“Don’t pray for things to be easy. Pray to be prepared to endure the hard things.”
I came into this hike perhaps a little too confident.
I’d climbed Lambs Head before. I knew it would be hard, but I also knew I could do it.
What I didn’t know was that this particular trip would involve muscle spasms, hiking in socks, a leech attached to my eyeball, a soaked sleeping bag, a miserable night in the rain—and a rather different understanding of that quote by the time we came home.
The first problem started only about two kilometres in.
I had made the questionable decision to wear brand-new trail running shoes from a brand I had never particularly liked. They were more structured and padded than I normally prefer, but the reviews were excellent, so I thought I’d give them a chance.
My calves had other ideas.
The muscles along the sides of both legs began tightening until it felt as though they were being stretched by some medieval torture device. Then came the spasms.
Eventually, I did what seemed perfectly reasonable at the time.
I took my shoes off.
And continued hiking to Lambs Head in my socks.
The shoes, however, turned out to be only the beginning.
Somewhere under the forest canopy, a leech decided that my right eye looked like a good place for dinner.
Yes. My eyeball.
We were deep in the forest and it was too dark to safely remove it without risking damage to my eye. So we made the rather unpleasant decision to leave it there until we reached camp, when we would have enough light to deal with it properly.
There are moments in life when you discover exactly how calm you are capable of being.
Apparently, walking through the rainforest with a leech attached to my eyeball is one of mine.
By the time we reached camp, there was finally enough light to attempt the extraction.
This is where Jamie, one of my hiking companions, earned a very special place in the story.
Armed with tweezers, a steady hand and considerably better eyesight than I had at that particular moment, he carefully removed the now very well-fed leech.
Eye intact.
Thank you, Jamie.
Unfortunately, Lambs Head wasn’t finished with us yet.
Then came the rain.
And the wind.
And more rain.
All night.
We were camped near the top of the mountain, with the temperature around 18 degrees. My sleeping bag was soaked, and I spent the night wet, cold and shivering.
At first, I prayed for the weather to ease.
It didn’t.
So somewhere during that long, miserable night, my prayer changed.
Don’t stop the storm. Just help me endure it.
And, while You’re at it, maybe let me sleep for a little while so I have enough energy to hike back tomorrow. 
Morning eventually came.
The storm had passed, the clouds began to lift, and somehow everything looked different.
After the night we’d had, standing above the clouds watching the morning light felt almost like a reward.
We still had to get back down, of course.
And I still didn’t have shoes on. 
Going down in socks turned out to be surprisingly manageable.
I could feel the ground beneath my feet, and without the shoes fighting against my legs, the spasms had settled.
Of course, “manageable” is a relative term when the way home involves rocks, roots, mud and the occasional need to use your hands.
Eventually, we made it back.
Tired, wet, and probably looking considerably less impressive than we had imagined when we set out — but we made it.
Looking back, I don’t remember the discomfort nearly as much as I remember the people I was with, the ridiculous moments, the laughter, and that extraordinary morning above the clouds.
Maybe that’s what adventures do.
The difficult parts eventually become stories.
And apparently, sometimes they become stories about hiking Lambs
Head in your socks.
Stories Along the Way 