Washington Trails
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Trails for everyone, forever
Washington Trails
AssociationTrails for everyone, forever
A year of heartbreak and injury was not what I would have chosen. But as I healed, I learned a lot about how the barriers in life can be an important part of our path. By Martell Hesketh
Type 2 fun is wholly unpleasant while it’s happening, but in retrospect, you might call it fun (or at the very least, you’re glad you experienced it). I’m no stranger to Type 2 fun. Many of my hobbies require a certain appreciation for some level of suffering, from waking up at midnight to reach alpine summits to lugging heavy packs over mountain passes. But last year my tolerance for Type 2 fun was put to the test with a broken heart and a broken knee. OK, technically my knee wasn’t broken but a torn ACL, reconstructive surgery and 9 months of rehab were still pretty rough.
I don’t recommend tearing your ACL. I also don’t recommend going through a breakup immediately after surgery, when you can’t walk or drive — never mind do any of the physical activities you normally might do to relieve stress.
Enjoying the fall larches, especially in a place like the Enchantments, is a highlight for many Washington hikers. Photo by Martell Hesketh
The outdoors, specifically the Cascades, have always been a grounding space for me. I grew up in Blaine where I could see Kulshan (Mount Baker) on sunny days and spent summer afternoons hiking up to Oyster Dome with my friends.
When I moved back to Washington for graduate school in 2018, I quickly dove into my ongoing love affair with the Cascades. With classmates who shared my enthusiasm for the mountains, I went on colorful and crisp fall hikes, including the infamous Enchantments thru-hike in a single day. Spending time outside was exhilarating and rejuvenating for me. I tossed myself into learning more skills to move through the mountains, from backpacking to rock climbing and backcountry skiing.
I even got the wild idea to try to summit the five Washington volcanoes before my 30th birthday, which sent me down a rabbit hole of mountaineering. It felt fitting that the first volcano I made it to the top of was Kulshan, via the Easton route that wanders up the beautiful Railroad Grade Trail.
Martell hikes down the Railroad Grade Trail after a successful visit to the summit of Kulshan (Mount Baker) via the Easton Glacier. Photo by Martell Hesketh
Spending time outdoors has also been an important way for me to connect with my Indigenous identity. I am a member of the Michel First Nation, a nation made of Nêhiyaw (Plains Cree) and Kanien'kehá:ka (Mohawk) people. Our reserve is up by Edmonton in Alberta, where my maternal grandmother was born. I grew up physically far from my traditional lands but found that spending time in the mountains helped me feel closer to that part of myself.
My family have been guests on Coast Salish lands for a couple of generations. I often think about what it means to be a good guest on these lands. I feel like I have a relationship with the mountains here in Washington, and therefore, a responsibility to protect and care for them since they have protected and cared for me throughout my life. But sometimes being an Indigenous woman in outdoor spaces can be challenging — from ski areas named after the same derogatory word that racists would spit at my female Indigenous relatives, to the Indigenous erasure that happens when recounting settler explorers “discovering” this “untouched” wilderness. People often don’t know I’m Native unless I tell them, and sometimes in these outdoor circles, it’s easier not to.
But as I gained both confidence and experience these past few years, I have felt more empowered to take up space as a Native woman in these predominantly White and male-dominated spaces. At the beginning of last year, I was finally reaching a place where I was beginning to feel confident in my outdoor and mountain skills. I had spent so much time feeling uncomfortable, slow or scared. Finally, I felt like I belonged and found a great group of friends with whom to adventure. I had even summited three of the five volcanoes, including the tallest one, Tahoma (Mount Rainier). The once “wild” idea of summiting the Washington volcanoes before I turned 30 suddenly seemed within reach! But as it sometimes goes, life had other plans for me.
