Editors note:Due to the production schedule for Pacific NW magazine, this story was written before the states shelter in place orders, intended to slow the spread of the novel coronavirus, were enacted.
UTAH, CIRCA 1955: From out of a cloud of dust, a rusty trucks wheels come to a halt. The driversdoor opens, and a well-worn boot steps onto the dirt road.
Verl Alldredge moves cautiously to greet two men in uniform.Government men. Words are exchanged as a formality while one of the men makes hisway back to the trucks load: fruit and vegetables headed from Arizona into St. George, Utah.
The Backstory: The therapeutic power of hiking, nature and transformative connections
When heflicks on a Geiger counter, itsmeter needle jumps vigorously, and a series of rapid clicks fills the space in that vast desert. The counter is quickly silenced, and the officer sighs heavily. Verl asks, Should I dump it? What should I do with it? Their eyes lock, Verl already knowing the response. The officer shrugs. No, goahead. It will be fine.
Verl drives on down that dusty road, bound for St. George.
Verl took it into town and passed it throughout the grocery stores, and sold it to the community, says his grandson, Travis Alldredge.
THERE IS ALWAYS something to be thankful for, reads a motivational quote on thewall of Josie Alldredges Snohomishbedroom, where a purplepillowcase matches a purple handmade quilt and a purple stuffed dragon. Soon-to-be-18-year-old Josie is the daughter of Travis, granddaughter of Cindy Alldredge (who made the dragon) and great-granddaughter of Verl.
Josie, a senior at Monroe High School, was diagnosed with Hodgkin lymphoma at the age of 15, on Nov. 9, 2016 the day after Donald Trump was elected. Her story of transformation from cancer victim to confident, grateful leader encompasses the atomic bomb, an innovative outdoor-adventure program that led her on a soul-challengingnine-day trek into the Oregon wilderness and a magical, multicolored Unicorn Poop Cake.
Far from Josies bedroom, but only 130miles west of Verls Utah home, in the northernmost MojaveDesert, lay the infamous Nevada Test Site,whose primary purpose was to test nuclear weapons. A prolonged, dangerous and unintended experiment on Americans living downwind took place there between 1951 and 1962, when the Atomic Energy Commission carried out some 100 aboveground atmospheric tests at the site, later renamed the NevadaNational Security Site. Before the Nuclear Test Ban Treaty of 1963 ended open-air testing, mesmerizing billowing clouds dazzled the residents of the small city of St. George, where the Alldredge family lived.
Myparents would see mushroom clouds fly over the town, and big flashes at night over the mountains, recalls Travis, who was born after the testing ended, but who remembersthe stories of family members who witnessed the awe-inspiring spectacle of nuclear-weapons testing.
The clouds and resulting fallout, in the form ofradioactive ash, dirt and debris, often landed on St. George. No warnings about thedangers of exposure to radiation were issued by the federal government and itsoversight agency, the Atomic Energy Commission. In fact, those living nearby were assured they had nothingto worry about.
But the reality was quite different. The produce in Verls truck set off a Geiger counter because it had been contaminated by a fine white ashthat coated everything from vegetable gardens to sandboxes and lawn furniture. Verl and the people of St. Georgewho bought and ate this produce and drank the milk from cows grazing oncontaminated pastureland were among the thousands of Downwinders from Utah, Nevada and adjacent states exposed to fallout and radiation released by atmosphericbomb blasts.
What ensued in the years that followed was a veritable epidemic of cancersamong the residents of St. George. First-generationDownwinders in the Alldredge family, those directly exposed to fallout from atomic blasts, were hit hard. Verls wife, Ada Nelson Alldredge, died of lung cancer. Their son, Travis father, Michael Alldredge, now 71, has chronic myeloid leukemia, for which hetakes daily chemotherapy pills. Two of Michaels sisters, also Downwinders who grewup in St. George, were diagnosed with cancer.
Travis, a third-generation Downwinder, was diagnosed with Hodgkin lymphoma at age 25; Josie had an even more aggressive form of the same cancer.
As a fourth-generation Downwinder, Josie is the inheritor of the historical and biological burden imposed by her familys toxic nuclear legacy passed along in stories and very likely in her DNA. Lifting that burden from her young shoulders would be no small task: She would need the help of an entire team of dedicated caregivers and pathfinders. Together, they wouldembark on a demanding but also transformative, quasi-magical journey through thewilderness, helping Josie discover the curative powers of nature.
