Semester 52: First Expedition
Written by: Nora Tsai, Jula Cieciuch, Lucy Shapard, Izzy Buldak, George Dodge, Jemma Handler, Nelson Rice, Asher Harwood, Milo Mizner, & Iris Bibeau-Leveillee
Jacob’s Group
By Nora Tsai
The entirety of the first expedition was ineffable. There are truly no words to describe how it felt to walk down in the canyon, more than 40 feet of red rock scaling upwards on either side of us. However, I keep using one word when I tell people about our backcountry backpacking experience: crazy. On our last night, Jacob (our expedition leader) told us that we would have to tell a thirty second, 10 minute and even 30 minute version of our time here with our special group of people. I can never bring myself to fully share what it was like because everything was so present and in the moment. Strangers became friends and awkward half smiles became long hugs. I will forever remember the atrocious amount of hashbrowns I ate for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I will forever remember laughing till we couldn’t breathe and even some tears.
There was a day that we entered into the canyon and it became our longest day. Nine hours filled with an insane amount of boulder scrambling, obscene weather (it was sunny and started snowing), and trekking through waist deep slot canyon water. I had never felt more comfortable and alive that day. Every helping hand I lent or cold wet hug I shared lit something inside of me. The sky turned pink and then white and then pink again as we hauled everyone’s massive packs up the side of the canyon. We huddled together in a group hug to keep warm. Later that night while we silently cooked another round of hashbrowns for dinner, my cook group gazed up at the sky. An inky black canvas with shining flecks of white was blanketed over our heads. I am forever grateful to these people. I will forever appreciate getting to know and understand pieces of my expedition group. These people became hobbies, interests and fears instead of faces lost in the sea of HMI semester 52. I would happily eat another meal of hashbrowns or climb over a mesa with them again and again.
By Jula Cieciuch
That night, I trembled beneath extensive layers of synthetic down and fleece. It was the first night of our first expedition. A day in the bus with unfamiliar people and unsure conversation had left us antsy and uncertain. How were we to somehow expose ourselves beyond the feigned and awkward identities we had crafted for initial display? My tarp group, Nora, Arielle, and I, had managed to masterfully assemble our first Mid, the first of many. The poignant desert cold was beginning to seep into every forgotten crevice in our systems of wearable insulation. And, I couldn’t help but question the synchronicity of our group; how would we integrate into a conducive whole? But then, Jacob called for our first evening circle. We would start with a game, he professed. So, we ushered ourselves into an elevated shoulder-to-shoulder huddle, converted our headlamps to red light, and played the notorious “Bob the Weasel” game. Needless to say, our energy as a group emulsified. We screamed absurd chants into the eternity of the evening sky and laughed like we’d known each other for that same eternity. And then, we sat down for spotlight. Spotlight, Jacob explained, was an instance for us to bear our truths vulnerably and authentically to the rest of the group. Rowan immediately volunteered. Primarily, one was to start with a one minute, and strictly at that, summation of their entire life. Then we, as the group, would proceed to ask the spotlight rapid-fire questions about any arbitrary subject of our choice. However, following the first two stages of spotlight came the greatest of them all: Each of us was to ask a thoughtful and personal question, to create an opportunity for the spotlight to unveil their true nature. And so we did, and I learned about this person, who I had known for barely a sum of three days, things that reflected the most integral aspects of his humanity and his soul. I was astounded. I was deeply comforted. We held hands. We hugged. Ever since I was a little girl, my mom has recited the following phrase to me each night before I succumb to sleep:
I honor the place in you where the entire universe resides.
I honor the place in you of light, love, peace, and truth.
When you are in that place in you,
And I am in that place in me,
We are ONE.
It was during that cold and expansive evening, surrounded by Nora, Arielle, Sarah, Paulina, Noah, Ben, Rowan, Gavin, Jacob, Pi, Laurel, and Nnennaya, that I realized: we were one.
Sophie’s Group
By Lucy Shapard
The goal of our expedition was to circumnavigate Found Mesa, near Jacobs Chair, Utah. We started out the trip on one side of the mesa, hiking along until we reached the end of the mesa and then turned and hiked along the other side. The day we turned the corner to the other side was one of the best days on expedition. Our route required us to climb up a steep hill where there were little patches of snow. When we reached the top of the hill, it was a great feeling of accomplishment. On the other side of the mesa we encountered graupel, but there were no clouds above us, it was all the work of the wind. When we arrived at camp the sky’s completely cleared and it was warm and sunny again. I will never forget that day on trail.
