« Just Breathe | Main | In the mix »

Nothing To Fear But Being Lost

The day before I'd barely been able to totter along in the thin air of the High Sierras, but there I was running as if my life depended on it the very next day.
I kept thinking, "Where is everybody? Is this the right trail? Am I lost?"

Just like in the city, sometimes the best part of the day on a backpacking trip is lunch.
My trailmates and I were enjoying an idyllic meal by a bubbling -- icy cold -- stream around last Labor Day. We sat in the shade and munched crackers, cheese and summer sausage.
After a morning of tromping down the trail alone, I had company, and I was happy.
The log I was sitting on felt less bumpy and my stinky shirt smelled better when I had someone to share the moment with.
After lunch, Lon told us where to meet up -- way up there. He described a campsite with a certain plaque, blah, blah, blah.
For once, I tuned out the trialmaster. I knew by the time I caught up, everyone else would already have their tents set up.
Then came the dreaded words, "Well, are you ready to head out?"
No, I wasn't ready.
I needed about two hours more of rest, but I would have rather faced a razor without shaving cream on my legs than have told my trialmates. I had my pride.
So I told them I'd be along in about 15 minutes. I watched them take off, refreshed from the break.
I took 30 minutes more and then shouldered my pack.
The hours ticked by in woodsy terrrain, crisscrossed with streams.
It started to seem awfully late.
I began looking for my trailmates and the fabled campsite with some kind of plaque, something to do with Boy Scouts maybe?
I saw nothing but tree after tree and the trail.
It'll be just around the next corner, I told myself.
In fact, I told myself that about a dozen times as the sun slipped down in the western sky. I started just plain lying to myself.
It was all part of my hiker pschology. If the possible truth is too scary -- You might be really lost. You might have taken a wrong turn. You have nothing but an energy bar. Someone else has all the food. Wait, you've got a bear cannister. Hold it. You don't know if you can get it open. -- then just ignore it.
But soon enough, I couldn't ignore the fact that I STILL hadn't come across my trialmates, and it was getting late. That's when the low scaredy-cat murmur in my mind turned into a scaredy-cat roar.
I kept going though. Wouldn't do me any good to sit by the trail and bawl like a baby, now would it?
Besides, my trailmates could actually be around the next corner, and it would be too embarrassing to be caught weeping in the wilderness.
I took a swig out of my treated water and soldiered on.
Then suddenly, there was Lon.
I was so glad to see him that I almost hugged him. However, I acted cool and calm.
He said we'd both already passed the campsite we were supposed to meet at, and there had been no sign of Chris and Christina.
He seemed more perplexed than worried. He took off again, and I walked along without my unwelcome visitor of the last few hours, PANIC.
An hour slipped by, and the idea of twilight menaced me.
That's when I started a sort of half-trot/jog -- something I've never done before.
It turned into a genuine run after about 15 minutes. I actually kept this up -- pack and all -- for about 45 minutes.
Still no sign of human life.
Finally, I decided that if I was going to die alone in the wilderness, let it be with dignity and with breath in my lungs.
So I settled down to a regular walking pace.
Then -- when it seemed the light was poised to deepen into real twilight -- I heard voices.
I broke into a gallop, pack banging away on my back, and, suddenly, there I was, in camp.
I felt true joy.
I'd made it through another day.
But something even better than that lay ahead for my trailmates, something shocking and wonderful at the same time.

Posted by at 03:43 PM | Permalink