Tufts Wilderness Orientation 2010

     When my mom urged me to apply to Tufts' pre-orientation programs, offered annually to incoming freshmen, I was not too enthused about the idea. I did not see any advantage to leaving Baltimore a week early and in heading off to school. But my mother was persistent, and, as mothers usually are, she was right.
     On August 26th, however, I arrived at Cousens Gym on the Tufts campus, and was greeted by a rising junior, who took my pack and carried it into the gym for me. After registration I met my two trip leaders, who then introduced me to other group members who had arrived by then. After some icebreakers, we got to know one another at a cookout, and that night, we slept on the baseball field, tossing and turning in anticipation of the next morning's adventure.
     Friday morning, we awoke and boarded a classic yellow school bus bound for an undisclosed location-- it could have been New Hampshire. Maine. Vermont. Soon, we realized we were headed for the Presidential Range in New Hampshire's White Mountains. Because our leaders did not share the time, location, or our daily routes with us, we embraced the sense of timelessness and the peacefulness of connecting with our surroundings.
     The first afternoon presented an unforgettable vista. As we sat on a cliff for lunch and looked out across the range, we already felt accomplished. Further up the trail, we stumbled upon Canada Grey Jays (which leads me to question why Toronto's baseball team is named the Blue Jays). These birds flocked to us, and as some of my trip-mates held out peanuts and dried fruits in their hands, the jays slowly approached, perching themselves delicately in my friends' palms.
     Along the way, we met not one, but three Tufts graduates. I could not help but notice that in all instances, these alumni had initiated conversation with us, demonstrating their sincere interest in what we were doing. While other hikers were friendly enough, there was a striking correlation between the immense warmness of these hikers and their common alma mater.

     By nighttime, we had set up camp on a wooden platform, laying down a tarp and stringing some support ropes together. We slept with our heads sticking out from under the tarp, staring up at the clearest and most breathtaking night sky many of us had ever seen.
     The next morning, we were off again, this time for a full day of backpacking. As we trekked through the woods, we began to lose patience.  We could not see how far we had come. The slopes were steep and slippery. Our legs burned. Soon, however, we emerged above the tree-line, and followed a ridge across before summitting our first peak-- Mt. Eisenhower. That day, we would stumble our way across three more peaks, before lunching at Mt. Monroe's Lake in the Clouds. We had no idea what was in store next. Soon, we began our descent, following wet, slippery rocks, often jutting out at vertical angles, along the side of a ridge, and back down below the tree-line.
     The next morning, we set out on a trail that, marked as an official wilderness territory, was poorly maintained to say the least. In fact, a trail barely existed at all. We bushwacked through trees and brambles, forcing our way up a seemingly endless, and depressingly dark, trail. Many of us were losing spirit, and it seemed morale had taken a turn for the worst. But, eventually, after hours an hours of hiking, we again hit the tree-line, and began up Bootts Burr trail.
     That afternoon 65 mph winds picked up, and we were forced to crawl down the face of a seemingly vertical slope. I was blown off the trail not once but twice, but we beat on, focusing intently on taking one step at a time, and hoping that we would not roll an ankle or completely plunge off the side. Again we survived, and at the campsite we basked in the sun on a deck at the shelter we would be staying in for our final two nights.
     On Sunday that we began to recognize the importance of community-building. Another Wilderness group had had to hike out a member who popped her knee coming down the aforementioned slope. Anticipating the group's late arrival to the shelter, we prepared a meal for them, and immediately bonded with the eight other incoming freshmen. The next day, however, we were to take on the greatest challenge of all-- Mt. Washington-- the highest point in the northeastern United States. We awoke and headed out on what turned out to be a 2400 ft vertical incline, stretched over just 1.8 miles.
     The going along Tuckerman's Ravine was tough, and, as always, there were times when we doubted ourselves. But we admired the impressive views, taking in all of the splendor of our last full day on the trail. Some of the boys in our group began to quite literally sprint up the slope, inspiring us to push ourselves harder, and after a few breaks and a lot of sweat, the end was in sight.
     Finally, we reached the top. A dusty parking lot was filled with cars and tourists who had taken day trips to admire the view from the top. While we found the summit more commercialized, and less stirring, than some of our other summits, we could not believe what we had accomplished.
     As we headed back down the mountain, we expected another long hike. The morning's hike had taken us several hours. But our growth and comradeship again proved true. We began to sing. Inspired by our surroundings, we began with the Sound of Music classic, "The Hills are Alive." Then we progressed to other showtunes, and classics including "American Pie" and "The Weight."
We made it back to camp in under an hour. Our unprecedented speed gave us hours to relax. We sat by the river and began to make dinner. That night, we reflected upon the highlights, and low-lights (although essentially nonexistent) from the trip.
      Tuesday was the last morning of our trip, and we began it as with any other. Untying the bear bags, lighting the peak stove and the whisper light. And then we departed. Soon we sighted a marker for the trail head and knew that we were on our way out of the woods. We emerged into broad daylight and rejoined the other TWO group in order to board the bus.
     On the way home, exhaustion set in. Some days, it turned out, we had gained nearly a half mile in elevation, often at a steep incline. We'd accomplished feats I'd never dreamed myself to be capable of.  After a few wrong turns, the bus driver finally navigated his way to the pick-up zone for the final group. Then it was off to Dairy Queen. And a shower.
     Since our trip, we have only grown closer. As one group member pointed out, one often has these group trip experiences but then must say goodbye to all of his new friends. In this case, however, we have four more years to spend with these people.
     The Wilderness participants are permanently bonded, and aside from the fact that my core group of friends is from my wilderness group, Wilderness showed me what Tufts sets out to instill in its students, but primarily it taught me about myself.