IN JEANS, T-SHIRT and chunky hiking boots, five days shy of turning 18, Josie sits alittle awkwardly on her bed with a nervous smile, and describes how her illness began: I had just turned 15, and a couple of months later, Iwas diagnosed with Stage 4 Hodgkin lymphoma. I went through treatments andeverything. You know, pretty sick, like you get. I lost weight, and with my chemotherapy, my hair started falling out, bit by bit. I just got so incredibly fed up with it that Ishaved my head. Shaving your head during the winter months not fun.
Josies lymph nodes, her extended family and far too many residents from thesmall city of St. George were ravaged with cancer. Two weeks earlier, Josiesgrandmother had become the most recent family member diagnosed with thedisease. In September 2019, only four weeks after this sunny August afternoon, Cindy Alldredge, age 67, died of cancer.
I grew up on a ranch down there, eating that dirt, playing in that dirt, Travis says. Josie never did, but her cancer was so muchworse than mine. And she relapsed sixmonths after treatment and went through a stem-cell transplant, and had a full year ofchemo after that, too.
He pauses to compose himself. Watching your 15-year-old high school sophomore starting to have some real issues and not figuring what it was. Then when we did figure it was devastating.
PEPSI OR COKE?comes a voice from the back of a van filled with eight teenagers: Peter, Cora, Kira, Evan, Clarke, Jake, Lizzie and Josie, plus at least as many backpacks, stuffed plastic bins and scattered snacks. Day 1 finds them cruising south fromPortland toward the Three Sisters Wilderness area, the van initially holding an awkwardsilence. Then this game gains momentum, eliciting preferences and common ground: milk chocolate or dark? Netflix or Hulu? Snapchat or Instagram? A pictureemerges of the teens differences; similarities; pets; allergies; and, perhaps most of all, hunger for connection.
The last thing these teenagers want is to be defined by their cancer. According to the American Cancer Society, fewer than 1% of cancers in theUnited States occurs in children and teenagers. Yet, like an atomic bomb, it creates an enormous crater in a critical developmental stage of life.
Young adults diagnosed with cancer are particularly susceptible to feelings of isolation, depression and despair. One study by psychiatrists at the Yale University School ofMedicine found that teens battling cancer suffered from a more than fourfold increasein the likelihood of a suicide attempt.
Shes still struggling, Travis says of Josie. When you are going through treatment, you live a really structured life. Itcan be really hard. You put everything on hold and build walls around your emotions.Josie has lost a lot of her identity. She was a sophomore and is a senior now, butwas rarely at school in the last two-and-one-half years.
Back in the van, Josie is one of the quieter ones. When her father heard about this adventure opportunity for teens undergoing treatment, he leapt at it. Pulling them out of their comfort zone is a great way to help themsee who they are and how to move forward, Travis says. Anything to help Josie get moving onwith her life again. Shes awesome. She doesnt realize it. She doesnt realize how coolshe is.
THE FOUNDER OF See You at the Summit (SYATS), Heather Rose Otto,is a slight yet athletic-looking 40-year-old, carrying a backpack twice her size.Registered nurse and therapeutic wilderness facilitator, she is both scrappy entrepreneur andsofthearted caregiver, equipped with the tools to fulfill either role. She has prepared for this inaugural adventure for 16 years, consuming 200-plus research papers in developing the programs goals and curriculum.
SYATS is the first organization of its kind in the United States,designed to empower teens in treatment for cancer. Through the therapeutic powers ofadventure, immersion in nature, and the resulting physical accomplishment and self-reliance, the intent is to treat the submerged trauma that the medical world cannotreach, fostering gratitude and autonomy in its participants.
There are extraordinary logistical challenges, legalsafeguards and privacy requirements involved in providing this vulnerable group with much-needed risk and a break from the protective bubble of adult and medical caution and fear. The SYATS medicaland safety team has created an emergency action plan with input from the local sheriff, search and rescue, and an emergency department, and also established possiblehelicopter evacuation sites and procedures.
A little west of Bend, Oregon, in the shadow ofMount Bachelor, the vans are emptied, and base camp is a hum of activity. With gear largely sorted, tents up and sleeping bags down, the first evening endswith yoga. The teenagers seem far from their phones, computers, televisions,heart monitors, MRIs, CT scans every noise, stress and distraction that has definedtheir experience the past few years.
There is a sense, as stars emerge in the quiet and darkening firmament, of an opportunity to start anew.
