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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.
I started contemplating suicide on a regular basis when I was 14, as it dawned on me that no one was going to help—no matter what I said or did. My grandmother, a stoic with her own skeletons, refused to get involved. She listened to my reports at her kitchen table while she prepared elaborate duck or pheasant dinners for her hunting friends. But she never confronted my dad. And my mom, who'd already lost one husband, wore her denial like a heavy coat.
I can still remember the look on her face when I handed her a poem I'd written, one morning after my dad had been in my room. She read half of it—I can't remember what it said—then folded the paper over. My dad was standing close enough in the kitchen to intercept the missive, but he didn't see it. Why I didn't give her the poem in private, I don't know. But when she peered up, her eyes burned their own message back. "Please, please stop telling me this," they said. And so, one night in the middle of August, 1985, I ran away.
It's late, and I'm lying stomach-up on the living room floor, with one leg sticking out of a faded yellow nightgown with Tweety Bird on the front. I'm pretending to sleep as the wind screams across the lava flats, rattling the windows of our house. And my dad, dressed in a terrycloth robe and reeking of Old Spice, hovers a couple of inches above me, so that I can feel the heat coming off his chest.
I squirm, and he backs off. I roll over; he inches on. I jerk my head and lurch my body—still pretending to sleep, but showing him that I know what he's doing and that it's making me sick. My dad and I twist around like this until he decides I'm too restless to lay on top of tonight.
He gets up and stares at me, then goes outside for a smoke. When he comes in, he turns out the lights and heads to bed. I listen. Teeth brushed. Covers back. A little moan. Asleep.
When I hear him snoring, I put on my pink-and-black Vans and slip out the front door, careful not to let the wind slam it shut. I run to the end of our driveway and turn north, toward the Perrine Bridge. This is the night, I think, that everyone will remember, but no one will understand. I am running to the bridge, which stretches across the Snake River, nearly 500 feet in the air. When I get there, I will walk to the very center. I will climb on top of the railing. And I will jump.
The nights I was abused have become like dreams, some locked in a vault and others softened around the edges so that they sometimes seem almost tender. But there are others, terrifying aftershocks that flash out of nowhere—visceral as if they'd happened yesterday.
Lying in my sleeping bag a half-mile below Sawtooth Lake, I can't get the bridge, the Tweety Bird nightgown, or my desperate 14-year-old face out of my head. It's 3 a.m., and I'm staring at the roof of my tent. A thin layer of condensation has turned to ice, which keeps shearing off into my face.
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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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