Into the Wild Through the Eyes of a Child

I was straightening my desk when I found the piece of paper — carefully folded multiple times to form a long strip, the size of a gum wrapper. I opened it and smoothed the folds to get a better look. It was a drawing of two stick figures — one taller than the other — but both with long, flowing hair and big smiley-face smiles. Below it were the words, “Nana. I think you have a hiking buddy.”

I smiled — a big smiley-face smile. It felt like a high five to my life-long love affair with the outdoors. My granddaughter Alida already had my heart, but now it felt like we shared the same heart.

It all began when Alida moved to the Flathead Valley with her family and was able to join us regularly in some of our escapades, which often lead us off the beaten path. Her first years were spent in Portland, Ore. and Seattle, Wash., amid cities enhanced by abundant lush green spaces that were frequently swaddled in rain and fog. Her family outings often included exploring the natural world of the Pacific Northwest and she attended a nature-based pre-school, held exclusively outside. We were excited to share a new outdoor setting in northwest Montana with this athletic, energetic 7-year-old.

Last summer she showed an interest in hiking with us, an idea we embraced delicately, not knowing what to expect. Hiking can be hard work and at least half of hiking is attitude; elements that don’t always come easily to children. 

We raised two daughters in the outdoor mecca of the Swan Lake area, but after they grew up and away, our lives were nearly devoid of children until we gained our first grandchild, Wyatt. We were fortunate to enjoy frequent visits as our daughter shared her childhood play places with her first child on a variety of adventures that included hikes, skis, skates and paddles. The presence of little Wyatt, with his cap of blonde curls, big blues eyes and face shiny with a sunbeam smile, made us realize that grandkids offer a second chance — to experience the magic of a child in nature. He was our first little hiking buddy.

Alida added another dimension to our grandparenting as we became fully in charge during our outings with her. A weightier version of borrowing someone else’s car. One of her first hikes was with “Bapa” Dewey while I was in Michigan attending a wedding. True to his spirit, he took her on a bushwhack up a steep hill. When I pictured this gnarly slope filled with downfall and old logging debris, my first thought was, “Uh oh.” But she loved it. Especially the “butt slides.” And wanted to do it again.

A tamer excursion included a hike to Bond Falls, a two-mile hike to a small waterfall in the Swan Mountains. Employing some strategy to the proposed outing, we thought the walk-log over the creek, varied terrain and lunch beside a waterfall would provide elements to keep her engaged and motivated. We had not gone very far before she requested a snack break. I coaxed her to go a little farther, but shortly afterwards relented. When a skinny, energetic kid wants to eat, you let them eat. After she finished her snack, we continued on our way, but not exactly at rocket speed. We stopped to sit on a rock that she said “looked like a chair,” and we stopped to study cool plants and insects, and we stopped to take her chosen “shortcut” up the hill, which was in the wrong direction. We made it to the waterfall, not in record time, but with a record number of discoveries along the way. This included the first lesson Alida taught us — the pleasure of taking time to be in the moment.

Two-mile hikes quickly grew into four-mile and then six-mile hikes and I found myself yelling out, “Wait for me, I’ve got the bear spray,” as she flew up steep sections of trail. We made multiple trips to the Jewel Basin where nearly mile-high trailheads offer quick access to sparkling alpine lakes, meadows filled with wildflowers, rolling ridge walks and gentle mountain tops. 

An early season hike took us over Picnic Notch into the Jewel Basin. Her eyes grew wide as we dropped over to the other side where snow was four feet deep on the north-facing slope. We circled the open water of Picnic Lakes, still rimmed by snow. The shoreline was sprinkled with bold yellow glacier lilies, little flags proclaiming the arrival of summer and teasing us to make a shallow dip into the frigid water. You could feel the excitement and camaraderie of the moment in our giggles and screeches as we popped out of the lake like corks. She basked in the noon sun while eating her lunch before we began an alternative loop for our return. Alida ran ahead to a meadow that was transformed into a seasonal pond. She casually waded and then plopped down in shallow water, which must have felt like a heated pool after the icy cold plunge into Picnic Lake. We lounged along the grassy shoreline when she pleaded to stay a little longer. After all, why hurry back to what would be the end of a great day?

The weekly outings eventually grew to an eight-mile hike into the Bob Marshall Wilderness in August. The day couldn’t have been more perfect. A few clouds drifted lazily through mostly blue sky, the temperatures topped off in the 70s mid-day, and the trail was virtually devoid of pesky insects — and people. Purple fireweed flowers towered over Alida’s head as we headed up a steep draw that was scattered with rocks and blanketed with snow at the notch that led to Pyramid Lake. Alida ran ahead toward the lake and perched on one of the tables of rosy rock along the shoreline. We spotted a lone waterfowl in the middle of the lake, easily identified when the loon’s haunting wail filled the silence of this wild place. Lunch was delayed when we spotted hundreds of black pollywogs wiggling along the lakeshore. She cupped one gently, which evoked a gentle smile as her eyes grew brighter. 

