On getting lost and being found

Some lessons learned on Iona

We were like a dog with a bone.

We were certain we were on the right path.

We were so sure that our brain shuts off all other options.

Can you see where this is going?

That’s the only explanation for how we could have gotten lost on Iona, a 1.5 mile by 3 mile island in Scotland’s Inner Hebrides.

A group of us from a silent retreat had been exploring St. Columba’s Bay, the site where Columba landed on Iona 1500 years ago.

St. Columba’s Bay

I chose to walk back with a woman from my retreat who had been here many times before. We left the rock-strewn beach at the southernmost point of the island around 3:15. By 3:45, we realized that somehow, we had moved off the main path back that follows the western coastline.

When we tried to turn back, we got more lost. Google maps (yay for cell phone coverage!) told us that we were heading along the eastern coast of the island, getting close to Sand Eels Bay. My trail companion decided that if we could hike down the cliff to the bay, she could get us back to town.

so close!

And so the idea of clamouring down the cliff seemed to us to be the most viable course. We clung to this idea like a dog with a bone. Our brains shut off all other options.

For hours, we hiked through knee-high wiry heather bushes and around soggy bogs. The paths we were following were suitable for wee sheep hooves, not our big hiking boots. We hiked to the edge of one cliff after another, trying to find the path down to the bay, the one she had climbed up many years ago. I don’t know how high these cliffs were but falling down them onto the rocks below would have resulted in certain death.

We could see Iona’s Abbey from the cliffs so we could see where we needed to go. We just couldn’t get there.

ya’ can’t get there from here!

Our legs ached from fighting with the rugged terrain. We had to keep retracing our steps to retrieve a lost phone and to search out more promising paths. We were running out of water, snacks, and energy. Physically, we were fine, but we could not find out way. Before making any (more) really bad moves, we decided to call for help. It was around 6:30pm.

First, we left a message with Bishop’s House, the place we were staying. Then we left messages with a couple of the other attendees. But, alas, this was a silent retreat so everyone’s phones were off!

The sun was setting behind the hills and a cool wind was picking up. By 7:20, when no one responded to our initial calls, we called 999 for Scotland’s Search and Rescue team. We wondered how they would find us: would they come on foot, or by helicopter?

And then we waited. We were nestled in among the heather bushes as a wind barrier on the edge of a cliff so we could be seen. I tried to remain calm by assuring myself that if we had to spend the night up on the top of a cliff of heather, I would be cold, hungry, and miserable, but I would not die. Happy thoughts!

When we didn’t show up for dinner at 7:00, someone noticed our absence. Shortly after we called for emergency help, we received a call back for our retreat leader. She told us to walk toward the sun that was quickly setting in the west and to walk to higher ground and that they would find us.

Knowing that help was on the way, we mustered one last burst of energy and walked up the steep incline toward the setting sun. Encountering a tall rock outcropping, the path divided, one way going straight west and the other going north-west. Figuring that our rescuers would be coming from the north, I wanted to take the north-west path. My trail companion wanted to head straight west, as we were directed. I voiced my reasoning but then deferred to her. Again. Twenty steps in, she agreed to switch paths, so we retraced our steps, and headed northwest. I am a wee bit embarrassed to say how close we were to the right path - maybe 1500 feet! But within just a few minutes, I saw our friends on that elusive path coming toward us!

We were found.

Perhaps you have heard that everything that happens on a pilgrimage is part of the experience of the pilgrimage. Envisioning myself falling to my death, or worse, spending the night without food, was quite traumatic for me. So how could I ensure that I would never find myself in this situation again? That learning is part of the pilgrimage. Besides deciding to take an orienteering class, this is what I’ve learned:

It is better to trust your own knowing than to outsource it to other people who claim they know the way. Be careful who you follow! Blindly following anyone is unlikely to turn out well for you. I am learning to trust myself and honor what is right for me. That honoring requires me to speak up. And then speak up even louder if something still feels off. Honor that inner voice instead of ignoring it.

It is okay to ask for help! I was taught early on not to be too needy. I’m still grappling with the shame of asking for help. I woke up the next morning with the frightful realization of how close I was to incurring the huge expense for a hilltop helicopter rescue! (Apparently, I still struggle with money issues, too!) A quick internet search defanged that shame monster by revealing that search and rescue missions are free in Scotland!

Where was God in all of this? After some time elapsed following the traumatic event, this is what I know:

The ‘pathless path’ is the way of every seeker.

There will be obstacles: thorny vines that snag you; footing that is rocky and steep, boggy ground that grabs hold of your boot and won’t let go.

Your feet will get muddy.

The wind will whip and slap.

The way forward will be veiled from your eyes.

There will be dead-ends and not-what-you-thoughts and you will have to retrace your steps.

But every now and then, you will catch a glimpse of where you want to go, though you can not see the way clearly.

Though the road is rough and uncertain, trust that you are never unaccompanied on your path.

You do not walk alone.