By Izzy Buldak
I think going into our first expedition I really had no idea of what my experience would be like. We were briefed before going into the backcountry and equipped with all of the gear and necessary skills to go out there. But in another way I was completely unprepared for what being out there would truly be like. Being in the backcountry changed my outlook in so many ways. I was given an opportunity to take time to reflect and take a step back all while being challenged every day. I felt a completely new type of peace and accomplishment being out there. Each day brought a challenge and a lesson along with it.
Jessi’s Group
By George Dodge
Waking up to the dull beeping of my wristwatch’s alarm and crawling out of my tarp to cook in the morning is usually harder for me than anything else when I’m in the backcountry. That was different in the desert. It’s not like I wasn’t still sore from sleeping on slick rock, yesterday’s hike, and whipped from the night’s incessant wind. No, the difference was that as I pulled on my heavy layers in a fruitless attempt to keep the cold from seeping into my skin, I couldn’t wait to sit in the dark and fry oats. I don’t like the cold or the dark either, but it’s worth it when the pale gold sun slowly lifts its head up over the horizon. It’s a strange thing to watch the sunrise in the desert. Long shadows fall against the plain and slowly shrink while you feel the sun’s rays chase off the cold you couldn’t stop from absorbing you. You feel warm and look around at the mesas flooded in a dim red and the plain accented with golden light. Suddenly, the day won’t be so hard, or the miles so long, and the only worry you have is where the brown sugar went.
By Jemma Handler
After 10 miles of backpacking with packs weighing about 60 pounds each, 5 miles is easy. The weather had not been kind to us these past few days. A gray cast rolled over the canyons as our X came into view over the mesa, and our stomachs dropped. Toes halfway frozen, stomachs empty, and nerves on thin ice. Exhaustion overcame our group, and weathering another storm that night seemed impossible. Defeat washed over us as we reached camp, anticipating the worst as the sky continued to darken. As I started to set up the mid, gusts of wind whipped, and my hands ached from the cold as I struggled to finish the last trucker’s hitch. I stood up to admire my attempt at setting up the mid when gasps arose in the distance. I glance over my shoulder to see what the commotion is about, but my eyes catch the puddle’s reflection first. Dark purple and gold bleed into the water, a reflection of the luminous sky. The gray of the sky overpowered with dark purple and wisps of gold. Light snow dusted my eyelashes as I gaped in awe as the sun slipped over Found Mesa once again, but this time, leaving us with an unforgettable sky. We stood there staring as twilight settled in, ignoring the hunger, cold, and exhaustion. A stolen moment of time: a sky that will forever be ingrained in our minds and hearts, reminding us of our perseverance and courage through our first expedition.
Lucy’s Group
By Nelson Rice
My first expedition at HMI was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. It contained some of the greatest challenges and highlights, all in a 12-day period. From backpacking through, around, and over the canyons of Utah to cooking all of our own meals, setting up camp every night, and completing school work, it was some of the most eventful and adventurous days of my life. The conversations, both deep and inconsequential, were filled with laughter, amazement, and a friendship only dirty, smelly, tired, and enthusiastic people could have. It was amazing to experience nature in such a raw environment, in addition to learning so many valuable wilderness lessons along the way. The expedition wasn’t always easy and fun. We got soaked in our sleep, sunburnt, sore, and frustrated at times, but we attempted to dry our things, applied more sunscreen, stretched, and worked through our disagreements, managing to have an enjoyable adventure together.
By Asher Harwood
My first expedition at HMI was very different from what I had expected. Still, the expedition was characterized by great friendships that I made. This expedition pushed me out of my comfort zone and taught me how to be outside in the wilderness. I really have not had that much experience with backpacking or camping at all so this was definitely a change that took some adjusting at first (not showering) but over time I rose to the challenge and started to enjoy myself. I created many friends that I hope to have for the rest of my life. From hiking for miles on miles to sleeping in a 3 person tent with 4 people, we bonded like no other. I hope to remember this for the rest of my life.
