Читать книгу Walking Toward Peace - Cindy Ross - Страница 14

TRUDGING UP THE RED SANDSTONE slopes in the Nevada desert, I kept my eyes on the “AT” symbol tattooed on my guide’s right calf. Surrounding the symbol was the motto “It’s not about the miles, it’s about the smiles.” Adam Bautz’s left calf has a tattoo of a Marine walking away with a machine gun on his shoulders. The last time I’d seen him, he was thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail in Pennsylvania with fellow Marine Tommy Gathman. His blank right calf had yet to earn its AT stamp. Although he cannot easily see the tats himself, their very presence helps Adam provoke conversation with his hiking clients and establish connections.

Here in the Valley of Fire northeast of Las Vegas, Adam is home. He knows it intimately, all forty-six thousand acres of it. He taught himself the area’s natural history and can share all kinds of interesting facts about the wildflowers and animals with his hiking comrades. Since 2017, Outdoor Travel Tours, Adam’s tour company, has led folks into the desert so they can fall in love with it too. “This is the most amazing place I have ever seen in my life,” he said. “It consumes me. There are arches, natural holes, and petroglyphs, and all are easily accessible. There are lizards, flowering cacti, and Gila monsters. Four thousand years ago, Native Americans roamed this very land.”

As we hiked into the dazzling Nevada desert, Adam recited the Marine machine gunner description, which he had memorized and recited countless times in his head while deployed to Iraq: “A machine gunner is to provide a heavy volume of close, continuous, accurate support of fire to suppress and destroy all enemy personnel out of small arm’s capability.” Adam had carried this knowledge on a card in his shirt pocket along with a notebook that contained everything he needed to know as a machine gunner. He could disassemble and reassemble his machine gun in three minutes. He took his job seriously.

Toward the end of Adam’s first deployment, an IED blew up a truck carrying three of his comrades, one of whom was a fellow machine gunner. “Why not me?” Adam wondered. “It so easily could have been me.” There was little time to grieve, and they had to continue going out on the next patrol. “We would come back from a patrol and there would be empty beds.” Adam constantly thought he would be next, incessantly fearing his own death. “Imagine going out every day, knowing people are trying to kill you,” he said. “That’s a horrible fucking feeling, just waiting to possibly blow up and die.”

When Adam got out of the military, certain noises and smells brought him back to the war. “I fell into a deep hole and became a fat bastard. Pair that self-image with my PTSD and it was really hard.” To cope, his mind would return to his boyhood stomping grounds on his grandfather’s sixhundred-acre wilderness property in Maine. There he had enjoyed his favorite activities of hunting, kayaking, mountain biking, and hiking. He remembered what his grandfather taught him: there is peace and hope in the natural world.

ADAM EVENTUALLY MOVED TO LAS VEGAS AND LANDED A JOB DRIVING AN armored truck for Brink’s security. In a single casino stop, he picked up $14 million, mostly money that people had lost. It was then that he realized he did not have to sacrifice happiness for a paycheck, so at his father’s suggestion, he became a desert guide for a tour company. One of the companies he worked for was Bullets and Burgers, an outfit for which he guided novices into the desert where they got to shoot machine guns. Then Adam got a phone call from a Marine brother, Tom Gathman.

In Iraq, Adam’s machine gun squad had been attached to Tom’s rifleman squad, part of the First Platoon. They had lived in the same bunkroom for seven months and quickly became friends. When Tom called to ask Adam if he wanted to quit his job as a tour guide and join him on an Appalachian Trail thru-hike the next year, Adam said, “Hell, yes.” Adam knew he wanted to travel, to experience freedom again. “As a Marine, we fought for freedom,” he said, “but I did not have it and I wanted it.”

Prior to joining the Marines, both men had a tendency to get into trouble with the law and both had pending misdemeanor charges. Enlisting in the Marines, however, cleared their records and put them on a more sustainable path. In that sense, the Corps saved their lives. “I didn’t enlist in the Marines for the country,” Adam said. “I needed direction and discipline in my life. The majority of us were kids who didn’t know what we were signing up for at the time. My mission was to stay alive and keep the others next to me alive.” There are many reasons to join the military but, perhaps surprisingly, service to your country is not always number one. According to exhaustive surveys conducted by the global-policy think tank, the RAND Corporation, which offers research and analysis to the US Armed Forces, the overwhelming majority of servicemen and servicewomen cite economic reasons for enlisting. Military service seems to be a job first and a calling second. Some are attracted to benefits like the GI Bill, and others—like Adam and Tommy—are seeking direction in their lives or merely want to get out of Dodge.