LEAVING THE ROADand civilization behind, Josie and her new friends begin their ascent into the Three Sisters Wilderness at a crawl. The day included 1,384 feet of elevation gain in 2.6 miles. The teens carry the weight of a sleeping bag, pad, liner, waterbladder, bottle, head lamp, toilet kit, acute lymphocytic leukemia, toothpaste and toothbrush, hand sanitizer, lip balm, squamous cell cancer of the parotid cheek gland,sunscreen, facial paralysis, bug repellent, chronic kidney damage, boots, gaiters,mature B-cell lymphoma, Crocs, socks, Hodgkin lymphoma, ovarian cancer, underwear, gonadal mixed germ cell tumor, bras, pants,chemotherapy, surgery, down jacket, radiation, transplants, compression sacks, snacks, spinal tap, brainganglioglioma, bandanna, whistle, migraines, scans, infections, blood tests, pack towel,sunglasses, more chemo and more. Immeasurably more. Spork, cup, stress, family stress, a compass, trekking poles, folding bowls, tension, fear of dying, a poem, more fear of dying, sometimes tents, meals too, depression, financial strain, sleepless nights, days in bed, loss of friends, loss and so manytears. A merciless number of tears.
The trail winds up a ravine deep amid the firs, pines and hemlocks. Much ofthe stunning fauna and flora goes unappreciated, with minds fixed on managing onemore step. Complaints vary from burning lungs to blocked noses, heads pounding,backs aching, muscles screaming, joints creaking. Recently tethered tomachines and deeply dependent on physicians and their families, these young peopleare now expected to survive, even thrive, using only their own two feet and thecontents of their packs.
Josie, head down, draws way inside herself, like most of the teenagers. Shewallows in an all-too-familiar feeling of struggling along a ledge above a dark abyss. (Later, within the camp confines, she reflected with shortened breath: It was a very, very, very long day. We hiked some really steep inclines, and I just kept getting weaker and weaker. I almost fell off the side of themountain a couple of times, but I didnt so thats the fun part.)
With a watchful eye behind the group that afternoon, founder Heather Rose whispers to herself, Trust the process. That process is in fact an intricate therapeutic jigsaw puzzle of pieces shes cut with scalpel precision. She wants Josie and her peers to step tothe edge of their known ability. Teeter. Seek help or not. Find support. Move on.Repeat.
Finally, the trail levels out, and the bright blue-green of Moraine Lake flashes tolife in Josies weary eyes. Her face lifts, and a sense of relief spreadsthroughout the group.
Heather Rose repeats under her breath, Trust the process.
ON THE THIRD day of the trip, and the first day of her adult life, partway up amountain, newly 18-year-old Josie wakes in her thermalunderwear, cocooned in a puffy down sleeping bag.
Heather Rose helps lead the group in stretching; a gratitude circle; team-building challenges; meditation; journaling; and a bold conversation about sharedcancer experiences, perceptions, grievances and lessons learned.
As this rest day proceeds, Josie vacillates between being a teenager and somethingmore.
She joins friends submerged in the cool waters of Moraine Lake. They stand in a loose,tentative group, talking quietly and shivering, reluctant to abandon this newfoundopportunity for an intimacy theyve all lacked for so long. The water is cold, but the ice is starting to melt.
After dinner, the group huddles closer as the temperature drops, circling for the evenings gratitude.
In celebration of Josie on herbirthday, each person shares an appreciative reflection on her. She sits still, listening attentively, wearing her modest smile and acknowledging the kindwords with gentle eyes. Then its her turn to show gratitude to herself. She resists at first, ispressed and finally almost whispers, Im grateful that I havent been as awkward as Iusually am.
A chorus of Happy Birthday breaks out around Josie, who is rosy-cheeked andbeaming. A hugeround Unicorn Poop Cake with a single burning candle miraculously appears beside her. A member of the Oregon Air National Guards 125th Special Tactics Squadron hadvolunteered to carry up the cake ina milk crate strapped to his backpack. Josie tries to blow out the trick candle over and over before finally throwing back her head in laughter. Even the candle isnt going to be easy.
For anyone paying attention, the change in Josie already is palpable and exciting. Heather Rosefeels it and speaks to the teens before they retreat to their tents: Im not one to wearmy emotions on my sleeve, but I started this vision 16 years ago in order to have this very moment Shestops herself, pauses, searching for a feeling, then adds, There are no words to describe what its like.
EACH DAY IS hot and bright; each night, clear and frigid. The fifth day in Oregonswilderness begins with a logistically and emotionally tough team-building exercise involving a metal tent pole; frustration; and, eventually, openness and apologies.
