Chapter 8.
Tuesday at Bright Angel Campground
Breakfast
The alarm sounded at four thirty. I hit the four-minute snooze. At 4:34 it beeped again; I sat up and changed it to 4:45 but then started getting my boots on anyway. This would have been a good occasion for those 'luxury' sandals that everybody else seemed to have. 'Tomorrow we won't have to get up so early,' I thought. It was near the end of dawn, plenty of traveling light.
I started to put in my lenses. There were two in each half of the holder. Oh, yeah.... On the left side, one was definitely darker than the other, clearly the new one. 'Why do I keep these old things anyway?' On the right, they looked identical. I picked the right one that was the best guess for correct and popped it in. It was wrong, gray rather than blue. I took it out and placed the other one. 'I can't leave these old ones here in this holder.' We were going to be here all day, so I emptied the pack well enough to find the first aid kit, pulled out one of the little medicine bottles, put them in it (not distinguishing left from right) and put the bottle in with the lens stuff and the leaky Mylanta container. The inside of the baggy was already getting coated with white chalky stuff from that container.
We dressed, secured the sight, and headed for Phantom Ranch where breakfast was to be served at five. I wasn't feeling well yet, maybe it was time to start worrying about it. On the other hand, I never felt well when I got up before six in the morning. We passed the mule corral where about a dozen were all standing in a circle, saddled up, facing away from each other. They probably did this, I thought, so that the mules wouldn’t interact too much and get irritated with each other in the absence of the wrangler, who was nowhere in sight. 'I need something like this for my kids,' I thought.
We walked up to the cantina where people were already eating. I checked the camping clock; it was 5:20. We are late again; maybe I should set tomorrow's alarm back to 4:30.
We walked in, "Can I help you?" the young man asked.
"Yes, we're the Duncan’s here for breakfast."
"Oh, everybody is here already, wait a minute, I'll check." (This sounded familiar.) The hostess came out with the list, we were scheduled for the six thirty seating. I didn't know there were two seatings at breakfast. It didn't say anywhere in the brochures, on the reservation or in the phone calls establishing or confirming the reservations that there was anything one would do but show up at five for breakfast much less that there might be multiple seatings! Ughh.
A
Little Rest
I didn't feel much like eating anyway. Nothing looked or smelled good. Viannah didn't rise early well either. We walked to the nearest horizontal surfaces, a few park benches in front of a set of cabins, and I laid down on one. Viannah laid on another. It was quiet for several minutes.
"We could have been still sleeping,” she said, the sky was less and less gray.
"Yeah."
More quiet.
A few people were walking about, some of them looked like they were hiking out, mostly to the south. Some looked like they were headed for mules. Some were on the way back to cabins after breakfast, first seating. No one was talking much; it was early.
"A mule train must leave at six,” I said.
"Six thirty," Viannah answered, "those people are already headed over there."
It looked to me like it might take them about three minutes to get to the corral. 'They don't form up over there do they?'
I tried lying still to see if I could doze, no luck. Viannah was sitting up looking around.
"Wish I'd brought the canteen,” I said. "Wish I could find my vitamins." I wished wishes were mules; all us beggars would ride. I wished I could find my Prilosec with the minuscule energy I had. I wished I'd thought of all this before leaving camp. Checking the clock, it was six, another half hour. Food still didn't sound good. Wish I'd brought my hat or a canteen for a pillow. I sure didn't feel like the 0.4 mile round trip to get it, even without pack.
"Do we recognize those people?" I asked.
"No. When can we go eat, dad?"
"Twenty eight more minutes. It feels warm already, will probably be hot today. Not a cloud in the sky." I sat up for a minute, felt nauseated, lay back down. "Wander what mamma's doing about now?"
"Probably sleeping."
"She gets up early, I bet she's up trying to get everybody moving right now. Probably Katy too."
"Yeah, Maybe."
It could be worse. We could have been on time for the five o'clock seating.
I stared up at the sky turning from light gray to blue, the tree turning from light black to dark green. This beat the ceiling of most rooms with stretchers in them.
I sat up and laid down three or four more times. Sometimes I'd have an involuntary shiver but it wasn't cold. This had me even more worried.
Finally, "It's 6:20, let's go."
We
got up and limped the half block's worth back to the cantina. A dozen people were waiting outside, place
settings were made up inside. There was
already bacon on the table staying warm under napkins.
