“Just a closer walk with Thee…”
Mr. Pettit and I enjoy hiking.
We don’t climb rock faces or scramble over car-sized boulders for eight to ten hours at a stretch. But we have taken a number of trails in the past few years, venturing upward to take in vistas and descending mountainsides to view waterfalls. (We’re especially fond of Shenandoah National Park, not far from our home.)
We didn’t hesitate to sign up for a hike offered during our cruise to Alaska. Even though it was described as strenuous. Even though steep inclines were mentioned.
Yeah, we got this.
If only we could have heard the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit laughing.
We set out from Wrangell, a town not yet overrun by cruise ships (the big draw of this particular itinerary). The excursion was called "Kunk Lake Hike and Jet Boat." The cruise line description said we’d take “a 20-minute scenic jet boat ride to Etolin Island," followed by "a spectacular small-group hike to Kunk Lake.”
There was no hint that this would be more than a typical walk in the woods.
Cue ominous music by John Williams.
The boat ride was fine; in this case, the destination was more important than the journey. There were eight cruisers and two guides in addition to the captain.
Once we arrived, the guides strongly encouraged everyone to use one of the trekking poles they had available. Mr. Pettit and I had brought our own; we had learned our lesson after navigating the mud of an Andean trail in Chile.
We picked our way to the trailhead through the field of stones on the shore. There was no sand, only round rocks roughly the size of ostrich eggs. The captain sailed away, leaving us to press on.
We were reassured to see that one guide, Mad (short for Madeline), was carrying a can of bear spray. Then we noticed that the other guide, Mike, had strapped on a gun in a holster across his chest. I got the feeling we weren't in Virginia anymore.
Mad told us we would walk on a boardwalk through the woods due to the muddy conditions. (Etolin Island is part of the Tongass National Forest, the largest in the nation.) I pictured the wooden sidewalks we've used in other parks.
Not single boards roughly 16" across.
In the rainforest.
Covered in algae or whatever slimy goo grows in Alaska.
Mad said it could get slippery.
Mistress of understatement.
The excursion description said we would “marvel at the old-growth spruce, hemlock, and cedar trees.” And the surroundings were breathtaking.
When we stopped and looked up.
Mostly, we focused on staying on the narrow board and remaining upright. Our poles weren't much help at times, because the ground on either side of the board was too mushy or absent, as when there were drop-offs down the rocky hillside to the stream below.
The poles were invaluable, however, on the challenging inclines. We learned that when Mad said "It's slippery up here," or "This is a tricky part," it was time to pray. Truly.
The toughest climb crossed a network of tree roots; it was so steep that I had to use my poles for stability as I stepped up. I've experimented since we returned home, and I think each stride covered about the equivalent of two-and-a-half of our stair steps.
It took us an hour and a half to cover the 1.3 miles to Kunk Lake.
Then we had to go back. I told Mr. Pettit I wanted to go home. Not back to the Shenandoah Valley, necessarily. A float plane to the ship would have been acceptable.
Kunk Lake, Etolin Island, Alaska
But that wasn’t an option.
I slipped a couple of times, but I didn't hurt anything. Not even my pride, since several people had fallen by then. When we arrived at what I'm now calling Tree Root Hill, Mike stayed behind to make sure we descended safely. He didn't carry me down, fireman style, though at that point I don't think I would have objected.
Instead, he coached us through, telling us where to place our feet and where we should fall. "There's moss here; that would be soft." "Don't fall there; there are a lot of rocks."
I wanted Mike to stop talking about falling.
We finally made it out of the woods and back to the stony beach. Mad told us to be mindful of the seaweed; it was slippery.
Goodness gracious.
During the hike, I told God that if He got me through it, I would give Him the glory. At some point I realized that none of the other hikers or the guides could do this for me. Not even my steadfast husband.
No one else could keep me balanced or place my foot just so. Only the Holy Trinity could ensure I’d make it off that trail in one piece.
Afterward, I told two of our fellow tourists that we had an extra hiker on the trail, because I knew Jesus was with us. I received only blank looks in response, but I’m glad I told the truth.
I thank God that Mr. Pettit and I had the opportunity to take this hike together and see the lush forest. I'm also grateful we came through safely; this was undoubtedly the most challenging hike we've ever undertaken.
Next cruise? I'm sticking with museums.
On the trail from Kunk Lake. Take note of the boardwalk.
The hymn, “Just a Closer Walk With Thee,” is a traditional gospel song whose original author is anonymous, although verses by Kenneth Morris and Fanny Crosby (with music by William Kirkpatrick) can be verified. The present version is credited to Rev. Elijah Cluke. Source: Just a Closer Walk With Thee | Hymn Lyrics (thehymns.org)