Hikes with Alida occurred weekly, often to an alpine lake with their promise of a swim and exploring. One of her favorite games was to turn the baskets of hiking poles into frogs, that leapt and splashed along the shoreline.

I am not sure who learned more. We guided her through safety measures — such as crossing loose scree slopes and snow-packed faces. But she taught us how to hike more mindfully; to pause and relish the fascinating aspects of the natural world around us as she built a stick “cabin” at a lunch stop at a lake in the Mission Mountains or studied a praying mantis she discovered in spite of it being well-camouflaged on a leafy branch.

Our hiking buddy grew to be our adventure buddy as we explored the islands and canals on Swan Lake. A highlight of the summer included a walk over the swinging bridge that led to Kootenai Falls and an overnight stay at an old fire lookout near Troy. After effortlessly sprinting up the 52 steps she ran into the small lookout cabin and looked around. She turned to me and said, “There’s no TV.” I laughed and realized that most of her overnight vacation stays were at hotels. She shrugged and began exploring each corner of the tiny lookout space where she studied a hodgepodge of kitchen tools and supplies, the Osborne Fire Finder, playing cards and dominoes, and views outside the windows that circled the lookout space. Eventually she plopped down on a bed and twirled like an excited puppy before claiming her spot with her sleeping bag and backpack. We woke up to an ethereal fog that rose from the trees below and circled the lookout as a rose-gold sun rose above the Cabinet Range.

Winter marked the end of our hiking, but the beginning of another adventure season. We introduced her to cross-country skiing in the snowy Swan Valley. I set my expectations low; after all, it does not offer downhill skiing’s benefit of a chair-ride up the hill. She is a bit of a perfectionist and when she began counting the number of falls she made, I told her it was okay to fall, because falling helps you learn to stay up. She tossed the counting ritual, along with her jacket when she became overheated from the laps she made up and down a hill. By the end of the ski, a shuffle turned into a glide and she declared that she was spending every weekend with us so she could go skiing. 

When a cold snap turned Swan Lake into a huge skating rink, we took a cruise down Swan Lake with her entire family. Alida helped pull her little brother Bowen in a sled, but I expect he will soon don a pair of skates and by next summer, just maybe, we will have another hiking buddy.

Getting on the Wild Side by Finding Your Child Side

What a child can teach you (or help you remember)

It’s the journey, not just the destination.

I have grown fond of the aspect of hiking that allows me to get in a zone where my brain and body seem to be more in sync. Getting into a zone has its benefits, but can be a lot like when you turn the pages in a book and realize you don’t remember reading the words. Remember to turn on your senses so that you can enjoy the scents of the earth, the air and the plants and hear a breeze rustling the grasses and see all the nuances of the world around you.

The magic of nature is often found in unexpected places. 

My granddaughter Sloan is the princess of imagination. She loves to lead me into the woods to see the fairies that dwell there, in the magical little nooks formed by a canopy of trees and the mossy rocks that are their chairs and beds. Children not only see things better — they imagine things better. Allow yourself time to wander, to examine your surroundings and feel the magic.

Don’t be afraid to get dirty.

A dirty child proves that he was with the earth — and probably had a good time.

Let dirt be your makeup, the wind your hair stylist, the birds your music, and a mountain lake your spa.

Keep it positive, but know that it won’t always be perfect. (Some adventures turn out to be a terrible good idea)

Last spring, our four-year-old grandson, Bowen, spotted a ball on the edge of the shoreline, trapped by shore ice. I told Bowen and his sister, Alida, that I had a good idea, “We can go out in the canoe to get the ball.” The kids loaded the canoe, Dewey took his position in the stern and we punched our way through the remaining ice on the shore to reach open water and the ball. After Alida rescued the ball, we headed back. Meanwhile the boat was leaking freezing cold water and the gap we created in the ice sheet had closed. We battled the ice floes and made it back to the shore. I reached to help Bowen out of the soggy canoe and he looked at me with a steady gaze and said, “Nana, that was a terrible good idea.” I laughed. Terrible and good. That sounded about par for a lot of our wild adventures. This quickly became a family meme, applied to a variety of situations. 

The power of nature

Alida has a reputation for always being in motion, but when we are in nature, I have watched her sit quietly, observing and absorbing her surroundings. Connecting.

Studies show that being outside in nature makes kids smarter, happier, calmer, more imaginative, more content, more connected and healthier. Something so simple can cause something profound to happen. As Albert Einstein said, “Look deep into nature and then you will understand everything better.”