'I know I like this stuff, maybe I'll try to
pretend it's OK and eat something,' I thought.
We sat on the steps.
Breakfast
The hostess came out, "Breakfast is served!" Several groups headed in, each was directed to its own table. After all the waiting were seated she went around to ring the bell. We were again near the door at the end of Table 2. The bacon should have looked good but still didn't. 'Here goes.' Another group came in, a father and three children. Seeing the spaces next to us that exactly fit, they just sat down. Later the hostess came by, "You were supposed to be at Table 3 but this works just fine," she seemed chipper. She must not have hiked in late yesterday.
I did not feel conversational. I tried not to glare. I tried not to look. The dad was next to me, the children, a teenage boy and girl and a younger girl, were across from me left to right. They started heaping pancakes on their plates. The hostess started eggs around. I lifted at a corner of the napkin on the bacon. Viannah took three pancakes with butter and syrup and a big scoop of scrambled eggs. No bacon for vegetarians. I took one pancake, a teaspoon of scrambled eggs and two strips of bacon and spread it all around so it would look like the plate was covered. Then I put a little butter, thin as I could, on the pancake. Then I stared at it all. I felt like lying down. I felt vaguely like retching. I took up a fork and stared. ‘Better act like I'm eating before someone gets suspicious.’
I cut a sliver off the edge of the pancake, a little hard and overdone, and put it in my mouth. So far so good. It is good to chew thoroughly, at least twenty-three times.
"Would you like some coffee?"
"No thanks; don't drink the stuff."
"Do you want your orange juice, dad?" Yes, that did look good. I took the small juice glass and downed it all straight away followed by a swallow of water. 'Yes, I might yet survive this meal,' I thought and tried a little more pancake.
A bowl of half peaches came out. That looked as good as anything. I took a couple and ate them easily. The bacon was still sitting there untouched. I stopped to chew thoroughly again then took a small bite of egg. Finally I tried biting off a third of an inch of bacon. Bacon is harder to chew thoroughly. You couldn't tell that my plate had been touched. Viannah got two more pancakes, the teenage boy straight across, three. I took another half peach.
The hostess made the announcements. Sack lunches were in the bushels by the door. Those riding mules up wouldn't need one; they would be on the rim for lunch. 'Wow!' I thought.
I sat up straight and checked for the water-rushing-under-the-ears sign that I was about to throw up, glancing around at the door. No, nothing, but I could sure have stood to lie down and this food was looking worse. I mouthed at some more eggs and stirred the rest on the plate to look busy. Our companion family finished off their second helpings and got up to leave. Viannah was nearly finished too.
"Do you want this bacon?"
"No, dad."
I took another small bite of pancake, rearranged the rest of the food to make the plate look as empty as possible and said, "OK, let's go." The plate didn't look very empty.
We picked lunches, they were all about the same, and headed out the door, my head still swirling, my guts still churning. A mule train was leaving from behind the building to our right. We headed straight up the trail back to the campsite.
"There's the Ranger Station, not open yet. There's the wrangler bunk house."
"What's a bunk house, dad? What's a wrangler?"
"A mule train boss and the place where he spends the night."
Viannah
went up to the Ranger Station and got a Junior Ranger application, a
booklet of
puzzles and pictures to color or draw and information about the inner
canyon. Children who had walked or
ridden mules down and spent the night could complete the booklet and
obtain a
Junior Ranger badge. Viannah wanted one
for her Girl Scout sash.
Back across the bridge; back up half of the campground, back into number twenty-two, back into the tent, back on the pad. Ahhhhh. All the way down and back without any vomit and now I had all day to rest. I wondered if this would get any better....
Squirrels
Viannah
got back in too. We both lay there
trying to rest. Soon she was
asleep. I turned on my side, off the
rock, and dozed. It was getting
brighter.
Scritch! Scritch! A funny sound was close. Scritch scritch scritch! I got up on an elbow and looked out. A squirrel was climbing on my pack! Another was getting into one of the lunches on the table. I bolted out and shooed them away, not as easy as with more timid city squirrels. The one in the lunch had gotten through the tied sack and two layers of wrapping to a sausage. It had teeth marks on the surface. I put the lunches in my pack, checked around for anything else attractive and got back in the tent. Good Grief.
