Bears, Trees, and No Coffee: A True Experience of a Week-Long Wilderness Retreat

I didn’t feel anxious until the van began to roll.

On a Saturday morning in late September, I landed at Spokane International Airport and met the group I’d be traveling north with—destined for Mountain Trek, a wilderness retreat nestled in Ainsworth, British Columbia. As we casually chatted while taking our pre-departure COVID tests and loading our bags, we introduced ourselves, figuring out who the newcomers were (including me) and who the seasoned veterans were (three in our group). Then, during our four-and-a-half-hour drive north, crossing the Washington border into southeastern B.C., our conversation turned more serious.

The veterans quickly began sharing their tales. The highlights: “It’s absolutely stunning!” “The soups are incredible!” The not-so-great: “We got so famished we ended up discussing food on the trail.” “It was exhausting.” And then the icing on the cake—a story about a former Mountain Trek participant who supposedly ordered pizza every night and hid the boxes under his bed like a guilty teenager.

That’s when my initial excitement shifted to a nervous flutter of doubt about what I had signed up for. To be honest, I anticipated the week would be both physically and mentally challenging. I first learned about Mountain Trek—now in its 32nd year—in 2021 when I participated in a three-day virtual retreat. This gave me a glimpse into the outfitter’s wellness programming: we explored nature immersion, hiked solo for designated times each day, took nutrition-focused cooking classes, attended discussions on sleep hygiene, and joined Zoom fitness sessions. I was so impressed by the concept and the team behind it that I promised myself to visit their lodge as soon as possible.

That moment came in September 2022, marking the conclusion of the lodge’s first season open since the pandemic began. In the weeks leading up to the retreat—where we would be expected to hike 8 to 10 miles daily through stunning alpine landscapes—Mountain Trek’s guides had encouraged us to ramp up our step counts to nearly 10,000 steps a day. They also suggested we gradually reduce our caffeine intake to help lower cortisol levels in our bodies. (I bravely took on both challenges.) A few days before arrival, they recommended cutting out sugar and alcohol. (I might have overlooked this advice.) They provided a packing list detailing all necessary gear, such as moisture-wicking shirts and sturdy hiking boots, while reminding us of the lodge’s remote setting (poor cell service, limited Wi-Fi). We had signed up for Thai and sports massages and requested extra treatments, including acupuncture and naturopathic consultations for a holistic approach to our well-being.

However, as I would soon learn, no amount of preparation could truly ready you for the authentic Mountain Trek experience. The outfitter’s mission, distilled into a single phrase, is to rejuvenate your spirit. This is achieved through a week-long program that includes hiking for three-and-a-half to four hours daily over challenging terrain; exercising each evening; detoxing in the steam room, sauna, hot tub, and plunge pool; consuming approximately 1,600 calories of high-quality meals daily—and eliminating sugar, gluten, most dairy, alcohol, caffeine, and all the other unhealthy habits we typically indulge in. (There’s also a two-week program available.) Despite my enthusiasm, I hesitated when it came time to actually book it. I mean, I do enjoy that junk food. Coming out of the pandemic, I wasn’t exactly in peak health: I was quite fond of my regular cocktail hour, and it had been ages since I tackled anything more than a small hill in the neighborhood. As my week approached, another issue arose: My family revealed that my father was seriously ill. So ill, in fact, that I contemplated canceling my trip. However, my family encouraged me to stick with my reservation, and so—with some lingering uncertainties—I decided to go for it.

That evening, as we settled into our modest yet cozy rooms, I had no inkling of what lay ahead. All I knew was that—far removed from light and noise pollution, work stress, and life’s anxieties—I began to unwind in a way I hadn’t experienced in ages. As I fell asleep, I reminded myself that my van companions wouldn’t have returned if the experience hadn’t been profound enough to willingly choose to endure some discomfort, right?

Mountain Trek spans 35 acres of the ancestral lands of the K’tnaxa and Sinixt peoples, high in Ainsworth, overlooking Kootenay Lake, with the majestic Kootenay Mountains in the backdrop. Founded as a mining town in the 1880s, Ainsworth gained popularity as a tourist hotspot in the early 1900s, thanks to its natural hot springs just a few minutes from the lodge—still available for soaking today. It became recognized as a sanctuary for healing for both locals and visitors.

