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Backpacker Magazine – December 2007

The Source of All Things

What if your favorite place in the world was ground zero for your greatest strengths and your deepest fears? The author and her father trek into Idaho's Sawtooth Mountains to grapple with a tragedy that has haunted them for decades.

by: Tracy Ross

Photo by Paolo Marchesi
Photo by Paolo Marchesi
Photo by Paolo Marchesi
Photo by Paolo Marchesi
Photo by Paolo Marchesi
Photo by Paolo Marchesi
Photo by Paolo Marchesi
Photo by Paolo Marchesi

If we'd thought about it, back when I was a kid and my dad first joined the family, we might have nominated him for an award. Idaho Dad of the Year. Or the Elks Club Father's Day prize. In the mid-'70s, after he married my mom and before the trouble set in, he built us an Idaho dream.

We had a RoadRunner camper, and every Friday between Memorial Day and the end of hunting season, my dad would leave his job at Van England's store in Twin Falls, change into his camping clothes, and load his new family into his bright yellow Jeep Cherokee. While we sipped root beers and adjusted our things, he'd grease the ball on the tail of the Jeep, pull up the trailer steps, and ease us back until the hitch on the RoadRunner took hold. By the time the other dads on Richmond Drive were cracking their first weekend beers, we'd be chugging across the Perrine Bridge, past the lava flats with their searing heat, and approaching the cool, clean air of the Stanley Basin, where the Sawtooth Mountains top out at 10,800 feet.

If my dad loved being outside—hunting, hiking, and fishing Idaho's pristine mountains and streams—he quickly taught me to love it, too. I was 4 and my brother was 8 the year my parents married, following a blistering whole-family courtship that included picnics at Shoshone Falls, ski trips to Soldier Mountain, and drive-in movies watched from bean bags in the back of my future dad's 1949 Willys Jeep.

My real dad, a U.S. Navy man who held a kegger outside my mom's hospital window the day I was born, died when I was 7 months old after an aneurysm exploded in his brain. My brother and I were too young to feel the gut-punch of his death—the disorienting, life-sucking loss that shook my mom so violently the doctors sedated her. But when lanky, bell-bottomed Donnie Lee walked through the door of our military-pension house, it was as if we remembered to miss something we'd never known. By the time my parents were married, the family honeymoon was already in full swing.

My new dad's pride and joy—after his new family—was the RoadRunner he bought in 1976. On Thursdays, and sometimes as early as Wednesdays, he'd start loading it with supplies: bags of chips, Tang mixed with tea, and 12-packs of mini-cereals for my brother and me. One spring, he painted a yellow swoosh on the side to match his Cherokee. It came out looking like a streak of mucous, but we all told him we liked it anyway.

During the winter, when the roads were too snowy to pull the trailer, we feasted on elk steaks and venison stew made from the bucks my dad had harvested near Rock Creek and Porcupine Springs. But come mid-June, we were in full summer-camping mode.

In the long shadows of the Sawtooths, we built castles in the freshwater sand and swam out to a giant rock a few hundred feet from shore. Sometimes, other families came with us, and all the kids would hike together, searching for bird nests along wooden walkways that stretched over primordial wetlands, or climbing on top of beaver lodges before taking off our clothes and jumping into the murky ponds. At the time, the streams pouring out of Redfish Lake teemed with sockeye salmon on their way home from the mouth of the Pacific Ocean, 900 miles away.


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Reader Rating: -

READERS COMMENTS

The beauty and honesty of Tracy's journey is as breathtaking and awe inspiring as the Sawtooth Mountains themselves. Bravo to this brave author, couragous yet as lovely and delicate as a robin's egg. Her story belongs here because humans and nature go together. Both are as delicate as a spring trillium and as dangerous as an avalanche. Bravo Tracy... Keep writing, it is your gift to others.
Posted: May 30, 2009 Tira Scott

Brilliant imagery & searing pain - one of the most well written and touching stories, I've read in a long time.



