We venture onto the trail with intention. We plan the miles, we curate the gear, and we anticipate the rewards. But just as in life, the trail has a way of reminding us that we are rarely, if ever, in ultimate control. We can step with the greatest focus, yet still roll an ankle. We can secure the tent with zealous care, yet still wake up to a broken pole or a missing bear bag.
These moments—when the plan crumbles and dread arrives unannounced—are inevitable. They trigger that familiar, visceral rush of anxiety and frustration. Some of us have learned this lesson many times: the deepest hardship is often not the problem itself, but the panic that prevents us from solving it.
So, when the map is gone, the weather shifts violently, or the day goes sideways, how do we find that calm core? We return to the fundamental act of intentionality. We control the only thing we ever truly control: our immediate, next step, which must always begin with a commitment to composure.
When a crisis hits, our body wants to accelerate—to panic, to race for a solution. This is the moment to apply a decisive brake. Stop. Sit down. Don’t move until the immediate wave of anxiety crests and recedes. Then is the time to take a deliberate, physical, and mental inventory.
The panic we feel is often a projection of the mind racing ahead: How will I finish? What if I'm stuck here all night? The solution is to yank the mind back to the present. It’s time to center yourself with the oldest, most reliable tool you have: your breath.
Once calm returns, simplify the problem back to the essentials of survival. Nearly every backpacking emergency can be solved by addressing the core three priorities, in order:
If the crisis is truly severe, put everything else aside and address these three things until the immediate danger is stabilized. Do not deviate.
Staying calm when things go wrong is not an act of superhuman strength; it is an act of intentional preparation and humble acceptance. We put in the work, we make the plans, but ultimately, we realize that the final control rests where it always has: in God’s hands. By being present, taking a deliberate inventory, and focusing on the next right action, we manage the temporary "suck," allowing us to fully embrace the profound, hard-won joy of the journey. And when we reach the end of that difficult day, we will truly know that we got this and we did good.