Scritch scritch! Viannah turned over, "It's my turn this time." She got out and ran one off again.
Another half hour went by, my head and guts were still hurting, worst when I would think of tomorrow. 'I'm glad we decided to rest today, I won't think about tomorrow.' But I did think about tomorrow. I got up and went to the toilet. Soft stool. That's it: anxiety, the cure for campground constipation. I went and lay back down.
A
Little Reflection
Soon the sun rose over the rocks and was directly on the tent. It started getting hot fast. I didn't feel like getting up but I didn't feel like baking either. So I got up, pulled my pad and a canteen/pillow to a shady spot and lay back down. The squirrels came back, I shooed them off again. Viannah climbed out of the tent and went off to the washroom for a while. When she came back she wanted to go wading in the stream. I agreed to move my pad over to the bank where I could watch.
Right across the path, the stream edge was wired down with a mesh to prevent erosion from eating into the stream-side campsites. At our location, a six-inch rubber hose ran into one of the cataracts right behind its dam, probably an intake for flushing water. We tiptoed over this, in pain because of our blisters and tender feet without sandals, and found a shady bank spot on the mesh. This was not going to be level, but it would do for laying on an incline for a while. A few holes got poked in the pad. 'Well, they don't last forever,' I observed. I got set up and Viannah went into the water, up about to her knees, not wanting to get any clothes wet.
Little fish, brave as the squirrels, darted around her feet and legs. She gave out little girl-like squeals and wiggled them away. I continued worrying about my condition and what would happen tomorrow.
If we weren't resting today and I felt like this and we were hiking out right now, would I be able to carry on? Probably so, but it wouldn't be much 'fun.' How far would I be able to go without collapsing? I didn't know. Maybe all the way. Maybe only a mile. Once we were out, it wouldn't matter if I were sick for 72 hours or even had to be transported somewhere, but down here it could be real expensive. Glad I wasn't trying it. 'I won't think about tomorrow. Clearly I need to rest.'
I hadn't felt this bad on a trip since Sproul. In the summer of 1990, I'd gone on a small ship named Sproul on a scientific experiment between San Nicolas and Santa Cruz islands off of the southern California coast. Sproul was built as a pipe hauler for the Mississippi; its main purpose was to stay upright no matter what. In choppy waters on the open ocean it had an acerbic jerk to it. All was fine as we left San Diego Harbor until we passed Point Bolivar and got out into the open ocean chop. I was immediately sick and soon threw up everything then, stomach empty, retched nothing. I tried, bravely, to be of some use, lying on the floor near some of our equipment, but by day's end gave up. It was an ordeal to stand, sit or lie, get into the bunk, stay in the bunk, get out of the bunk, shower or try to eat. Every day I tried to get a little food down and didn't throw up any more, but it was only by being ultra-conservative and slowly careful with every body movement.
From
Monday through Friday this went on. I
would hear people talking outside of the cabin, "It's only five days;
he
probably won't starve to death." I
promised God that if I got off of here I would never go to sea again. I tried seasickness medicine and it seemed
to help a little. Finally Friday
came. The first mate was trying to trim
the boat for a little extra speed, a fraction of a knot.
I was all for that! We arrived at
dock late in the afternoon and
I just wanted to get home. I had been
no help except loading and unloading, and we stayed late unloading and
drove
back to work after midnight. The ground
was still moving under my feet, I was still quite sick.
I got home in the middle of the night and
told Viann all about it. She laughed
and laughed.
The feeling now was a lot like the feeling had been then.
'I can't believe I'm thinking of spending over six weeks in a tent driving to Alaska next summer!' I thought. Maybe we should bag the tent and stay in motels all the way, it would cost more, but the packing would be much easier. And, we could enjoy the sights rather than suffer as much with the mosquitoes, the heat, the cold, the wind or the rain. I can't imagine anybody who would do a thing like that; in fact, we should bag the whole trip and use the money and time for something else meaningful to the family. That would solve our joint vacation days problems, Viann and I. This is not the time to think about that. I'm not going to think about next summer.'
Viannah came up and sat by me on her pad. I shared some of these thoughts.
"This is one of three things," I said, "It feels a lot like stomach flu or Montezuma's Revenge, or it's 'food stroke,' (like heat stroke where the body stops regulating temperature but in this case for food where it doesn't want you to eat though you need to), a form of exhaustion, or, well, that's it. Either stomach flu or 'food stroke' exhaustion from yesterday. You know, I had this after we hiked up Mt. Wilson, fell asleep in the bathtub and all, but the next day I was fine and the day after I marched to work and back in full pack and did fine."