Healing is the core mission of Mountain Trek, largely accomplished through immersion in nature. Towering Douglas firs, ancient western pines, aspens, and more create an expansive green landscape that stretches for miles around the lodge, reaching as far as Nelson, B.C., 45 miles away, and into the provincial parks scattered throughout the area.

As day one began with a 6 a.m. knock at my door, the trees stood out in vivid detail. The previous week, smoke from a distant fire had enveloped the region—so dense that even the lodge’s lake view was hidden. But a heavy rain had cleansed the air, and as we set out on our first day, there was no trace of the fire.

After a morning tonic of ginger water and a light smoothie, we gathered in the yoga studio, a bright space filled with windows. I had worried the yoga session would be intense, but it turned out to be a gentle class, primarily focused on stretching and preparing our bodies for the week. An hour later, we returned to the dining room for breakfast—zucchini fritters with poached eggs and a wholesome version of hollandaise sauce—while Katya Campbell, Mountain Trek’s program manager and fitness director, briefed us on the day’s hiking itinerary. We were to hike directly from the lodge on a hilly, wooded trail expected to take about an hour and a half. There would be four groups, with Group 1 hiking the fastest and Group 4 the slowest. They encouraged us to start at a quicker pace than we thought we could handle, as it would be easier to slow down than to catch up later.

Equipped with a backpack and Nordic trekking poles, we set off on the trail. I initially intended to join Group 2, but a guide persuaded me to go with Group 1, and suddenly I found myself racing up the mountain—or at least trying to. I’ve used trekking poles before but had never attempted Nordic trekking, and the technique is . . . not intuitive. The goal is to hold your poles at a 45-degree angle and push the tip into the ground while lifting the opposite leg, to help propel your body faster and achieve a full-body workout. It’s not as straightforward as it seems . . . especially on rugged terrain and especially when tackling what feels like a sheer vertical incline at breakneck speed.

At the first opportunity, I breathlessly asked to slow down and join the next group, which would become “my” group for the week. Group 2’s pace was demanding but manageable. According to Mountain Trek’s philosophy, you aim to work at 65 to 85 percent of your maximum effort for 40 minutes to achieve what they call a “fat flush.” While the term may sound like an ’80s fad diet, this flush is rooted in scientific principles. A key aspect of restoring vitality is boosting circulation and metabolism, and this 40-minute fat flush accomplishes that—Mountain Trek encourages us to aim for three of these a day.

Yet on the trail, the notion of a “fat flush” was the last thing on my mind. It’s a curious challenge, moving quickly through the woods, trying not to trip while simultaneously monitoring your posture, heart rate, and the path ahead, and taking in the surrounding beauty. This is why Mountain Trek emphasizes maintaining quiet as you hike. The goal is indeed to exercise, but there’s a reason we were doing this in the forest behind the lodge rather than in a gym.

Trees emit phytoncides, volatile organic compounds—or essential oils—that help them fend off disease. It turns out these substances also assist our bodies in battling illness. When we inhale these compounds, we boost our white blood cells known as natural killer cells (NK), which target virus-infected and tumor cells. Researchers have found that spending time in nature—ideally an hour or more—can significantly reduce inflammation, enhance immune response, soothe our nervous system, lower blood glucose levels, and improve mood and sleep.

Despite my heavy breathing and fatigue, I could sense the benefits. The air was invigorating, and although I couldn’t distinctly smell the trees, there was a palpable energy that energized every part of me. The hike felt almost entirely uphill, winding through a wooded area still damp from recent rain and covered in needles and underbrush. There were no scenic vistas, but I could feel my shoulders relax and my cortisol levels decrease. The sheer joy of moving swiftly and quietly through nature was liberating. Midway through the hike, we paused for lunch, laying out small mats and enjoying thermoses of pumpkin chili.

After our hike, we attended a lecture on detoxification, followed by dinner and our first workout class. This was the part I was perhaps most anxious about. Exercising after a meal has always felt counterintuitive to me: How could you possibly move when so full? It turns out, that’s only the case if you’ve just devoured a huge plate of pasta bolognese (a habit I picked up during the pandemic!). Mountain Trek encourages participants to consume the majority of their calories in the morning and at lunch, leaving a light dinner to promote better sleep—and to make post-meal movement easier. So after a dinner of Moroccan-style beef, we headed into the gym for a strength and cardio class that thankfully didn’t lead to any post-meal mishaps.

