by Valerie Johnson
Clinging
to the side of a mountain with all the strength I could give my fingers while
praying to God that I wouldn't die is not my idea of a vacation. And yet, there I was climbing up the side of
Mule's Ear and wishing that I'd thought of a way to fake a broken ankle.
“Put
your foot here, grab this rock, and pull yourself up.” I wasn't sure if it was Dan or Willie telling
me what to do, but I did exactly as he said because he had done the same thing
and survived. That meant that I had a
good chance of living too.
I
pulled myself up to a small bit of flat rock and sat down. I couldn't tell if I was halfway up or not
from where I was at. Despite being at
the back of the line and knowing I was probably holding everyone else up, I
took a water break in the unrelenting midday sun. From here, I could see the land stretching
out beneath me. Our camp was still
visible, but only as distant orange and blue dots hidden in the trees and
bushes next to the river. There was a
stripe of dark green that marked where the river flowed, then dry gray and
brown desert soil, sand, and vegetation.
On the other side of the river, a mountain emerged from the sand with
wavy layers and sharp chipped sides. On
my side was a brief expanse of donkey-trodden desert before Mule's Ear poked
out of the earth. Speaking of which,
there was a family of donkeys grazing in the wash below. “Ooh!
Picture!” I snapped a couple as
proof of life.
I
packed up my water and kept following the other climbers. I couldn't keep taking breaks like that
because everyone else in front of me was moving and even though this wasn't a
race, I still felt the need to keep up.
I grabbed a rock, pulled on it to make sure it wouldn't move under my
weight, hauled myself up one more step, put my foot on an innocent piece of
ground, and scrambled for handholds when it slid out from under me. I swore at the fragility of sandstone, took
another step, and paused to catch my breath while the panic subsided. This took a couple moments because my asthma
constricted my windpipe. (Dang it, that
would have been a legitimate excuse not to go on the hike!)
I
made my way up slowly, and as fast as I felt I was able. I followed Dan's, Willie's, and Prof. Gills'
instructions to the letter, mirroring their steps, but still tested the rocks
they told me to step on or hold on to. I
didn't talk much, partly because I was on my own, and partly because I didn't
want to divert my attention. Then Willie
started asking me about my major, my Honors thesis topic, and my plans after
graduation. As much as I enjoy talking
about myself, this really wasn't the right time and I started wishing he would
just let me get to the top of the mountain in peace. I did find out that he's a cowboy and has
raised horses for several years. That's
pretty awesome.
Prof.
Gills got ahead of the group because he had the rope to get us up the last step
to the ridge on top. (Which led me to
ponder a question I've had for years: How does the first climber get the ropes
attached if they're needed to climb up the mountain?) Now, I had a bit of a problem with scrambling
up the rock face in the first place, but I thought it was manageable. Ropes to me meant that I had gotten to the
boss level of rock climbing. This was
some serious business.
Ahead
of me, Sharon was shuffling on the edge of a rock face with the help of her
son, Willie. She has a legitimate fear
of heights, but with some shuffling, instructions from Willie, a yellow rope,
Prof. Gills as an anchor, and a nearby bush, she got up and over the rock and
on her way with the others. I only have
a reasonable uneasiness concerning heights, so I thought that maybe I could
make it too. I took small steps across
the small lip of the rock while holding on to a couple handholds at eye level,
and reached for the rope.
Fingers
are incredibly strong, at least when compared to how much they can take
compared to the entire hand. I've heard
it’s better to hold a baseball bat with your fingers instead of the rest of
your hand. Even though it feels like a
better grip, it's actually weaker. And I
use my fingers for everything – knitting, stitching, writing, sewing,
signing. I trust the strength in my
fingers. I grabbed the rope and with
some leverage and traction from my shoes, pulled myself up.
The
next step was to cross a small chasm by walking along one side and leaning
against the other with my hands. Not
nearly as scary as the ropes, but still slightly nerve wracking.