A short walk in Birch Bay a few weeks after ACL reconstruction surgery. Photo by Martell Hesketh
It wasn’t a huge fall or big wipeout on my skis that got me. Just a bad turn in some bad snow at the wrong angle for my knee while skiing back from Chain Lakes in the Mount Baker backcountry. I felt a pop and suddenly my right knee was disturbingly loose. I was thankfully able to ski and walk back to the parking lot with support from friends. A few weeks later, an MRI confirmed the last thing I wanted to hear — I had a fully torn ACL.
My doctor recommended ACL reconstruction surgery with the warning that recovery took an average of 9 to 12 months. I’ll spare you the details of the surgery, but let's just say it involves drills and screws and a couple of leg bones. I immediately started doing the math in my head: “Maybe I would be able to hike by the fall? If everything goes well, maybe I could still get a full season of skiing?” I decided to get surgery in April of 2023.
During the week leading up to surgery, my 3-year relationship with my partner (whom I lived with) hit a sudden and unexpected impasse. A week after surgery, I decided the best thing I could do for myself was to end the relationship. It would be hard to imagine worse timing for a breakup, considering I couldn’t drive myself or walk without crutches. And I would have to continue to live with him for at least 5 more weeks, until I was mobile enough to move out.
So there I was, months before my 30th birthday, faced with a long recovery for both my knee and my emotions — instead of standing triumphantly on snowy summits as I originally imagined. In the aftermath of a breakup, I would have normally drowned my sorrows with long days outside hiking or skiing with friends, where the mountain air cleared my mind and the rhythm of walking through the forest helped me process my thoughts. Instead, I was stuck at a physical therapy office trying to get my leg to do a full rotation on a stationary bike.
During those first months after surgery, I made an effort to focus on what I could control and ask for help when I needed it, including finding a therapist. I spent time visiting smaller parks near Lake Washington and taking short and slow walks through my new neighborhood. When I could comfortably bike again, I would ride my bike around the loop at Seward Park or meet up with a friend to ride along the Sammamish River Trail.
Slowly but surely, and with lots of physical therapy, my knee began to heal. I was able to do things again like jump or simply cross my legs when I sat. When I was trying to get cleared to rock climb on top rope again, I felt like a kid trying to hedge bets on which parent would say yes. I was almost begging my physical therapist, who eventually just told me to go ask my surgeon.
Martell on the summit block of Hibox Mountain in September 2023. It was her first alpine hiking adventure with her new ACL. Photo by Martell Hesketh
Then, at the end of September, about 5 months after my surgery, friends invited me on a fall hike up Hibox Mountain. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous. Would my knee be able to handle the steep downhill? Would I be fit enough to make it to the top, since I hadn’t done any hiking or running since I tore my ACL? But I missed the mountains so much, so I knew I needed to try. Thankfully I was with a great group who were incredibly supportive. Being in the crisp fall air, surrounded by streaks of fiery fall colors, washed away my fears. After a while, I just felt excited to be in the mountains again. Even when the trail hit the steep climb to the peak, I discovered that my knee felt stable and strong. On the final scramble to the summit block, as I carefully navigated across the rocks, I realized that I trusted my knee again. After so many months of feeling uncomfortable, both physically and emotionally, it felt like the proof I needed that I would make it through this injury and this year. Standing on top of Hibox Mountain, I felt a bigger sense of accomplishment than any volcano summit could have ever given me.
Like Type 2 fun, most of this past year wasn’t fun while I was experiencing, it but I am still glad it happened — and some part of me thinks it needed to happen. Last year gave me a deeper appreciation for my ability to heal and for the four ligaments holding my knee together. It also taught me that sometimes barriers in life aren’t broken; instead, they’re part of the path we are traveling — a steep snowfield, dense slide alder or a slippery ravine. At some point, we just have to trust that we have the skills, courage and grit to get to the other side.
Martell Hesketh (she/her) is a member of the Michel First Nation from Treaty 6 Territory in Canada. She grew up and lives on Coast Salish lands, where she loves spending time visiting snowy summits, moving through the mountains and befriending neighborhood cats.