Josie and Evan, the two oldest, are the scheduled trail leaders for the day. Seventeen and ingood physical shape, Evan stands out as confident and independent. Chatting in theirdowntime, he and Josie have started to bond, sharing small gestures of understanding: nods, smiles andprivate chuckles.
Equipped with a map, compass and radios, the two prepare to lead the group,leaving Green Lakes and heading east to Todd Lake. Josies nose suddenly becomes a torrent of blood. Yet another outpouring. The blood persists, and only the team medic packing her nostril keeps it at bay. Her confidence is knocked again, and she sits head in hands on a fallen tree, defeated and vulnerable.
Its now after 2 p.m., hours after the scheduled departure, with 6miles at least ahead of them. Evan is already far ahead with half of the group. The outlook is not good, but Josie suddenly rises and gestures for the others to follow. The determination that the 18-year-old leader now sets off with is contagious, and the small group finds a solid stride.
Dust streams behind the backpackers as theysnake their way across the terrain. Eventually, Josie and Evan join up and lead a triumphant descent into the ToddLake campground to high-fives and cheers from waiting volunteers.
Sitting fireside that evening, singing freely and laughing heartily, Josie is a different young woman from the demure girl sitting in her bedroom one week and 300 miles ago.
Evanreaches out and touches Josies arm as he makes a point. Josie covers her mouth andlaughs, looks away and looks back furtively. They are flirting. Its subtle, but itsflirting. Heather Rose sighs deeply, contentedly, from theshadows.
THE SIXTH DAY is the presummit day. A day of rest. Already, these teenagers have tapped intocomplex relationships with one another and invisible networks of therapeuticinterconnections with the natural world around them. Their wilderness immersion feedsthem wisdom and emotional nutrients.
All of this is beginning to emerge in Josies words, spoken and written; in her body language; hergestures;her footfalls; her touches to others, and to the Earth, leaves and roots.
While a sterilized hospital room was the environment for her medicaltreatment, the wilderness is the environment in which she rediscovers a broader, new andthriving definition of self: becoming one with her peers and one with nature.
Around the final sparks of the campfire that evening, in the excitement of preparations for the next morning, Heather Rose makes an announcement:Tomorrow, our summit will be as far as all of us can go together, whatever the highest point that is. Our summit will be however we can support each other and however farwe can go as a group. As one unit. As one team.
BY 5.30 A.M., all the teenagers are up, and camp is coming down. At 7 a.m.,after yoga and breakfast, Todd Lake is behind them. Broken Topssummit is 8 miles and 2,400 feet of elevation gain ahead.
By late morning, the trees thin, replaced by hardened lava flowsand volcanic debris. Midday passes, hiking in meditativesilence, every crunch under a boot, the rasp of every breath, pack straps pressing into softsloped shoulders. Everyone together,walking over the mountains, as far as they can go.
In journaling the daybefore, each teenager had to identify what he or she would like to leave behindduring this apex of metamorphosis.During a late lunch stop at a creek, Josie sets out to find just the right small rock.
Later, in the shadow of the summit, silently and methodically, one by one,the teenagers gently toss their rocks into theflowing creek. Josies precise movements are a diamond-tipped sample of her new self, a mindful balance of vulnerability, acceptance and newfound strength.
The call of the final pitch to the summit beckons. This is the mostdangerous stretch of the trail. The teens must follow a narrow path traversing a steep,loose scree slope abovethe spectacular but deadly cold No Name Lake.
Josie safely edges past the lake and up the saddle of Broken Tops peak.She stops, partway, catches her breath on the exposed ridge, scramblesover a boulder and continues. Every step is one she thought she couldnt take a weekago. And then, in a seismic clap, a split atomic second, Josie is there.
A sudden gust of wind takes her by surprise and sends another team members hat away and over the edge, a sacrifice never seen again. Behind Josie lies the conquered trail and the terrible darkness of the pastfew years. Ahead of her lies a landscape of infinite possibility.
Joshua Bright is a British photojournalist and writer living in a teeny New York apartment with his wife and son. When not working for The New York Times and other publications, he relishes opportunities to escape into the wilderness, adventure and peace of mind. His projects on end-of-life, homelessness, disabilities and Zen mediation have been widely acclaimed. Instagram: @jbrightphoto. Website: joshuabright.com.
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Nuclear-weapons testing and cancer: A Snohomish teenager carries her family's legacy to the summit of an Oregon mountain - Seattle Times
