The Ten Essentials for Life in the North Country

Beaver Brook Trail

None of us actually saw it happen.

We were on the Beaver Brook Trail, descending along the falls the way you do when you’ve done enough hiking for the day and just want to get back to the car. Careful, but not overly cautious. 

He had gone a little bit ahead of the group and disappeared out of sight. When we caught up and found him at the bottom of the falls, it didn’t fully register at first. I think there’s always that split second where your brain tries to make sense of what you’re seeing before it lets you feel anything about it.

He was sitting up in the water, but slumped over. He was conscious but not really present, and his face was covered in blood. Completely covered. It was bright red and flowing, which made it feel even more unsettling, especially with the water running right next to him.

His friend handed him a bottle of water and told him to clean himself up before his 10-year old son saw. I remember thinking how strange that sounded, even in the moment, like if we could just get him cleaned up quickly, everything might go back to normal before the rest of the group caught up.

I said his name, but I don’t think it was for him. It was more just acknowledging out loud that this was actually happening.

We helped him onto more stable ground, and I took off my pack without really thinking about it. I grabbed the long-sleeve shirt I had brought and pressed it against his face, trying to slow the bleeding enough to see where it was coming from. I couldn’t. There was too much of it. He kept trying to tell us he was fine, trying to stand up, trying to move forward like nothing had happened.

I told him to sit down. I probably sounded angry, but I needed him to listen.

And then things got quieter, at least internally. Not calm, exactly, just more focused. I stopped reacting and just started doing what needed to be done. Checking him over, cleaning what I could, wrapping what I could, paying attention to the things that didn’t look right. It’s strange how that shift happens. You don’t decide it. You just find yourself in it.

We still had about a mile and a half to get out, and I remember being aware of that in the background the entire time.

He ended up being okay.

Stitches above both eyes, a broken bone in his face, a badly sprained ankle, bruised ribs. It could have been a lot worse. I remember sitting in the emergency room later, looking at him on that bed, and feeling like we had crossed some kind of invisible line and miraculously made it back.

That day has stayed with me.

Yes, it was scary, but what I’ll never forget is how quickly everything changed. There was no warning. No gradual build. One second everything was fine, and the next, it wasn’t. There wasn’t time to prepare in that moment. There was only what we already had with us, and what we were able to do with it.

This week, I had Neal Brodien on the North of Normal podcast, and we talked a lot about preparedness. It’s something he’s spent most of his life thinking about, and it shows in the way he talks about the outdoors. He wasn’t dramatic about it. He spoke with a very matter-of-fact understanding of what can happen when things don’t go as planned.

At one point, he told a story about being out on a rescue and having to spend the night in the mountains. He and one other person had what they needed to make it a relatively comfortable night. They had a tarp, they had the right gear, and they were able to rest. Others didn’t. They spent the night standing around a smudge fire, trying to stay warm, because they hadn’t brought what they needed to be more comfortable.

I’ve found myself thinking about that in a deeper way.

There’s a pretty well-known idea in the outdoors about carrying the “Ten Essentials.” It’s become somewhat standard at this point. You bring certain things with you, not because you plan to need them, but because you understand that you might. 

Most people who spend time in the mountains don’t question that. It’s just part of how you prepare.

What feels different to me is how little we talk about anything like that outside of that context.

There isn’t really an equivalent list for life. No one tells you what you should be carrying with you when something shifts in your relationships, your work, your health, or just your sense of direction. And yet, those moments come just as quickly, and usually without much warning.

I’ve always felt drawn to the idea of being prepared, although I don’t think I fully understood why until more recently. When I look back, there have been enough moments in my life that felt unpredictable or out of my control, and I think something in me has always been trying to compensate for that. To learn more. To be more ready. To not be caught off guard in the same way again.

Preparedness doesn’t prevent things from happening, but it does change how you meet them.

Living here seems to reinforce that in small ways all the time. The weather changes quickly. The economy shifts. Running a business here requires a certain level of adaptability that you don’t really appreciate until you’re in it. Even on a day-to-day level, there’s an understanding that things might not go the way you expect them to.

And over time, you start to notice that the people who seem to move through that well aren’t necessarily the ones who have everything figured out. They’re the ones who have something to draw from when things don’t go according to plan.

Over the past year, sitting down with community members on North of Normal, I’ve been paying attention to that. Just listening to how people talk about their lives, what they’ve gone through, and what seems to matter to them.

There are certain qualities that come up again and again. Not in a formal way, and not always named directly, but you can hear them in the way people describe how they’ve handled things. Curiosity. Gratitude. Honesty. Flexibility. Kindness. Joy. Creativity. A sense of connection to others. Empathy. Resilience.

I don’t think of them as a checklist, and I don’t think anyone is consciously trying to develop all of them at once. They just seem to be the things people rely on when something shifts.

When I think back to that day on Beaver Brook, I know that having a first aid kit and an extra layer made a difference. It gave me something to work with in a situation that could have gone a lot worse.

But what stands out to me more now is everything else that showed up in that moment. The ability to stay focused long enough to do what needed to be done. To speak clearly. To make decisions without getting overwhelmed. To stay present, even when it would have been easier to panic.

Those weren’t things I packed that morning. But they were there.

I don’t know that there’s a perfect way to define what it means to be prepared for life. It’s probably going to look different for everyone. But I do think it’s worth paying attention to what we rely on when things don’t go according to plan, and maybe being a little more intentional about developing those things over time.

Because when something shifts, we don’t get to start from scratch.

We work with what we already have.

-Amanda