True Patriot Love hosts expeditions that bring Veterans, serving members of the Forces and civilians together in a journey of personal growth and mentorship taking place in beautiful and physically challenging landscapes.

Robert Garnier took part in an expedition to Gros Morne in Newfoundland from September 6 to 13, 2024. Before setting off, he shared his thoughts and feelings about the trek to come with True Patriot Love. When he returned, he wrote a gripping account of the impact of the expedition. He has graciously allowed us to share both with you.

Countdown to Gros Morne: One week to go

Robert: I’ve climbed Gros Morne twice by myself. Twelve years ago I took a picture of me on the top. To have this opportunity with likeminded individuals really excites me. Shared values, shared challenges: stuff like this is in my wheelhouse. What is not in my wheelhouse is finding my cohort to travel with.

I’m a Peer Support person trained with the Veteran Transition Network and I can’t stress enough how lonely it is after taking every course. It’s also a lonely place going into a room and telling your story. Nothing is linear in recovery. There’s a lot of military left in me and it’s hard to dovetail into normal society. I even had a neighbour tell me to go back into the nuthouse.

People come to me as a resource but I’m running on fumes; I’m looking for someone who has shared values. I need the sun on my bald head; I need to pick berries. I love Gros Morne; that outside connection is helping me to navigate this lonely time. I can’t shake it.

I’m searching for something. I’m ready for a change, trying to find that recovery piece in a noisy environment. I want to find clarity and quiet. I’m okay with hard choices – if I can find that growth piece. I’m the SME of me – the subject matter expert of me – and I’m trying to figure out my post-traumatic growth. What’s next?

Gros Morne expedition: looking back, two months after

This is a tough one…up to and including the finish, I was full of a mix of emotions.

Day 1

That Wreckhouse wind. I knew I was back on the Rock. It howled for the whole expedition. So what! I live in Burin; I know wind.

On the one-hour walk down to the launch for the Western Brook Pond boat tour on the first day, I felt like I was only present for half of it.

In conversation on that path I knew well, I had a chance meeting with a counselling therapist MSW from Michigan and her husband, both fans of IIHF hockey. With a fellow Burin peninsula brother at my side, on that foreboding walk I puked out all my feelings and fears to a complete stranger who made me feel seen, heard and understood. Who would have expected that I would have my head shrunk moments before starting this incredible adventure?

Day 5

I found myself quietly crying as John, one of the guides, hastened away down the last leg of our five-day trek. I could hear the rushing water, intermittently at first. With each step it got louder. Look! Civilization. We’d be there in no time…I was here before; I knew the ground! Was it really 12 years ago? Yep, I was by myself then and the time before that too, alone. This time it is different; I’m not alone now.

I was mouth-breathing but frig it! We ALL made it down the traverse. John opened up his stride to ensure our needs were met at the bottom of the hill. He also found his own pace; he wanted space…so did I. John thankfully got us a celebratory sweet, fizzy drink. After all, we were not spoiled lately and a little treat was appropriate – good for morale as the generals say. It was a quiet subdued celebration and as per the SOP, the socks came off when we stopped. I felt the warm sun on my back as our last man brought up the rear of our expedition. All were present and accounted for, thank God. Mission accomplished!

I would soon be separated from these people, these strangers who became my “Section-Minus”. Their lives would go on, so would mine. Some of the expedition, I would never see them again. Soak it in, Robert, I told myself. I would try to be kind to myself for the next couple of weeks, both physically and mentally. Separation anxiety again…but boy was it worth it!  These people stood by me and certainly prevented my embarrassing airlift out of Gros Morne’s Long Range Traverse on a very difficult day 2.

Both Mikes were stellar in their field-craft and their abilities. Mike P., a guide, was able to reach me in a manner few have been able to do in my life. I told him so and thanked him for continuing to try. His professionalism was top-drawer. Personal lesson: apparently, only old dogs can reach this old dog. Much obliged, Mike Squared. Respect.

I had a soft spot in my heart for Mike D. – he’s like an old, leather-bound, dusty book on the top shelf that you’d swear that you would read, one day. Our connection was special; in our first conversation, I could tell that he too, was the son of a Veteran. Initially, I had hoped that there was at least one like-minded person on this expedition. My wish was granted. I had at least my FTP (Fire-Team Partner) for this test. While he was running; I could be covering. Besides, Mike looked as broken up as I felt. In a heartwarming turn of events, Mike would re-gift my embroidered “Son of a Veteran” badge to his own son who is currently serving. Mike and I both share three consecutive generations of service to our country.

I was vulnerable; it was returned. They wanted more; I gave it freely. One quiet conversation on a particularly hard day was our shared experience of suicidal thoughts. What an opportunity to freely say those words to another hurting human being. It was cathartic and helpful to know that I was not alone. I felt safe talking. Like crying, those suicidal thoughts had a start but also had an end, and no thought of an action.

Day 6

The last leg. The high was so high. Boo-yah! I rode that high wave for the bus trip back to the airport. It felt like I got to enjoy the experience for about ten full minutes. As we drove through the colourful mountainous Rocky Harbour, my smartphone searched for signal after five days of silence.

Like the completion of a two-week, bag-drive in the field I just wanted a shower but my smart phone was blowing up just after I turned it on. I know, it was a self inflicted wound. Simon sat in the seat across the aisle; his phone was doing the same thing. I expected his would begin notifying him; of course, he’s a CEO.

But what happened in my life that was so important? It had to be big.

The damn phone started with the phone messages and Facebook notifications: that is how I learned of my cousin Joey’s death.

Joey was my father’s next-older brother’s youngest boy. He always said that he was the proud son of a Cape Breton Highlander. In 1944 Joey’s father, Bren Gunner Donald Garnier, went up through the spine of Italy in 1944 when my father, Trooper Reginald Garnier, and his tank were roaring across Europe liberating places like Apeldoorn in Holland. We both grew up in the shadow of big trees.

Joey was more than my cousin: he was my little brother. We were both sons of war Veterans. I watched over him when I could and had to kick him in the ass from time to time.

The last time I saw Joey was a year ago in Ottawa. I was shocked: his diagnosis was terminal. Since then, Joey has been in my rucksack the whole time. I wasn’t the only Garnier up there on True Patriot Love’s 2024 Long Range Traverse Expedition; it was me and Joseph Charles Garnier.

I wore my noise-canceling headphones for most of the expedition. There wasn’t any more room for anyone else…just me and Joey and that friggen Newfoundland wind.

Three months later

Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would ever complete this journey. My bucket-list event has even inspired those in my ill and injured peer groups to become more physically active.

Every day is an expedition of some kind.

And sometimes that friggen Newfoundland Wreckhouse wind just won’t let up…