Have you ever spent a week in the wilderness? I don’t mean in a Dungeons & Dragons game— in real life. I also don’t mean in your uncle’s cabin in Colorado, or in a tent at a Scout summer camp. They’re both perfectly valid ways to get out and enjoy the great outdoors, don’t get me wrong, but they’re a very different kind of experience than the one I’m talking about. Have you ever tried surviving a week in the woods: no roof, no camper, no shelter, save one you can find in the wild, build yourself, or carry on your back? 

The image is romantic. Like you’re Bear Grylls or Les Stroud, conquering the wild with nothing but your wits, maybe a knife. Does that idea appeal to you? If so, I’d guess you’re in the minority. A sane person, a person who has nothing to prove would probably pass on a week of miserable discomfort at best, serious injury or death at worst. 

I mean, think about it for more than a few seconds. Unless you carry one with you, your mattress options for the week range from “Rock Hard” to “Moist and Preinhabited.” You’ll need to hide your food from the bears sniffing you out after dark. If you don’t purify the green pond water you’re drinking, you’ll catch a nasty case of dysentery, or parasites, or both. Showers wouldn’t be available, obviously. Depending on where you are, that means bathing in lakes or rivers or not at all. If you’re lucky, the water will be lukewarm. If not, it’ll hover a few degrees above the temperature of the icy glacier it trickled down from. You might opt to stay dry, but that’ll be seven days of grime and sweat and campfire ash, and many, many reapplications of bug spray and sunscreen you get to fester in. I am framing this little hypothetical adventure around its most unpleasant features and none of its positive ones, but my point remains—this kind of thing can be a wildly uncomfortable experience.

And yet, somehow, here I am. At it again.

Come August, I will be spending nine days in the wilds around Mt. Rainier. Everything I have will have to fit on my back as I travel 93 miles (150km), up and down 27,000ft (8,230m) of elevation gain and loss, in one massive loop in the forests and cliffs around an active volcano. When I need water, I’ll have to find it and purify it myself. When I need to sleep, I’ll have to set up camp. The only person coming with me is my sister, Allison.

They call it the Wonderland Trail. Allison and Alice are too similar to avoid the obvious comparison. I guess that makes me the Mad Hatter. 

Now, this won’t be my first time doing something like this. Despite the impression you may have gotten from the theatre-nerd-word-vomit essay and the small-town-opinion-column-meets-edgy-crowley-confessional series I started the blog with, I was quite the Boy Scout growing up. I spent my school breaks alone in the forests around my hometown or with my cousin on my uncle’s ranch, building shelters, identifying wild edible plants and mushrooms, and building campfires that only occasionally risked serious property damage. Thankfully, we managed to avoid causing any brushfires. Except for that one time when we didn’t. Sorry, Aunt Sherry.

What I’m trying to say is that my unique blend of botany nerd, Boy Scout, and Bear Grylls enthusiast means I’m less of a lunatic than my habit for sensational writing will make it seem. Allison and I are relatively experienced hikers to boot, so we’ll be fine. Probably.

But we do have to get ready, and that’s why I’m writing this now. I figured, even if you’d never do this kind of thing unless someone paid you to, you might still enjoy laughing at the fuckery I get into during the week and change I’ll be spending in Wonderland. I’m taking a small notebook to journal in while I’m out there, to record my thoughts and the day-by-day. Then, if I survive, I’ll make a post recounting the story in graphic, abridged-for-entertainment-purposes detail.

So, if you’re reading this: congratulations! You’re getting in on the ground floor. Of what? Who knows! It could be incredibly mundane! Or we could end up on the News. I only hope the article headline is more “Young Hunky Hero saves lives” and less “At least the Titan disaster wasn’t this graphic.” Only time will tell.

In the interim, I have to pack. The success of the whole nine-day adventure will depend on my balancing bringing enough equipment to survive and not so much equipment that my backpack becomes Sisyphus’s two-ton boulder the whole way up the 27,000ft incline. Thankfully, I have more than a few pieces of kit already…

Clothes: --obviously. I won’t need nine sets, but an extra pair of underwear will be nice if I accidentally fall into a nearby creek. Whatever I wear, it’ll have to be athletic. This isn’t the sort of thing you do in skinny jeans, no matter what my teenage self would tell you.

Rain Gear: Because, in all likelihood, it will rain while we are out there. That’s what all the forums and blogs say anyway. I don’t know what Alli is bringing, but I have this colossal, tacti-cool black rain poncho that turns into a tent. My friends and family laughed at me when I bought it, because who the hell needs their poncho to turn into a tent? I’ve been told I look like a Naruto character when I wear it.

Shelter: Well, well, well. If only I had some kind of specialized, geeky two-in-one camping equipment I could transform into a tent at a moment’s notice. My black Naruto poncho will work perfectly to keep the rain off of me overnight here, so long as I remember to bring some paracord to string the thing up.

Knife: Because one of these is essential. Cuts cordage. Sharpens impromptu tent stakes. Arms me in the event of a cougar attack. A good knife is one of the most important pieces of any camper’s gear. My old blade, Hotchner, snapped in two pieces while I was splitting firewood a while back. I’ll have to find another one.

Hiking Poles: For elevation gain like this, hiking poles will be worth their weight. If you’ve never used them, they allow you to distribute your balancing and hiking efforts more evenly amongst your upper and lower body. This means I’ll be hiking longer, easier. They also come in handy for balance coming down steep slopes and fighting off the occasional goblin or two.

Compass(es) and Map: Because navigation will be at least a little important to getting back home in one piece. Per the teachings of Alfie the Great, I insist on three compasses at all times. One to use, one as backup, and a third so I can check which compass is broken if the first two ever disagree.

Cooking Set: The lighter the better. Lord knows I don’t need to be lugging cast iron uphill like I’m Samwise Gamgee. Most of my cooking gear is made out of titanium for that reason—it’s light but durable. A few pieces are steel, though, so I’ll need to upgrade.

Sleeping Bag or Quilt: Something to keep me warm. It may be summer, but it’s a northern summer. The weather can also change quickly in the mountains, so I’ll need something rated down to 20 degrees Fahrenheit (or -7 Celsius)

Water: In an emergency, I can use my cooking set to boil whatever water I find. That’ll kill off any bacteria or parasites in it. Still, boiling doesn’t make the water taste any better. For that reason, I’ll rely on my Sawyer Water Filtration System as my primary. As backups, I’ll probably also bring some water purification tablets. All this is assuming I have the right containers to store the water in. I’m actually in the market for a new water bottle right now. The same rules apply here as with the cooking equipment; The lighter the better.

First Aid Kit, Toiletries, Sunscreen, and Bugspray: These should also be obvious. I need to be able to patch bleeding wounds, stave off infection, contend with the insects, and prevent sunburn. My old first aid kit is running low, so I’m planning a full overhaul.

Miscellaneous: A few other items will find their way in as I plan. A bear bag will be necessary so I can hang my food stores out of reach. Maybe some duct tape to repair holes in my tent, if they occur. 

Between now and August, I’ll probably think of a few things I forgot to add to this list. I’ll also get a better understanding of how much extra room I’ll have in this new hiking backpack I’m buying for the trip. 

Besides the packing and the planning, all that’s left to do in the meantime is train. Wonderland is considered an advanced hiking trail, and the elevation gain is no joke. I’ve already started loading a backpack full of rocks and going for trail runs in my nearby nature preserve and skipping the elevator at work in favor of the nine flights of stairs. Regardless, I’ll need to up my game. Either that, or I’ll be in for a miserable week.

I honestly can’t wait.