I MET ADAM AND TOMMY THE WINTER BEFORE THEY BEGAN THEIR THRU-HIKE. Tom hails from a small town in Pennsylvania, not far from my home, so I invited the men down for dinner to discuss any last-minute trail-related questions they might have and for an overnight stay in the cabin on our property. When I learned it was Tom’s birthday, I baked him a cake, lit candles, and sang. That evening started our wonderful friendship.

When Adam and Tom hiked past my home on the Appalachian Trail, two-and-a-half months after our evening together and a little over a thousand miles into their long hike, I offered them some trail magic—showers, meals, and some “slack-packing”—the term for when a thru-hiker gets to day hike a stretch without the burden of overnight gear and supplies. (With our children grown and out of the nest, Todd and I enjoy helping hikers). I kept their gear and returned them the next morning to the same road crossing where I had picked them up the evening before. I slack-packed them for four days and got to hear more of their stories.

Tom called Adam by his trail name, “Machine.” There were two reasons for the name: he was a machine gunner, and he hiked like a machine. Adam could hike seventeen-mile days in Georgia when most thru-hikers struggled to do ten. “Tom was the only one who could push himself like me,” explained Adam, “and I like to think I was the only one, back then, who could push him to greater heights.” The two men had a lot of fun competing with each other and took turns leading and setting the pace. “Whoever had farts that day was in the rear,” Adam clarified.

Adam did a lot of thinking on the trail. He relived scenes from Iraq, but with each mile he was processing his emotions, doing the thinking necessary to grieve, heal, and grow. Gradually, he replaced those scenes with new thoughts about how to move forward and live better. “I was exposed to fucked-up shit before the military and also in the military,” he said. “I didn’t want to continue living like that.” While in the military, Adam participated in a study on post-traumatic stress. “This shit isn’t going to go away,” he realized. Losing brothers, with no opportunity to grieve but moving on to continue with the mission; getting rocket-propelled grenades (RPGs) shot at him, and picking up body parts—it all took its toll.

The VA wanted to prescribe a cocktail of meds for Adam, but he never took them. His troubled childhood showed him what abusing prescription pills looked like, and he wanted nothing to do with drugs. He had even refused prescribed Vicodin in 2009 after a motorcycle accident required seventy stitches. Adam had tried talk therapy before the thru-hike, but it had not been a productive experience. His therapist had been a chaplain in the Middle East, and when Adam shared how he had prayed over dead bodies, the chaplain began to cry. “I felt like the therapist,” he said. “I thought, ‘fuck this shit’ and I left there with more post-traumatic stress than when I came in.”

ALTHOUGH ADAM HAD FOND ASSOCIATIONS WITH NATURE FROM HIS grandfather, he never felt its true power until he was on the Appalachian Trail. On the journey, he finally began to trust people again. He met strangers along the way and started to feel that he wanted to embrace them. “Once you have seen evil in the world, you assume it is everywhere,” he explained. “But I came to realize that I fought for these people. So many things changed on the trail. I also fell in love with Nicole.”

One week before leaving for the hike, Adam met Nicole and fell in love at first sight. For more than a thousand miles, the couple stayed in close contact and talked nearly every day. As a surprise, I arranged for Nicole to be at my house in Pennsylvania when Adam passed through on the trail. “At first, it was really hard for me to deal with Adam not showing any emotion,” Nicole recalled. “For so long he had suppressed them. He saw many terrible things. He didn’t talk openly about his feelings before, but his time on the trail really helped him open up.” The trail had provided some clarity, peace.

“I was a whole different species,” Adam said. “I never wanted to settle down before Nicole, but as soon as we met, we were so immediately sure of each other.” After fifteen hundred miles, he decided to get off the trail and begin his life with Nicole. “You are out here to benefit you, to find peace in nature. If it becomes more stressful to stay, then it’s your time to go. I celebrated that I got as far as I did on the trail. The AT showed me how to long-distance hike. It showed me that I can go back out there, again and again, and I will return to the AT in my life.” It was a very hard decision, but the trail had worked its magic on Adam.

