Finding Strength in the Darkness: How Peaceful Valley Changed Me

I have always seen myself as physically inferior. My ankles turn over in odd directions at the slightest whim. My coke-bottle glasses and bad eyesight once labeled me unmistakeably as a nerd. My wheezing and inability to cope with soccer sprints earned me a white inhaler, my constant friend on rainy days and soccer trips. I continuously apologized to friends and coaches for my inadequacies. I learned to treat common ailments, in order to take care of myself.

This familiarity with medicine led me to join a venturing emergency rescue crew my junior year of high school. In the summer of 2004 my crew decided to participate in an event called the "X-Games,” at Peaceful Valley Scout Ranch— a patch of mild hills, prairie grass and acres of pine trees located in Elbert, CO. That year’s Venturing X-Games was to be a nine-mile competitive night hike, peppered with challenges.

I didn’t know that a dire physical confrontation was about to slink out of the woods, ready to pounce on me. My crew leader and my teammates, all X-Games veterans, managed to keep me in the dark until there was no turning back. Later, I would be grateful that they had.

I checked in with my team at 8:30 pm, one hour before start time. The team included Wayne, my best friend, my crew president, Adria, and her boyfriend, Mike. I was in awe of Mike and Adria. Older than me, they seemed fit and confident, unfazed by the prospect of a long night of traversing rocky terrain.

We trudged through the dark, flashlights extinguished. My cheap backpack had cloth straps that I would later grow to hate, as they bit into my collarbone; my shorts earned me a wry glare from Adria. Our first challenge was rappelling over a 20-foot cliff. I shook for 45 minutes after the descent; I had never been in a climbing harness before. It left blisters in the crook of my thighs.

At one point we were nearly assassinated after mistaking the musket range safety lines for directional tags. This earned us a biting reproof before we were allowed in to take our turn at loading the black powder devils, to aim their fury at eerily glowing targets.

I fell four times; by the third time, Wayne didn’t ask if I was ok. He asked if I was up yet. I managed to keep moving through sheer willpower and overdosing on my inhaler, trembling from exhaustion and albuterol. Night became day. Light crept shyly into the misty valley, making the land eerily, gently beautiful. The dim light complemented our fatigue.

As morning ended, we lashed a raft together, managing to tow it across the lake, then emerging in a weary sort of triumph. My legs were covered with weeping cuts and bruises. My ankles were swollen, my hair dirty and matted; dripping and exhausted, I was no longer able to track conversation.

I still carry the scars.

I took the scars with me to college. They reminded me of the confidence I had gained. It would be three years before I could return to PV. At the end of my sophomore year I applied to be a PV staff member, looking for a fun summer break.

I came back to PV broken from a series of emotional batterings. It had been the worst semester of my life. I had lost a teacher from my EMT school to an ambulance accident, nearly lost a friend to suicide, and struggled with an unsupportive relationship. I arrived with no post-camp plan. Life could be tackled only one day at a time.

The opening ceremony plunged us into the darkness. We climbed an unfamiliar path, silently taking turns carrying a steel triangle. Sitting in a circle on the ground, freezing, we waited to tell the faceless company why we were there. I shared only a fraction of my pain. One by one, we left, ringing the triangle as we went; someone gave me his jacket.

As the summer progressed, I settled into my role as camp medic. Slowly, we began to trust each other. Some of us even became friends. By sharing PV, by sharing stories each night, we slowly crept into each other’s hearts.

I met a man named Logan on the first day. We didn’t know each other, but shared the same group of friends. One night, after a disastrous day for both of us, we collapsed next to each other on the loading dock. The darkness couldn’t hide my tears, but it let me open myself to him. I laid it all in front of him— the horrible semester, my weaknesses, my hurt. As he responded in kind, we discovered a friend in each other.

Later, I went for my first hike of the summer. Logan went with me; I couldn’t navigate in the dark. I looked over at Logan, and laughed at myself as I realized that I had grown to care for him. He grabbed me by the shoulders, not letting me hide behind the laughter. That night, we realized we shared the same emotion.

We left PV at the end of the summer in a relationship that neither of us expected. Both of us found healing at PV, while lost under the quiet of the dark trees and pinpoint stars. The starlight blends with our scars. Through them, we carry PV with us.