“How
are you doing, Valerie?” Prof. Gills asked me once we reached the top of the
ridge.
Well,
I was tired, scared, anxious, hot, thirsty, frustrated, and had a sweaty back
from my cheap backpack. In my anger, I
lashed out with, “I was so close to dropping this class at the beginning of the
semester because of this hike.”
“You
were going to drop the class?” He
sounded shocked and a little hurt.
Why
did I say that? What other reaction had
I been expecting? He didn't need to hear
that. I reacted defensively. “Well I didn't. I came on this trip even thought I knew the
risks.”
“Well
I’m glad you came,” he replied.
I
bit my lip before I could say, “I’m not.”
We
ate lunch on the top of the ridge next to the actual 'ear.' We were just over the top so we could look
over the desert scenery on the other side of the ridge as we ate sandwiches and
fruit. Half of my water was already gone
and I wanted to save the other half for the trip down, so I tried my best to be
satisfied with the water I could glean from my food. I had an especially fat and juicy tart green
apple that was the best I had ever eaten.
When
I finally took my focus off my food, I took in the wide expanse of desert that
stretched into Arizona, New Mexico, and Colorado. My lips were dry and cracking, and I felt
like I was Clint Eastwood in The Good,
The Bad, and The Ugly when Tuco forced him to march through the desert,
except Clint was probably wearing makeup, and that desert didn't have nearly as
much vegetation as this one did, and I'm pretty sure they were filming in
Spain. This analogy would be much easier
if his character had a name. And a hat.
“There
are different kinds of deserts. Not all
of them look like this,” Kajsa explained to me when I complained that Sergio
Leone's deserts looked fake and empty.
Not that I know what deserts in Texas are supposed to look like. I decided then that I should stop using Westerns
as a point of reference.
The
landscape was so wide that my camera couldn't focus properly and I played a
game of, “Take a Picture Before the Auto-Focus Ruins it,” and lost several
times before I gave up and put it away.
From here, we could see the dark green vegetation that snaked through
the desert where the river flowed, and the caves in the sandstone mountains
several miles away that looked like some giant thumbs had pushed in the walls
as if they were made of clay. In between
Mule's Ear and Comb Ridge, the sand was dotted with so many small bushes and
cacti that the ground had a gray green hue towards the horizon. The thing about the desert that Westerns
can't capture is just how big it
is. My eyes couldn't see the end of it;
only the mountains and the curve of the earth terminated my vision. I could get lost out here for days, months,
years and never see everything.
This
view was supposed to be the reward for climbing all the way up here, but I just
wasn't feeling it. Even sitting on a
sloped rock to stop and eat lunch, I was still worried about how close to
falling off I was. If I went sliding
down, that would be it for me. I wasn't
even closest to the edge of the ridge.
Sadie had that honor, and thought nothing of it. The landscape is
beautiful, but I just couldn't understand how any of this hike was fun, and
getting to the top just didn't feel like the pain was worth it. “You should be proud of yourself for making
it up here,” several people told me. I
should be, but no. I'm not. Can I go back yet?
I
chose to go with the group that was going straight back to camp instead of
exploring the peak further. My body
couldn't handle anything more than a return trip, and neither could my
mind. Prof. Gills promised me that the
return hike would be much easier and there would be no more scrambling. That last part was true because I don't think
scooting down on my behind technically counts as scrambling.
The
hike across the ridge wasn't bad at all.
In fact, I probably could have pranced across it if I wasn't afraid of
falling into a rattlesnake hole à la True
Grit. It wasn't until our impromptu
path took us down the steep side of the mountain with even more loose rocks
that I started to worry again. I
followed every step that everyone else took and panicked when they went too
fast. I was so happy I wore denim capris
so I could slide down the rocks on my butt without worrying too much about
sitting in thorns and nettles. Dan
instructed most of my steps down and stayed with me most of the way.
The
worst part was where I had to jump down about four feet from one rock to the next,
but there was no good place to stand and the rock I was supposed to land on was
angled down and short. On top of that,
I’m five feet tall. Do the math.