The couple planned an epic nine-month trip. They sold their belongings and their vehicles, found homes for their dogs, and headed to New Zealand. “As far as walking goes,” Adam said, “if anyone gifts themselves a long period of time to walk, and allows their mind to let go, they will realize that thinking is not a bad thing. Out here, you are finally able to think. You go into the Marines and throw your hat in the air when you graduate, but when you get out, you are absolutely lost. You don’t know what to do, and if you take the wrong road you’re fucked. You learn out here to accept, not forget what happened in the military.” After all, acceptance is the final stage in the grieving process.

AFTER NICOLE AND ADAM’S AROUND-THE-WORLD TRIP, THE COUPLE MARRIED and settled in Las Vegas, and he started his own guide business. Like Nicole, Nevada had captured Adam’s heart. Since his AT hike, he has a different way of going about things. Instead of pretending his trauma is not there, Adam has learned to accommodate it and cope. He still has his moments and nightmares, but he handles them a lot better. And Nicole helps. “She grounds me,” Adam says. “Without my foundation, I could never stand up.” He isn’t trying to get back to who he was. He doesn’t want to be that type of high-anxiety person anymore. He is much calmer and has that same effect on others.

Adam is working on accepting that his PTSD won’t disappear, but he can manage the symptoms when they show up. “Now I go with the happiest choice,” he says. “I go with the outcome of fun. I decided that I will always choose the path that creates joy. I aim to never get disgruntled. I laugh at flat tires. I can stay optimistic when it gets really shitty. I know it will come out better. I have no regrets in my life. If it wasn’t for all those hardships I experienced, as well as being a Marine and serving my country, I would not be the man I am today.”

On the AT, Adam learned to make conversation with strangers. Having thru-hiked the AT and lived on the trail gives him credibility in the eyes of his tour customers. As a guide, he goes a few steps farther than most. He takes a lot of photos of his clients, and within hours they have a direct link to their photo album. He has guided folks from the Netherlands, Germany, Israel, and Tasmania, all within the first year of his business.

People might get scared out here in the desert on our hikes, but they experience a breakthrough when they leave their comfort zone. I go out of my way to encourage them. I show them how to lock hands and help one another over an obstacle. It is extremely gratifying to help people realize what they are made of. I get that amazing honor by revealing how hiking has benefitted me and is everything in my life. Some of these people have never seen the screen on their phone say ‘no service’ except in an airplane, but it is wilderness out here. Some have never been on a hike before. It isn’t all butterflies and rainbows, but it is hard to get an awkward moment out of me. I won’t let it happen.

ADAM LED ME ON TWO EARLY-MORNING HIKES BEFORE THE SUN CLIMBED high in the desert sky and grew hot. We went to one of his favorite spots, called “Fire Wave.” We saw an amazing array of flowering cacti and watched lizards emerge from rocks and pose for their portraits. Adam offered me his hand when we traversed a ledge and gave me a boost when we took a long step. On the way back to his vehicle, as I watched his calf muscle flex and move his AT tattoo, I was reminded of his start in nature and all he has overcome and accomplished since then. He has learned to notice beauty, he has learned new things that are not related to survival, and how to share them with others—all aspects of peacetime living.

Adam has come a long way, thanks to the healing power of his time on the trail. Leading researcher Simone Kühn of the Max Planck Institute for Human Development in Berlin explains it this way: “Living in the vicinity of nature has a profound and far-reaching impact on longevity, levels of aggression, cognitive development, and even how kind we are to others.” Adam has some advice for veterans: “Try to go as natural as possible with your healing and remedies. Find something that you truly love to do and do it.” He is more comfortable out in the desert than he is at home within four walls. “Hiking is my outlet. I like the physical part, the exploration of it. Hiking encourages you to be in the moment, to focus.” And the science of being in nature bears this out, as psychologist Lynne Williams explains: “Natural daylight also helps with depression, keeping circadian rhythms appropriate. Exercise reduces stress, produces our body’s natural form of morphine (which helps with physical and emotional pain), and produces serotonin, an important hormone and neurotransmitter for good mental health.” Being in nature cues up relaxed, calm, focused alpha waves in the brain.

“My worst days are when I don’t get outdoors,” Adam says. “Nature is my therapy. It is my fitness, my livelihood. It is everything to me.” After a guided hike, when clients ask how many miles they hiked on the way back to their car, Adam replies with a satisfied grin, “It’s not about the miles, it’s about the smiles.”