Then came the free time: Some of us, including myself, indulged in massages; others enjoyed a detox rotation in the hot tub, sauna, steam room, and plunge pool. As I drifted off that night, my body fatigued yet feeling vibrantly alive, I pondered two questions: How had I forgotten this incredible sensation? And how on earth would I manage to do this all over again tomorrow?

Nine hours of restful sleep and a bit of gentle yoga later, I was ready to tackle another day. As I gazed out at the lake, gently rippling in the morning breeze, I contemplated the adventures that awaited us. The program’s highlight, of course, was our immersion in nature: Throughout the week, we would take a ferry to Pilot Bay Provincial Park, hiking through sun-dappled trees while the glacier-fed Kootenay Lake sparkled in the distance. After a visit to a nearby artists’ village, I—along with a few other brave souls—planned to take a plunge into the lake, which was as glacial as it sounds. We would also explore the enchanting, almost fairy-tale-like landscape of the True Blue area near Kaslo, B.C.

One of my favorite days was when we tackled the high alpine slopes in Kokanee Glacier Park. It took an hour and a half of winding mountain roads to reach the trailhead. We had been forewarned that this would be one of the most challenging hikes of the trip. While it wasn’t as steep as some previous hikes, we would be continually climbing, with no flat stretches to catch our breath.

We were reminded of our place within the animal kingdom. Fall marks bear season, as the black bears in the area prepare for winter. I recognized that we were mere visitors in their territory: there was a persistent juvenile bear that enjoyed snacking on the lodge’s blackberries and occasionally needed to be shooed away to prevent it from getting too comfortable around humans. Just the day before, while walking down the trail, we paused to watch a mama bear and her two cubs rummaging through a bag of trash someone had irresponsibly left behind. We kept our distance as they hurried into the underbrush, noticing one cub sadly stuck with its face in an empty white cup. (Our guide—armed with bear spray—reassured us that the mother would likely help it get free.)

However, on this day in Kokanee, a different energy filled the air. We were aware that the trails intersected bear corridors—and it felt remarkably remote, as if we were the only souls on the planet. Kirkland Shave, the owner and program director of Mountain Trek, was our guide for the day, sharing that the lake we were hiking towards was the very same lake where Michael Trudeau—the brother of Prime Minister Justin Trudeau—tragically lost his life in an avalanche in 1998. Although we were not in immediate danger, the wilderness's reality was palpable.

As we began our ascent into that wilderness, my group of four quickly found ourselves huffing and puffing (with the exception of Kirkland, of course). Low clouds obscured the peaks, heavy enough to occasionally mist us with moisture. As we climbed higher, the scenery grew more vibrant. We inhaled the earthy scent of valerian, gazing at gray rocks interspersed with dark evergreens and vibrant patches of yellow arnica and red fireweed. As we hiked, our legs brushed against huckleberry bushes. After what felt like hours, though it was likely less, we finally reached the glacial lake. We continued, navigating around the lake over piles of treacherous boulders and rocks, some with alarmingly steep drop-offs. At one point, Kirkland recounted tales of the mules that used to carry materials around the lake during mining days, one of which was so afraid of heights that the team had to blindfold her to navigate the very spots we were now skirting.

When we arrived at the north point of the lake, Kirkland’s radio crackled to life. Two groups were behind us on the trail that day, and the third was blocked by a hefty black bear intent on devouring every last huckleberry from a bush. After some discussion, Kirkland informed us that we needed to meet up with the second group to hike back down the trail together, creating a noisier, hopefully bear-deterring crowd.

On the south side of the lake, we encountered the three-person group that had been trailing us. A nervous energy surged through us as we quickly consumed our soup and re-laced our boots. Then it was time to head back. My thoughts spiraled. Is this how I’m going to go? Mauled by a bear during a wellness retreat? Then I chuckled to myself, reminding myself that black bears (generally) only attack in self-defense—and I initiated a loud conversation with the nearest hiker. We passed the spot where the bear had been sighted, and all eyes scanned the terrain. Kirkland, with his bear spray, led the way; the second guide, also armed with bear spray, brought up the rear—we hikers were nestled in the middle like ducklings. There was no sign of the bear to be seen.