"What is Montezuma's Revenge, dad?"
"Well, most places in the world, public water is not suitable for drinking. Nearly anyplace in the United States you can safely drink what comes out of the tap, but not other places, like much of Mexico. When I was in Ensenada, I forgot this and just washed my mouth out with tap water while brushing my teeth. Didn't even swallow but about 36 hours later I had diarrhea. This could be something like that, but I think all the water in the campgrounds is drinkable. I'm sure of it. And I don't think that I was exposed to anything like this in the last few days."
"Well,
you need to rest."
"I'm
doing the best I can. I wish I could
talk to momma about this. I miss
momma."
"I miss momma too."
"And Katy and John."
"Yeah, I wish they were here."
"Me too, but they would never make it. Well, Katy would, but John would have to be carried right away and he weighs more than my pack already! And, if I'm having trouble like this, mom wouldn't have even tried to come this far."
"Yeah, you'd have to carry John."
"I wonder where they are right now. It is near checkout time on the North Rim campground, she wouldn't have wanted to do anything but get underway today. She's on the way unless she had trouble with the kids," '... or the van,' I thought to myself.
"Yeah."
"Maybe she's in Tuba City doing laundry."
"Being hot."
"Yeah."
It was quiet; I started eating another soft banana mass before it too turned completely black.
"You know, I know what momma would say," I said.
"What?"
"She would say that if you feel bad like this, for whatever reason, you should go up to the ranch and try to arrange to be taken out on a mule."
"Yes, she would say you should try to go out on a mule."
"Yes....
"She would be proud of me for deciding to go out on a mule and taking care of it," I continued.
"Yes, she would be proud, and I would get to ride a mule."
"I
could get you a mule ride for your birthday."
"Yes, I would like to ride a mule!"
"We don't have to risk our life just to say we hiked, err, backpacked across the Grand Canyon, the goal was to go across. We could do some by hiking and then go out by mule."
"We've hiked fourteen point four miles already, do you think that they let people ride mules out who didn't ride in on them?"
"I don't know."
"Well," I continued, "all the mules that are going up tomorrow are already on the way down today, but they have to allocate some mules to carry out the ranch trash. I could ride one and you and the packs could ride another and they could leave two mules worth of trash and send down extra mules for it another day."
"Yeah."
"Momma would be proud of us for riding out on mules if it meant living to tell about it."
"Yeah, momma would be proud."
More silence.
"I'm feeling better already, maybe because of this banana. Maybe because I've been resting all morning. Maybe because I've decided to do something. Maybe not because we got up at four forty-five!"
"No."
"Tell
you what, get your Phantom Rattler Junior Ranger application and let's
go up
and talk to the ranger. I'll have to
talk to the ranger to do anything like this and they have first aid at
the
ranger station anyway."
"But I'm not finished with it."
"Well, get it and a pencil and work on it while I talk to the ranger, I'm sure it will take a while."
"OK."
"Yeah, we'll talk to the ranger and see if they ever send people out on mules. Momma will be proud that we did this. I'm feeling better, let's go see the ranger."
I was feeling better in part because the thought of riding out, getting to the rim before lunch time even, rather than walking out, trudging all day under 50 pounds of pack, reduced my worries quite a bit. I felt nearly like I could just get up and walk over to the ranger station and walk right in and talk to somebody there about this all.
"Let's
go see the ranger."
"OK,
coming, dad."
A
Visit with the Rangers of Phantom Ranch
So we got up, brought our things back to the campsite, tried to secure it against squirrels, put our big hiking boots back on, got my hat and Viannah's Phantom Rattler application, and set out for the Phantom Ranch National Park Service Ranger Station. I felt nearly like standing up.
As we walked up the path, only a few hundred yards hiked, I already wished I'd remembered a canteen. It wouldn't have hurt anything to continue sipping water while having this talk, possibly a long one. Viannah had her application but not her hat. It was hot; the sun was beating down; the sky was perfectly clear. It was about 11 a.m.