Emma’s Group
By Milo Mizner
In all the places I imagined getting my hair cut – barber shops, my house – I never imagined it would be overlooking a 300-foot canyon in the backcountry of Southern Utah. Instead of going to the barber shop, I unpacked my single 90 liter backpack, took out a pair of dull trauma-shears from a first aid kit, and placed all my faith in someone I had met just five days earlier.
Even two weeks ago, this might have seemed impossible to me. So would scrambling up a mesa with a 50-pound backpack and repelling up and down canyon walls – but it’s amazing how much can change in a single week.
As I looked over the edge of the canyon and ran my fingers through my newly (admittedly poorly) buzzed hair, I watched the part of me connecting to my home float into the wind. I grew up in New York City and I have spent my whole life away from the natural world, surrounded by pollution, inside a concrete jungle. Coming to the snowy mountains of Leadville and adventuring throughout the West was a hard transition and I didn’t immediately feel at home. As we hiked through the vast canyons of Utah, however, I realized I had to do something to embrace this new chapter. As HMI famously says, “If you can’t get out of it, get into it!”
To fully embrace this new part of me I decided to chop off all my hair. Obviously a completely rational decision, considering the only thing we were carrying was a pair of dull scissors.
So, on the 8th night of our trip, after setting up camp and cooking a delicious dinner of tacos and brownie scramble, I grabbed my crazy creek chair and walked to the side of the canyon, watching the sunset in front of me. Despite being absolutely terrified, I let my friend grab my hair and begin to cut it off as the rest of our expedition group gasped in the background. After a seemingly never ending 5 minutes, I stood up, brushed hair off of my face and fleece, and ran my fingers along my newly freed head.
Over the course of the next five days, although my feelings toward my place in the natural world and the amount of hair on my head would change, my faith in my decision to fully embrace a life changing experience remained constant. Thanks to the canyons, I can find home anywhere.
By Iris Bibeau-Leveillee
Three weeks ago I was sitting in my bedroom in Providence, Rhode Island. I would never have imagined that not even two weeks later I would find myself surrounded by such amazing people who I only just met, running through pools of mud and quicksand in the backcountry of Southeastern Utah. In the time I’ve been here in Leadville, I have experienced so many new and incredible adventures.
I couldn’t sleep the night before we left for the canyons. I’d been looking forward to our first expedition for months, and now that it was finally happening, I was so full of excitement. My forty-pound pack, stuffed with rations, puffy layers, and lots of Aquamira, was waiting for me in Hope Classroom. When I put it on the following morning, I definitely didn’t fall over as I wobbled over to our bus. Nevertheless, I finally felt ready to travel to the canyons. Growing up right next to the ocean, I had never been to the desert, and definitely not with a heavy pack. In the end, though, I think my lack of backpacking experience taught me so many valuable lessons.
My first week on expedition flew by in a blur of sunrises, talks underneath the stars, and singing on every hiking day. Some days were definitely harder than others, like when we got a huge rainstorm in the middle of the night or when my cook group’s stove broke the day we’d all been looking forward to making pancakes. The good days, however, made up for all of that.
One morning after a massive rainstorm, our expedition group went on a day hike to explore some nearby slot canyons. Everyone was so excited to leave our heavy packs behind for the morning and hike all together. After scrambling down into the canyon, we came across an incredible rock formation inside the canyon wall, with large caves and holes built into it. Our whole group climbed up into the holes and took in the views on all sides. Soon, we continued on until we found a huge puddle of murky water blocking our path. Some of my friends tried to find a way around it, and before I knew it, everything devolved into chaos. We all sprinted through the water in our hiking boots, kicking up mud as the frigid water seeped into our shoes and socks. Laughing and stumbling, we made it to the other side of the puddle only to find that we were sinking into quicksand! Even though nobody could feel their toes, we broke into fits of laughter trying to free ourselves from the mud. We carried each other back across the deep puddles on piggyback, dropping down on the ground, covered in red soil and sand.
I’ll never forget this expedition, but especially those moments spent laughing in the canyons with my close friends. Living out of a backpack for a week and a half was such a transformative experience, and I want to hold on to every moment of it. I can’t wait to go back to the canyons!
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