Back at the lodge, relief washed over us as we chuckled at our city-dwelling fears. That’s when we heard the complete story: The thwarted group had been trudging along, panting just like everyone else when they turned a corner to find a massive black bear blocking the path, relishing a feast of ripe huckleberries. The guide attempted to shoo it away, shouting and waving his arms, but the bear wouldn’t budge. After another try, the bear—now clearly annoyed—stood up on its hind legs and unleashed a growl that felt like something out of a nightmare. The guide wisely concluded that the view of the glacial lake wasn’t worth risking the safety of four hikers. Hungry bear: 1, annoying humans: 0.

It was a nerve-wracking encounter, especially for those of us not used to coexisting with bears. However, it served as a powerful reminder that in this wilderness, we were both vulnerable and safe, just like our ancestors.

On Wednesday, I hit a wall. I woke up feeling nauseous with a throbbing headache, and my emotions swung unexpectedly from anger to sadness to grief. That day, we faced a choice: hike or immerse ourselves in the forest.

I had participated in a forest-bathing walk before, but I hadn’t truly engaged with the experience beyond simply enjoying the trees. Recognizing that I needed a pause, I chose to give it another shot. Perhaps I was more receptive to the trees and their mystical allure this time, or maybe it was just my fatigue and sadness—my dad had been on my mind sporadically over the last few days, yet I hadn’t taken the time to confront those feelings.

Our certified forest-bathing guide, Natasha Hall, led us gently into a sun-dappled area by a grove of hazelnut trees, explaining that she would provide us with a series of “invitations.” For the first, we climbed a grassy hill, formed a circle in the sun, and closed our eyes. She encouraged us to listen. My ears picked up the buzzing of an insect brushing past my head, the distant sound of a lawnmower, the gentle rustle of leaves, and the beating of my own heart. Next, she invited us to “sniff the air like a bear,” prompting me to tilt my head back and take a deep breath. (Could that be a hint of huckleberry?) She even suggested we stick out our tongues to taste the air. (No huckleberry, just perhaps the essence of the lake?) We spent 15 minutes shifting in our sunny spot and allowing sensations to surface. In that moment, I felt a rush of childhood nostalgia: sprawled in the sun, with endless time stretching before me.

Next, Natasha prompted us to “notice what’s in motion”—the sway of a leaf, our own bodies gliding through space, the planet’s slow rotation. She encouraged us to delve into the forest of small wonders, inviting us to gather anything we could hold and arrange it on the path. Our collection featured abandoned wasp nests, hazelnut caps, moss, bark, and a solitary lantern once affixed to a tree.

When we were finally invited to connect with a tree, I could feel tears welling up. I discovered a tree embracing a small creek and nestled against its mossy bark. It felt solid and supportive. As I looked out at a landscape of trees, some vibrant and others fading—a poignant reminder of change and decay, yet also of enduring strength. Later, while sharing our reflections over cups of fireweed tea, nearly everyone became emotional. Even now, I feel the urge to make a lighthearted remark about those moments—I hugged a tree! But the depth of connecting with a being that existed long before me, and will likely persist long after I’m gone, is a treasure I wish to honor.

In the days that followed, my energy surged back. I felt vibrant, as if my blood was coursing with life, ready to conquer any mountain or challenge. The hikes became easier, and evening workouts turned enjoyable. I hadn’t experienced that feeling since before the pandemic, perhaps even longer. Yet, my thoughts frequently wandered back to our forest-bathing experience. In that tranquil moment, resting against the tree and listening to the profound silence of the forest, surrounded by evergreen companions, the uncertain future unfurled before me—and I felt ready to embrace it.

How to Get There

Travelers can fly into Spokane International Airport and take a four-and-a-half-hour shuttle to the lodge, or they may opt for the West Kootenay Regional Airport near Castlegar, B.C., which is just a 75-minute drive from the lodge. Mountain Trek trips last from 7 to 14 days, priced at $6,100 for one week and $11,590 for two weeks.