Turning Around: Chickening Out or Testing Limits?
Three turnarounds in just over a year. Is that something to be proud of or embarrassed by?
Tim here. This past weekend I flew to Washington State for a challenging snowshoe trip in the Mt. Baker wilderness with my brother, Danny. Renee was initially going to come too, but foster-kitten and work responsibilities kept her home for the weekend.
Spoiler: We didn’t succeed. Danny and I turned around shy of our destination and headed back to where we began. The whole way down the mountain I pondered what that meant. From Mt. Whitney in December, to White Mountain in October, to this trip in February, several of Renee and my recent trips have not ended as intended. On this trip, while walking back to where we had started, I realized something important about how to interpret that, but first: the trip!
Danny and I intended to do a segment of the Pacific Northwest Trail from Baker Lake to the Mt. Baker Ski Area. This meant we’d have to ford Swift Creek, which is the river that could have killed Renee and me in June 2022. Danny and I hoped that the water level would be lower in February, but we couldn’t find a recent trip report with definitive information. From there, we would go up, up, up, into the mountains. Despite lots of research we weren’t sure what snow conditions would be like, but we decided to proceed and make sure to be attentive, careful, and willing to turn around if either of these obstacles appeared dangerous.
Swift Creek came first. It was not bad! The water came up to our quads but wasn’t moving fast enough to be dangerous, at least relative to our skill level. We completed the crossing quickly and we were energized as we proceeded.
As we climbed into the mountains we transitioned from a snow-free landscape to deep snow. But at the close of day 1, we were still making steady progress. We had a nice time camping overnight and headed into day 2.
This is when things got hard. We had only about five miles to hike between us and our destination, but we were moving slow. The snow was deep and powdery, so our snowshoes were not doing a great job of keeping us on top of it. Every step was tiring.
Then the trail got steep. We still hadn’t entered terrain that posed a serious danger, but our forward progress was moving at a snail’s pace. After four hours, we had only traveled 1.75 miles, and we had 3.5 miles left to go. 3.5 miles never felt so far! We realized that completing the trip would require a third day, and we hadn’t brought enough food for that nor the right gear to camp in the increasingly cold and difficult conditions. We decided to turn around. Not because of immediate danger, but because of exhaustion and being unprepared for an extra day on the trail.
Walking down, I thought back to December 2024 when Renee and I threw in the towel just shy of the Mt. Whitney Summit. And to October 2025 when we did the same before summiting White Mountain. And now I had done it again — this is the third time in just over a year that I failed to complete a journey. I couldn’t help but ask myself what’s going on? Have I lost my ability to persevere in the face of a challenge? It’s easy to tell yourself you’re being wise... It’s harder to admit you might just be getting softer.
It took some time, but I realized: no.
This trip was hard. According to PNT personnel I spoke to before heading out, doing this stretch of trail in February is “basically unheard of”. The same is true of Mt. Whitney in December — we believe we were probably the first winter hikers to attempt it in 2024. And the day we turned around on White Mountain there was a crazy wind/snow storm. Five years ago I wouldn’t have attempted these trips at all. I realized that “failing” on some portion of trips is exactly what I should be aiming for. If every trip was a success, it would mean one of two things:
I’m only choosing objectives I already know I can complete.
I’m refusing to turn around even when it’s dangerous to keep going.
I want to keep doing challenges that are right at the edge of my abilities so that I can improve, and I want to be wise enough to identify when a trip exceeds my abilities or preparedness so that I can make it back safely. Three failed trips in the last year don’t mean I’m losing my edge. They probably mean I’m learning where my edge actually is, and pushing it a little farther out each time.
So, here’s to many more “failed” trips in the future!
PS: We’ll be putting a full video of this trip on our Youtube channel — the intended go-live date is Saturday, February 28, at 6:00 am Pacific Time.
Relatable. I've done a couple 25 mile/7k vertical days in summer, but the top 3 hardest hikes of my life were a fraction of that. It's hard to overstate how much difficulty snow adds. 1/2 mph is about my pace in those conditions too. But it feels so good when you're done for the day sitting by a warm fire!
One of the 'under-rated' activities of hiking/climbing/etc. is doing exploratory trip: testing conditions, gear, distances, geography, etc. It's easy to think can we gather enough information from maps, guidebooks, forums, etc. but the reality is often much different, especially in winter. It seems like spending money for a trip should lead to an intended result, but we need to learn an area and conditions. And, unpacked snow is incredibly challenging. Sounds like a fun time though!