The ranger station was evaporatively cooled, about 80 F inside. I took off my hat and closed the door. The office was like a living room converted into a reception area with a desk, computer, radio and printer on the right and a light-duty emergency room on the left which contained a wheel stretcher towards the front and well labeled cabinets of supplies around the side and back behind see-through doors. To the immediate right was a door marked "Residence." It was closed. I was already feeling better. Maybe the banana was taking hold; maybe it was the cool.
The ranger on duty had a beard and hair down to the top of his neck. He saw the Phantom Rattler application in Viannah's hand and called for another ranger who was in charge of the program. I sat down. The other ranger came in, a young fellow who seemed happy about it all. I said, "It's not finished, she's still working on it." They both looked puzzled. "I need to talk to somebody about my medical condition." The ranger in charge sat down and took out a sheet of paper, looking suddenly grave. The other said he'd come back when we were ready and left. The chief ranger at the site, a clean cut young man with a clean cut young son a little older than Viannah started to walk through with his son, both out of uniform, Tuesday apparently his "day off."
The first called him back, "I need you for a minute." They stopped, "son, go in there," he ordered in a mild military tone, "we'll leave after while."
The ranger with the shoulder length hair started in. "How do you feel? What seems wrong?"
"A little dizzy, nauseous, lower abdominal pain, churning."
"Did you come in today?"
"No, yesterday."
"Bright Angel?"
"No, from the North Rim."
"You
came all the way down yesterday?"
"Yes."
"Are you staying at the ranch?"
"No, in the campground."
Nodding, "When did you come in, this morning?"
"No, last night, about 6:50, we went straight to the stew dinner then after that to the campground to set up camp."
"Dad, what color is the rattlesnake that is only found in the Grand Canyon?"
"I don't know, blue?"
"No
it has four letters."
"I don't know."
The
ranger again, "When did you leave yesterday?"
"About 5 a.m., it was cold."
"OK, have you been eating pretty well? Did you have a big breakfast? What did you have on the way down?"
"Oh, not much. We had breakfast on the trail, some Frosted Mini Wheats, Toastums, juice boxes, bananas...."
"Did you have a big lunch?"
"Not as big as usual, I usually overeat, yesterday I ate about right."
"What did you have"
"Oh, a sandwich and a half, some water, a banana."
"One
and a half sandwiches?"
"Yes."
"So you did eat lunch?"
"Yes."
"And
where was that?"
"At the pump operator's residence."
"Were you out during the heat of the day?"
"Yes, in fact, we were at Cottonwood after 2 p.m. and felt right there that we wish we had stopped for the day and come on down here tomorrow. I thought about talking to the ranger about changing our plans and staying there for the night, but didn't, we came on down."
"OK,
I have to ask you very specifically about your water intake. Did you drink water as you went?"
"Well, yes, not continuously like some of the people do, but we would stop every 15-20 minutes and have some water, a mouthful or two."
"And
how much do you think you drank during the day."
"Well, let's see, we have three one gallon canteens and when we got
down
here one was empty and another nearly empty, so that's nearly eight
gallons
between the two of us, and I drank more than she did, so it would be
five or
six gallons for me and the rest for her."
"Dad, what are an empty can, a cigarette butt, and an orange peel examples of?"
"Litter."
"Yes, but it needs to have six letters and end in an 'S'."
"Well, I don't know, not 'trash,' then, I guess."
"Five or six gallons?"
"Yes, that's about right, four per canteen, two canteens."
He
wrote this down. "Are you on any
medication."
"Yes, Prilosec, for stomach acid, although I haven't taken it for a
couple
of days because I can't find it in my pack.
Maybe that's part of the pain, I don't know."
"And urination, was it normal."
"Nearly, I usually go four or five times a day, yesterday was two or three."
"And the color, clear, dark?"
"Not clear and not dark, just a little darker than usual."
We discussed this in some more detail then proceeded.
"Do you feel light headed?"
"Yes, but I feel that way quite often. I've already complained to my doctor about that. I usually feel light headed once or twice a day but on this hike it has seemed less than that. I don't think I'm going to faint."
"So it's no worse than usual."
"No, better than usual."
He brought me the paper he'd been writing on and asked me to put the "usual stuff" on the back: name, address, date-of-birth, age and weight, that sort of 'usual stuff.' Noting I was from the L. A. area, he mentioned he was originally from Inglewood, but had been working here for eight years. All this finished; he got up and took it into a back room for consultation with the boss. He closed the door. Viannah and I looked at each other.