Prof. Gills
stood there with both hands out to catch me.
“I will not let you fall,” he told me.
And I believed him because he was not lying, but I didn't trust myself
to make the jump.
This
was the only point that I stopped and couldn't make myself immediately do as he
and Dan said. I crouched to the ground,
wanting to keep my center of gravity as low as possible, and assessed my
options. There weren't any other paths
from this point. I could try to go back
and find a different way down, but Prof. Gills had already been down this way
before and it would be stupid if I didn't listen. I could stay put and chicken out, but it
would be hours, and possibly a couple days, before emergency rescue crews could
get out here and fly me off the mountain, and that would just inconvenience
everyone. This was the only way down,
and taking my time wasn't really an option as my water was running even lower.
I
took a deep breath, stood back up and grabbed the holes in the rock that Dan
had pointed out. Going over the jump in
my head, I saw myself missing the rock and sliding down the bend of the
mountain like a waterslide, but with rocks, thorns, and donkey dung. Then I jumped. A sharp rock jabbed my side and left a
bruise, but I was more concerned with knowing that I caught Prof. Gills' hands
and put my feet exactly where they needed to go. I was safe and on solid-ish ground. (I say ‘solid-ish’ because it’s sandstone,
and you never know.)
I
slid down more loose rocks on the rest of the way down and swore when I
struggled to find my footing again, but those moments were nothing like that
jump. We got down to the flat, sandy
land and followed the wash and donkey trails that switched directions back and
forth several times, until that led us to a 30 foot drop-off. The donkey path led us down and around that
point to the flat expanse back to camp.
The closer we got to the river, the taller the vegetation got until it
was taller than me, which isn't an achievement.
The sand gave way under our feet easily, which made walking more
difficult, but at least it didn't slide out from under me the way the sandstone
did. I ran out of water completely by
this point and would have run back to camp to get more if I had the strength to
run.
The
perfect way to end this trip would be of an image of me getting back to camp
and taking a swig from a vodka bottle.
(Filled with ice water, Mom. No
need to panic.) But that's not where it
ended.
I took a walk
in the river, sunbathed on the rafts, and changed into my world traveler costume
for dinner. It wasn't until I was
sitting by the campfire in a trenchcoat that was too small for me and digging
into my left arm that was killing me anyway, and a thin skirt that wasn't warm
enough for me, that the enormity of the day really hit me. My stomach was churning, and I couldn’t eat
any more of Jackson’s cheese, much less dinner. Jackson talked to me for a bit, trying to help me feel better, but it just
wasn’t working. Tears were pushing
themselves out of my eyes, and I couldn't explain why. I already put them away on the walk back to
camp when I was out of water and ready to take a nap in a stuffy tent. They would not be stopped now.
I
went back to my tent, telling myself that I was changing from my coat to my
sweater, but really I was hiding. I
figured that I could cry for a few minutes and be done with it before anyone
would notice. Good thing I started this
whole trip with a cold or else I wouldn't have had any tissues. Did I want someone to check up on me? A little bit, but I didn't expect anyone
to. Then again, I get worse when people
try to talk to me.
Someone
did notice, however, when dinner was ready and I wasn't there. Sadie came to check up on me, and when she
didn't come back with a report, Savannah came a few minutes later. They found me crying and sitting on the foot
of my sleeping bag. I couldn’t make
myself turn away their help. It turns
out that the bruise on my side was actually a good-sized abrasion, which Sadie
cleaned up. In the meantime, others came
to make sure I was okay, including Carl, Jackson, and Jill. Then Sadie and I just talked while she
massaged my aching back and arms and I got over whatever was making me cry.
I did something
scary that I was completely unprepared for.
On top of that, I had been worrying about this since August and I kept
that tension with me for a long time.
Talking with Sadie was the only way I could just let that go and look
back on my excursion with a bit of fondness.
Yeah. I finished the Mule's Ear hike. And the view was phenomenal.
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