My New Husband’s First Backpacking Trip Confirmed Why We Fell in Love

“Can I do this?” 

I stopped rolling a pair of pants into a tight bundle and looked over at my husband, Rob, who was surrounded by a sea of gear and hiking clothes. His expression was tense and uncertain.  

“Yes, you can. You’ll see,” I answered with more confidence than I felt.

It was our first summer as a married couple, and we were about to go on our first backpacking trip together—his first ever. I had spent a couple of months living out of a tent while maintaining trails in the Kentucky wilderness, plus a weekend backpacking a portion of the Appalachian Trail, but I knew better than to subject Rob to too much too quickly. We would spend four days and three nights in the Black Elk Wilderness of South Dakota. Nothing crazy, I assured him. To prepare for the inaugural event, we read articles on the best hiking gear and watched YouTube videos from seasoned backpackers. As our departure date loomed and we sat on the living room floor assembling everything on our packing checklist, we were both feeling nervous for different reasons.

We had only met two years before, brought together by a few days of fun conversation on a dating app. Our compatibility was apparent to us from day one–even if it might not have been to people watching. Having driven up to Boulder from Denver for our first date, he showed up to the coffee shop in a plain white tee, corduroy jacket, blue jeans, and nice shoes. A stylish, clean-cut gentleman. I strolled in wearing a Pike’s Peak shirt, running leggings, and a pair of hiking shoes with a bloodstained heel from some bygone blister. Nevertheless, we bonded over our shared values, life goals, and The Office. So what if he wasn’t as outdoorsy as I was? A little over a year later, we were married—and several months after the wedding, we found ourselves hoofing it on the Centennial Trail with a trekking pole each and bulging packs on our backs.

“I can’t believe you grew up in Colorado and never even went camping before we met,” I remarked yet again as we marched through aromatic pines. If I was getting on Rob’s nerves, he didn’t show it. His attitude had been upbeat and pleasant from the minute we parked the car and strapped on our heavy backpacks—and he was the one carrying the tent. I watched him amble along in freshly broken-in hiking boots and socks that went up to the middle of his calves. It was a new look for him. My heart swelled a little, and I felt a drop roll down my cheek—but not from emotion. 

“Rain’s starting up! Those clouds look like they mean business.”

We quickly pulled on our rain jackets and grinned at each other as the drops turned into sheets. As fate would have it, the worst of the rain had struck while we were on a portion of trail with no tree cover whatsoever.

“What do we do?” Rob shouted. 

“Just keep walking!” I yelled back.

Cold rain pelted our jackets and shorts until they were soaked through; soon, our socks succumbed, squelching in our boots. Rob’s first backpacking adventure was going swimmingly. But instead of grumbling, he was laughing and forging ahead. The rain eventually subsided and gave way to cheerful blue skies, and we paused to wring out our socks in the sunshine.

But the fun wasn’t over yet: somehow, we had taken a wrong turn while walking through the storm. 

“You stay here and keep drying off,” Rob offered. “I’ll backtrack to see where we should have gone.” He jogged off and was soon gone from sight. Minutes ticked by. Just when I thought he had met a grisly end at the horns of a stray bison, I saw a bright blue raincoat bobbing back down the trail. He had found the correct path and successfully navigated us back on track.

The rest of the trip followed in about the same fashion. It rained on and off every single day, and Rob got in a rhythm of whipping out his rain jacket while we hiked and setting up our tent in record time when we had to quickly make camp before a downpour. He took charge of filtering water from each swollen stream we encountered and was expertly boiling water and cooking meals on our tiny camp stove by the first afternoon. And when we were unexpectedly gifted with an hour-long deluge of hail, we huddled in our tent and gleefully listened to ice chunks zinging into the ground. When it was over, we crawled out of the tent and stood hand in hand, admiring the clouds retreating into the sunset over granite hills. 

The final day of our trip presented the biggest challenge. My knee had started to ache, causing grinding pain with each step, and we still had 9 miles to hike (or hobble) back to the car. My husband sweetly gave up his trekking pole so I had a makeshift pair of crutches for the journey back. Rob still wasn’t complaining, though at this point, I was.. But with my husband’s encouraging words and patience for my slow pace, we finished our first backpacking trip together feeling even stronger as a couple.

Sipping coffee on that first date, Rob had impressed me with his kind manners and great taste in art and film, but I pegged him for a city boy who might slow me down on outdoor adventures. But I’ve since learned that he’s more than capable of trekking miles through hilly woods, sleeping outside, and helping me when I’m the one slowing us down. As it turns out, he’s as much of a gentleman on the trail as he was in that coffee shop—just with better hiking shoes.