It was the summer of 1997 and my wife and I were here on the 70km West Coast Trail with her parents and a couple that are family friends, who are few years younger than her parents. It had rained horribly the weeks before we left and just a week earlier some people had to be helicoptered out after two rivers flooded too much to pass through. So, we were prepared for the worst, but arrived to sunshine and heat that made each day less and less muddy.

We planned 6 nights, some people do the trip in 4, so we took our time and enjoyed an extra night at the prettiest of the stops, at a beautiful falls. My wife loves to keep a fast pace and with a pack on, she struggles to go slow. She’s also someone who speeds up going up hill, or when she sees the finish line… she can really move when there is a goal in front of her.

It was day 3, we were heading to the falls and we were pushing ourselves with our longest distance to travel when something happened… Four of us were well ahead of Ann’s parents and her mom fell. She didn’t hurt herself, but with the pack on she fell in a way where she was pinned down and struggling to get up. Ann’s dad is a bit hard of hearing and didn’t hear her calling for help, and when we looked back she was just getting up after struggling out of her pack.

That’s when we realized how heavy her pack was. She was fit and trained well for the trip (which she had done already) and decided to take the burden of more weight than she should have. Two new decisions were made at this point. First, I would take some of her weight – though my pack was heaviest, I had much of the food so it was already lighter then when we started. Second, we decided that my wife’s parents should not be at the back of the group.

The next day my wife was going crazy going slowly at the back with me. As I mentioned, it was still very muddy from the rains the weeks before and her parents were overly cautious as they traversed the muck. Where I would just slosh through, ankle deep with my gators on (think rain coats for your ankles and shins), her parents would carefully and thoughtfully choose the route with the least amount of mud. Makes perfect sense when you’ve got a heavy pack on and going through the mud is a bit of a balancing act.

About two hours into our walk my wife said, “I can’t do this, I’ve got to go ahead,” and I told her to go on ahead, I’ll stay at the back. About 3 hours in, I was feeling like my wife did. I’d slosh through the mud then lead against a tree and watch my wife’s parents gingerly traipse around the mud, calculating each step. While I understood their need to be careful, watching them go so slowly when I was standing with a heavy pack waiting for them started to feel like work I. Just. Wanted. Them. To. Speed. Up! Every muddy section became a long slow chore of waiting and I was getting frustrated.

Then we reached a slow muddy section and after getting to the other side of it I saw a branch the perfect hight to rest my pack on while it was still on my back. This took all the pressure off my shoulders without me having to remove the pack. It felt great and as I took a deep breath I looked down at my feed and saw the most unusual slug. It was mostly yellow, but it had a bluish purple section as well. If it wasn’t moving I would have been sure it was fake. How did this ugly little animal have such beautiful contrasting colours on it?

After seeing the slug, I started to look around and really see the trail that until then was just a path to our next destination. Suddenly I was noticing birds, leaves, plants, colours and sounds, that before this point were just things in the background. Suddenly they were in the foreground. I no longer felt any need to rush. I was no longer waiting for my wife’s parents, I was traveling with them. I was enjoying the journey.

It was a big shift thanks to a small, beautiful slug.