After a minute, the chief ranger came out, stood close in front of my chair, and asked, "you drank six or seven gallons of water yesterday?"
"Yes, that sounds about right. Three-gallon canteens and one of them still full when we got here. Yes, five or six."
"Gallons?"
"Oh, no, no, five or six quarts!"
"Oh, that's much better. If you were drinking five or six gallons of water, we'd be worried about hypoxia, you shouldn't need near that much."
"No, it was five or six quarts and the rest of the two gallons for Viannah."
"OK, well, that sounds much better." And with that, he went back to the back room and shut the door.
"Gallons, quarts, good grief, did I say gallons?"
"I don't know, dad."
After a minute, the two came out and went to the medical cabinets. They got out a fancy, high tech blood pressure/heart monitor device and a machine to test blood samples for sodium level. They started fooling with the second with some trepidation. I didn't really notice. The chief came over and said, in a low voice, "I'm EMT certified, but I've never used this particular equipment before. I've done things like it, but not this particular one." I nodded, "I'll help you figure it out." He replied, "Just wanted you to know what was going on."
"Here, why don't you lie down on the stretcher?”
Viannah looked a little anxious but after a minute went back to the crossword.
"We'll take your blood pressure lying down, sitting, then standing." They proceeded to do this, left arm in the cuff, right index finger in the non-invasive pulse sensor. I remarked that the machine with its cool blue oscilloscope display of heart rhythm and pattern was sophisticated enough to do heart surgery. Nobody was in a laughing mood.
"What is your normal blood pressure?" "Oh, 110 over 70 or 80." The measurement here was a little higher, systolic, but didn't change much between postures. That was good. My pulse was higher than usual, but the highest peak was 104 beats per minute, not racing by any stretch. This was good too.
"Well, this is good. Sometimes people lose so much fluid that some comes out of their blood then they lose pressure when they stand up, but you're fine right now."
"Well, I sometimes have that, I've complained to my doctor about it, but I feel better...."
"Now we're going to take a blood sample with a finger stick. Lie back down."
We picked a finger, the left middle, since I was right handed but had a ring on the left ring finger. The chief took the sticker and did the middle of the pad. I could see nothing since my arm was hanging off the side of the stretcher. "Well, it's not coming out too fast, how much do we need? Up to this line? Looks like it has stopped."
"Squeeze it," I said.
He tried, too gently I thought. I used the other fingers to squeeze at it. This seemed to help some. "We're getting a little bit more.... Not enough yet." The ranger from Inglewood came over and started stroking down my arm as if to empty a sack. This didn't help much either. "This may not be enough, but it's up to the first line, let's try it."
It wasn't enough; the machine said so.
"We'll have to do it again, how about the index finger."
"Fine," I said, "I have several more, try pressing a little harder this time."
He did.
Stick!
"Whoa, bring that pan over here!" Drip, drip, drip. "We've got plenty this time!" Drip, drip. "OK, leave your arm right here." He walked away with the sample. Drip, drip, drip, drip.
This was not the way the Red Cross did it when you donated blood. I tried lifting my hand a little, but it was too awkward from this position and I couldn't do this and still keep it over the pan. Drip, drip. It was slowing down a bit. They brought a plastic pad to clean off with. This didn't work well. "Can I use this sink?"
They seemed hesitant. "Is this drain OK for this sort of thing?" the chief asked.
"Yeah."
I went ahead, washed off, and sat back down in the chair.
Bzzzz. "Reject. Crap!"
"Does it say why?" the other asked.
"No, I wish it did. Oh, you know, sometimes it rejects them when they're too cold. We just got these tubes out of the refrigerator."
"OK, we'll have to do it again."
I lay back down on the stretcher.
"I guess we'll have to use the ring finger after all," the chief said.
"You can use my thumb, I have eight other fingers left too." Still, no one seemed to be in a joking mood. "The ring isn't very constrictive."
"Just take it off and put it on another finger. It will come off won't it?"
"Yes." It did so. "Try about half way between this time."
Thck! Drip, drip. "That's it, OK looks like we got it, stay right here." I lay with my left arm down back again. He brought me a cotton swab this time; I cleaned up without asking for water. Just a little sticky glue-blood on three fingers now. I could use a drink too, but that was even more to ask. Maybe we'd be out of here shortly, I was feeling nearly like walking by now.
