. It is true that if you can carry it a mile, you will grow strong under it, until you can carry it all day. But you must be able to lift it up yourself and tote it a mile before you can say you are ready to travel.
Your companions care for you, you know they would take something to lighten your load if you asked. But they have their own packs, their own choices made, and you will not ask unless you are hurt or sick, these are your things, your survival, yours to carry. If you weren't that kind of person you would not have come down the hard trail at all.
Exhale, stand and stretch. Balance the pack on one knee and find the strap, then with a grunt and a swing you put it up on your back, scrabbling for the second strap until your hand finds the opening. You hook the waist belt so that most of the weight rests low on your hips instead of your shoulders. It's weight is familiar and tolerable again. You check that nothing is left behind of your precious load, and hike on to make camp.
By the side of a lake you take out each item, each thing from your pack a treasure, a sustenance, a comfort. Soft sleeping bag, warm meal, coffee-glorious coffee, a candle, a book, an ax, your fire making kit, your tent set up and laid out with your foam sleeping mat and dry clothes for sleep. The burdens you carry that are now what enlightens you, feeds you, shelters you, keeps you safe. You love these things that you carry, you could not rest without them. You pick up the empty pack and carefully stow it out of the wet, securing all of its pockets and covers.
Tomorrow you will fill it again with all of the things you love, and shoulder it onward. Your pack is all important, it is everything. It is life in the wilderness. It makes you strong and shelters you when you are weak and tired. You carry it willingly, for the joy it holds.
Pack light. Remember why you bear these burdens. Choose them and cherish them, for they define you and your journey. Why do you carry so much? Because this path is precious and will never be seen again. Because it is your fate to travel it, and you will traverse it. This is the path with heart.
