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From Rock Bottom to the Summit: One Veteran's Outdoor Mental Health Recovery Story
- Zach Rehm
- 5 days ago
- 5 min read
Veteran outdoor mental health recovery doesn’t always look like a breakthrough moment. Sometimes it looks like getting pulled off a mountain on day one — humiliated, exhausted, and broken in ways that have nothing to do with the hike. That’s where Zach Rehm’s story begins. What follows is his account, in his own words, of hitting rock bottom and finding his way back through the programs of the Montana Vet Program.
Losing It Twice: When Purpose Disappears
I left military service in 2018 with multiple injuries and goals that were leading me back into federal service. By 2022, I had rehabilitated myself and was selected for multiple positions in law enforcement. But after two years and multiple attempts, it was determined I was unfit for continued service due to my injuries. On top of that, my wife was pregnant, and I lost my position. Everything that I was and wanted to be was suddenly ripped away from me, and I spiraled into a deep depression.
For the second time in my life, I had lost my purpose and way of life. I turned to the bottle, gained significant weight, and used video games to escape my reality. It continued until my son was born. That’s when I knew I needed real help.
The first loss of identity was easier to manage — I left military service, but I still had goals to keep me disciplined. The second time, I grew desperate. I was dealing with a true loss of identity and felt like I couldn’t turn to anyone. I felt guilty that I was unable to continue to serve, like a ‘fake veteran.’ Desperately, I Googled “Montana veteran organizations” and stumbled upon the Montana Vet Program.
I looked at their Instagram and liked what I saw: an organization that values and cares for all veterans. When I DM’d the page asking if I was eligible — “since I never deployed, wasn’t a combat veteran, and didn’t want to take a spot from a real veteran” — they responded with four words: “We are all Veterans.” It was the first time another veteran had said that to me. I felt, for the first time, like I was one. I signed up immediately.
Day One. Mile One. The Mountain Wins.
Fast-forward to the week of my first trip. I knew I needed to train, but used the excuse of just coming off a recent surgery and being a new father to avoid putting in the work. Instead, I acted cocky and assured myself it wouldn’t be a problem. I drove to Great Falls, met the team, and was issued gear.
Day one. We hit the trailhead, got briefed on what to expect, and started the trek. By mile one, I was gasping for air. By the time we got into the Bob Marshall Wilderness, my legs were trembling and my calf was screaming in agony. The team did everything to get me to the summit — they took all my gear. I kept trying to push, but I couldn’t keep pace. What should have taken 20–30 minutes took over an hour.
The team called a break. Luke gathered the team leaders. In my head, I already knew what was coming. I needed to go back down the mountain. I was a significant risk to the mission and to myself. Luke pulled me aside and confirmed it. I tried to stay stoic — “roger that” — but Luke saw through it. He shook my hand and asked me to promise I’d come back the following year.
He saw that I had hit rock bottom. With that handshake, Luke showed me something I hadn’t experienced since separating from the service: understanding and compassion. I made him the promise, shouldered my bag, and started back down the trail — with a new goal: get involved with MVP, earn my reps, and one day lead veterans into the backcountry of Montana. To do that, I had to put in the work.
The Year Between: Earning the Right to Come Back
The following year, I quit drinking and started working my way into better shape. I reached back out to MVP and signed up for both a float and a hike. I was determined not to make a fool of myself again. I had made a promise, and I was going to keep it.
That commitment — training with a goal in front of you, a handshake behind you — is exactly the kind of structure that helps veterans in outdoor mental health recovery find traction. It wasn’t a therapy session. It was a promise to another veteran, and that made it real.
Finding the Tribe: The Smith River Float Trip
Fast-forward to my first float. End of day one — I’m sitting under a canopy with a group of soggy veterans, waiting for chow, waiting to get to bed. But no one is complaining. Everyone’s joking around and laughing. Spirits are high. We were all strangers hours ago, and here we were, suffering well together.
That’s where the real magic of MVP shines. Previous rank, job classification, injuries — all of it fades away. You’re left with a group of like-minded people who genuinely care about each other. Camaraderie. Something I hadn’t felt since leaving military service.
The Smith River itself is something else entirely. The geography and history are unlike anywhere in the world. Floating past ancient petroglyphs and pictographs, carrying the dog tags of service members killed in the Global War on Terror — it forces a reckoning. We are alive while our brothers and sisters in arms perished. It is our duty to honor them by living the life they would want us to live. By the end of that first trip, I had found my tribe.
The Second Hike: Leading From the Front
My first completed Veteran-Led Therapeutic Adventure Trip looked a lot different from the one that had broken me. We had a smaller group, and we adjusted the course of action multiple times. That turned out to be an advantage — the group spent more time with team leaders and picked up skills they wouldn’t have otherwise.
The biggest difference from my first hike to my second was this: this time, I was able to help carry another veteran’s pack. That feeling is indescribable — when your buddy is struggling and you’re able to take some of their weight. Helping that veteran push through the mountains, and staying in contact with him afterward, has become one of the defining moments of my life.
On the final day, as the group pushed toward the trailhead, I wanted to be first across. I watched as the group fell behind and I couldn’t stop. The past year of training had come down to this moment — all the hardships, failures, and loss of purpose and identity. It’s difficult to describe what was going through my head. But one thing is certain: I had survived what should have killed me.
What Veteran Outdoor Mental Health Recovery Actually Looks Like
Veteran outdoor mental health recovery isn’t a program you complete. It’s a direction you choose. For Zach, it started with a Google search, a DM, and four words: “We are all Veterans.” It continued with a humbling day on a mountain, a handshake, and a year of work that nobody saw. It finished — at least this chapter of it — with him leading a team of veterans to the trailhead on the last day of a hike he once couldn’t finish.
That’s what MVP does. Not by holding your hand. By giving you a goal worth earning, a team worth showing up for, and wild places that strip away everything that doesn’t matter.
If you’re a veteran who’s been where Zach has been — or somewhere close to it — this is the program.
Learn more at mtvetprogram.org.
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