"OK, that's got it, 140, good. I'll call it in."
The ranger from Inglewood went in the back room to call in the results. The chief and his son prepared to continue with their day off. "You'll clean this all up around here?" He said to his assistant, referring to the widespread biohazard I'd just created.
"Thanks for your help, sorry I held you up." I called.
They were out the door; the boy, glaring slightly, was glad to get back underway. "Days off indeed," his face said, but he wouldn't let his dad see it.
Both doors shut, we were alone. My case was being referred "up top." I could hear both sides of the conversation from the radio on the reception desk.
"I have it."
"Go ahead," an annoyed woman's voice answered.
"140."
"140, does he need a MediVac?"
"He doesn't look like it."
"10-4."
The door opened and he came back out. "Your sodium level is on the low side of normal. You're OK, but you need to eat something. When are you going out?"
"Tomorrow."
The lecture then began.
"OK, you will have a big lunch today, then rest, then have a big dinner. Are you eating at the ranch?"
"We ate there yesterday, we have food packed for today."
"Well, eat a big dinner tonight, then tomorrow morning you will get up at four and eat a big breakfast. Hike out of here no later than five." (How could it be possible to eat a big breakfast, break camp, and hike away all in one hour, at four in the morning?) "You're going up the Bright Angel Trail, nothing fancy for you."
"Yes, that was the plan."
He went on without seeming to notice, "At ten o'clock, you stop right where you are, in the nearest shade and stay there until four p.m. No hiking during the hot part of the day. Getting rid of heat is a process; most people don't know this. It's hard work to get rid of heat. Rest and do that. Eat a big lunch. At three eat half of a big lunch. Then at four, not one second earlier, get up, have some water, soak your shirt, you see, it's a quart per mile and a half but you can only process in so much water, the rest gets pissed off but what you pour on your clothes counts too."
"Oh, I see, you try to drink too much so that some spills off and you know you're absorbing all you can."
Without answering, he went on. "Get your shirt wet, a quart there or in your hat has the same cooling effect as if you sweated it. Take it easy and you will be able to get out. If you get to Indian Gardens at ten, your schedule is messed up; you will be required to stay there. You will be able to make it out, you'll be fine."
The lecture was over except that I asked, only rhetorically of course, "Do you ever send people out on mules?"
"No, very rarely, we don't like to do that. The deal is if you are feeling well enough to ride a mule, you're feeling well enough to walk."
Dreams of a mule ride had been evaporating, now they were gone. Viannah, not quite so in tune with these subtleties was caught short and disappointed, but carried on the crossword puzzle with courage.
"See, the Park Service doesn't even run the mules and the company that does is very picky. They're worried about liability and stuff like that. They won't let anybody with any kind of condition on one of those things.
"Nope, if we have to take somebody out, we call the MediVac. We do forty assists a day and an average of one MediVac, that's 400 a year. We just have one helicopter to serve an area bigger than the state of Delaware."
I attempted to make interested sounds and gestures.
"Not just the park, over 2000 square miles, but several communities out here. Sometimes they have to go into Flagstaff, that's where the nearest big hospital is. Sometimes it's pretty bad."
'Indeed, I'm sure it is sometimes,' I thought.
"Nope, we either MediVac them or help them get out on their own. They have to take it easy. You know, he (referring to the chief ranger here) is an EMT, he works up top the rest of the year." This was the second time I had heard the term 'up top,' kind of like the shorthand phrase 'lower 48' that Alaskans use to refer to the rest of the continental United States.
He was basically finished. Soon it was clear that it was against policy for them to end the consultation, it was up to me to get up and walk out on my own.
"Dad, can you find 'MICE' on this word search."
I looked; distracted for a bit, talked some more, tried again, and said, "No, turn it in the way it is." The smiling ranger came back out. She handed the form to him, he looked it over briefly then, with a bit of ceremony, presented her with a Junior Ranger badge and a Phantom Ranch badge, suitable for her Girl Scout sash, awards that could only be obtained by traveling to the ranch by foot or hoof and spending the night at the bottom, he said. Viannah was impressed. She was a collector of achievements like this, within reason.
I stood up.
"Get out early, stay cool, eat."
"Thanks, I'll try."
I put a $10 bill in the "donation for emergency supplies" box on the front of the desk and put on my hat. "Let's go, I'm feeling better."
