Behind Friendly Lines

A few weeks ago, at the height of burnout and a real period of darkness, I got a text from a friend that offered a glimmer of hope. He asked if I would be interested in attending a regional Return to Base event with Patrol Base Abbate, a nonprofit I’m an active member of. Sight unseen, I agreed that I needed the break and could desperately use the community and nature therapy the event offered.

I found it doubly interesting that the location for this event was a retreat center geared toward pastors dealing with burnout. It seemed God-ordained, and perhaps I’d receive a double portion from this experience, given my history with both the veteran and ministry communities. I was excited to go, and just the prospect of this trip on the horizon began to lift me out of the mire of grim thoughts.

Unlike my previous trip with Patrol Base Abbate, I wouldn’t be flying across the country to Montana. This event was just outside of Charleston, South Carolina, on Johns Island. This was an easy five-hour drive from home. Any potential stress from traveling was eliminated since I wouldn’t have to deal with TSA and the rigors of air travel.

The difference between this event and the one prior was that I only knew one guy going into this weekend, my buddy Luke, whom I met on the Montana trip. I was stoked when they had us sharing a room; it was good to catch up and at least see one familiar face. The first PBA event forged quite a few lasting friendships, with Luke being someone I’ve texted almost every week since our time in the western wilds. This event consisted of two or three of us who had already been to the Patrol Base in Montana as members of Patrol Base Abbate, folks from one of the major corporate sponsors, and a mix of local veterans who knew the event organizer from either work or church.

The retreat center was a ministry of Seacoast Church. To say it was bougie would be an understatement. I felt like Southern royalty in that mansion. It was a surreal feeling staying there. The property was an expansive 66-acre tract of land, complete with at least three large freshwater ponds and windows overlooking the Intracoastal Waterway. I saw dolphins and roseate spoonbills. At times, I found myself just staring at the Spanish moss swaying on the sprawling live oaks. It offered peace and wonder in equal parts.

The only requirements for this event were to meet for dinner and fireside chats afterward. Everything else was a choose-your-own-adventure approach. Some folks just stayed inside and read; some used the golf simulator, played disc golf, or just wandered the property. I found my way to a fishing boat and spent time on the water. It was good for my soul. I caught a massive red drum, my first ever, and was amazed at how hard that fish fought as I reeled it in. The next day, I chose to fish from the same boat in the rain because I just wanted to be on the water. It’s hard to argue with the serenity of creation, and what does a little rain hurt?

Although the weekend was geared toward relaxation, I think there was something lost in not having to complete tasks as a group. That was what made Montana so special and likely what made so many of us stay close years later. It probably helps that the austerity kept us cut off from the internet and the rest of the world at the Montana patrol base, forcing us to connect on a personal level much quicker. This isn’t to diminish the experience I just had. This event adopted a different approach, and truthfully, rest is exactly what I needed. I made new friends and had some great experiences; it’s a win for sure, and I’m eternally grateful.

The dynamic was slightly different than a normal Patrol Base Abbate event, at least in my experience. Most people had no connection with the organization before this event. For many, this was their introduction, and what an introduction! We traded sleeping bags and army cots for plush beds and all the amenities one could imagine. Those of us who have been a part of PBA previously were there as ambassadors for the program. All walks of life and branches of service were represented. As with any group of veterans, we all found common ground instantly, and by the end, we were joking and picking on one another as if we’d known each other for a lifetime. There’s a beauty there that I have only seen in veteran circles so far.

Vietnam-era veterans, recent retirees, and everyone in between were represented. The only requirement was honorable service. We were the first group to access the retreat center that wasn’t made up of ministers. I think we set a good example for our community. I imagine our language had a little more spice than they were used to, but all in all, we were on our best behavior. The fireside chats, a staple for PBA events, were moved indoors to a fireplace after the first day due to inclement weather. Although it changed the dynamic a bit, the conversations were still good, and many folks shared from their hearts.

One key difference I noticed, given the location and surroundings, was the prevalence of conversations that led back to God. Since many participants were active Christians, and some were even members of the church that sponsors the retreat center, there seemed to be fewer barriers to talking about matters of faith. It was refreshing to be vulnerable and available during these conversations with one another. The key takeaway after events like these is the universality of our shared experiences with service, mission, purpose, and many of the other struggles we face. It puts in perspective that although you may feel alone, you’re not.

Organizations like Patrol Base Abbate make it their mission to connect veterans to community and allow them to heal in tandem with others who likely chewed the same dirt you did once upon a time. Whether you served in the jungles of Vietnam, the deserts of Iraq, or at some stateside training base, you belong. Your service matters, whether you turned a wrench, served chow, or kicked in doors on some super-secret special operations mission. There is no distinction. No one was “just a [insert self-deprecating title here].” If you served, you’re enough, and you’re welcome behind friendly lines.

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Stan Lake is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker based in Bethania, North Carolina. His work has appeared in Dead Reckoning Collective, The Havok Journal, Reptiles Magazine, Lethal Minds Journal, and other outlets, and he directed Hammer Down, a documentary about his 2005 deployment in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom with Alpha Battery 5-113th of the North Carolina Army National Guard. For The Havok Journal, he often writes essays and reflections about war memory, veteran life, the outdoors, and everyday experience. You can find his books, collected works, and social media at www.stanlakecreates.com.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.