Posted: May 14, 2009 sk

wretched story, but beautifully written. Really captures the essence of growing up in southern idaho, as well as hiking and camping around red fish lake. I've been gone a long time, and didn't know they had succeeded in getting some salmon back in redfish. Fantastic!
Posted: May 14, 2009 gen

The last reader is right. It deals with an ugly topic. This is story that does not belong here. In fact, it does not belong anywhere. No one should have to tell it. But she did and with grace and courage. Showing how the living a independent and active life outdoors helped her overcome anger and hate. And gave her the strength to confront her former abuser with calm restraint. Thank you, Tracy. I now have a new favorite writer.
Posted: May 11, 2009 Joseph Kennedy

I think this is a phenomenal story. Thank you for sharing it. For those who do not think think this magazine is an appropriate place for it- you have a choice. Do not read it.
Posted: May 03, 2009 Shauna Marsh

Congratulations on your win and telling your story. I, too, was a victim of rape and abuse. You are a strong woman, and I wish you respite from the demons.
Posted: May 02, 2009 Susan

congratulation. a have spent the last hour reading your essay, written in a foreign language for me.
Posted: May 02, 2009 alex

congrat's on the win this evening. must be something of a mixed experience, but wonderful nonetheless. wish i could read the article in its entirety on Backpacker.com. unfortunately, it seems to be only partially available...at least for my browser. that aside, well done!
Posted: May 01, 2009 michaeldraznin

Yes.
Posted: May 01, 2009 Jody Reale

This article was really well done, great use of the word maw. With twitter stealing news clips before you can even get a good lead-in sentence, this is how writing is going to need to be in the future. I know what the trails look like but this article is about much more than hiking, great gonzo style.
Posted: Apr 24, 2009 Nick City Reprise

i think it's a great story; Tracy, thank you for this. you did great. wish you all the best
Posted: Apr 13, 2009 andre

As a student of magazine editing and a lover of great writing, I read a lot of periodicals. I haven't read much of Backpacker — and you wouldn't expect me to; I'm not in your target audience — but might start coming back after reading this beautiful piece. Congratulations on your Ellie nomination; I hope you take home the award.
Posted: Mar 22, 2009 Nicholas Jackson

Stunning article, one of the best I've ever read in Backpacker.
Posted: Mar 21, 2009 Tim Patterson

My heart goes out to you. I can only imagine how hard that was to write, much less share with the world. I'm sorry to see people complain. I think a lot of us spend to much time hiding from our wounds, pretending they don't exist or never happened. If your boys have half your strength, just think of the things they will accomplish.
Posted: Apr 05, 2008 Marc Bostian

I think others have blown this story way out of proportion. It was very well done, and taught me a little of the background of the writer. Obviously backpacker thought it was a good story too. By the end of the article I had mixed emotions, but it made me feel trust in the writer. She gave her reason for joining backpacker even though its a dark truth. I want to thank Tracy for baring her reason through each word. And I'm glad she is part of backpacker. I look forward to more articles by her.
Posted: Mar 31, 2008 Tessa

I agree with the comment above - this magazine is not the appropriate venue for this soul- baring account. As a victim and a mother of a victim I can see right through your father's lies. You were not the only one that he abused. There is another or probably more than one out there. For him to say that it stopped when you ran away is a dead giveaway that he's keeping still secrets . I pity him that he cannot face the truth and I pity you for believing him.
Posted: Mar 26, 2008 You're not the only one

I'm sorry for your suffering, but I would rather be reading and enjoying stories on backpacking and not reading you trying to analyze your therapy.
Not trying to be callous, but maybe 'Outside' magazine would have been a more fitting place for your story. I presently do not subscribe to that magazine because it publishes stories such as yours.

Posted: Mar 15, 2008 Loren Loritz

thank-you so much for your candidness!
Posted: Mar 09, 2008 jan


Posted: Mar 09, 2008 jan

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