We walked away from the ranger station back towards the campsite. I wished again that I had remembered to bring the canteen; a sip of water right now would certainly be good, all things considered.
"So we're not going to try to get a mule, dad."
I thought about trying it anyway, on the birthday angle. Perceiving that this could only lead to more trouble, achieve for me 'legend' status with the concession employees in addition to the Ranger staff and untold expense that wasn't really justified, I decided.
"No."
A
Sack Lunch
Back at campsite 22, it was time to eat that first big lunch. The only place in the shade by now was under the eaves of the adjacent rest room building, a built-in bench by the sink where campers could wash dishes. There was a baby scorpion in the basin. Viannah sat on the bench with her sack lunch.
I brought the other one, there didn't appear to be any new squirrel damage.
Worried about the food inside getting too hot, I moved the packs to a bit of shrubbery-provided shade at the edge of the plot then filched around for the baggy with the knife. Bringing this and a canteen back, we sat down to see what the Phantom Ranch kitchen sends out for lunches. Each had an apple. We added these to our already large supply and got out two of the last three bananas, selecting, as always, the worst looking ones. I cut the squirrel damage off of my Bavarian sausage. Viannah ate hers. She ate a box of raisins, two more were left, we put them away for later. We drank cans of juice and had some crackers. 'Eat a big lunch,' had been my instruction. Well, I was eating at all.
Hikers came by to wash things or fill canteens. We warned them about the scorpion, most of them had already noticed. We made a mental note to check and shake our shoes and socks before we put them on again. This was another warning from the rules that we had forgotten until now.
Taking in lunch was about all I could stand; I moved the pad to yet another semi-shady spot and tried to rest some more. Not much luck.
"After our spot is in the shade again, we'll move the tent to where we can get the stakes in and my back won't be on a rock again."
"OK."
"Let's go back up to the ranch and see if we can get some postcards now."
"OK."
Cantina
Forgetting the canteens and the camera again, we hiked back over the creek and up to the cantina. During the day when breakfast or dinner seatings weren't in progress the cantina acted as a general store, snack bar and gathering place, an evaporatively cooled one at that. Half a dozen people were sitting inside, drinking or reading. An attendant divided his time between preparations in the kitchen and the cash register when somebody wanted to buy something.
We looked around.
There were three trashcans, labeled: 'Trash,' 'Cans' and 'Cups.' Across the front of the counter was a candy display. Various drinks were available including a wine cabinet behind the cashier, out of the way. A sign on the door said, 'No Carry Out Beer, $25 Fine.' 'You can't do anything around here,' I thought.
Next to the wine cabinet was a lemonade dispenser. 'Sorry, No Free Refills on Lemonade.' 'Everything is precious down here too,' I thought. I decided to buy a couple nonetheless. Viannah had found the brochures, trail guides, and postal supplies. 'Stamp Available from the Cashier.' Over the postal cabinet was hanging a saddlebag. 'Put All Mail in the Mule Bag.' The oversized picture postcards were pre-stamped with a special postal mark MAILED BY MULE AT The Bottom Of The Grand Canyon PHANTOM RANCH. The stamp was also available in case you wanted to stamp something else with it. We flipped through the cards and found some we liked. I wanted to mail one to Scott Owens from whom I'd borrowed the backpack, but didn't remember enough of his mailing address. I picked out three, one a picture of the ranch for my parents, one an aerial picture of a very arid and hot looking Phantom Canyon for the Aanstoos family, and the last a cool and wet close up of Ribbon Falls, that we'd seen from a distance but not anything like this close, to mail to the rest of the family at our own home. Would the cards beat us home? Would they pass us in a mule train tomorrow?
We paid for the postcards, stamps, and two lemonades and sat down to start writing them. Viannah had two, one for Randy and one for Allison, two across-the-street neighbors in her grade in school.
About half way through the writing, a group of Generation-Xers started to trickle in. They were direct off the trail and in for the cool. They bought candy and drinks and sat at our table, joking about the day's hike, kidding each other about whether they were sweating or not. I overheard only what I couldn't avoid. Viannah listened, rapt. She determined that they had hiked down from the South Rim, up through The Box to Ribbon Falls and back through The Box to here, all this morning. This seemed Herculean to me, it was a little after 2 p.m.
"The campground is fine, the only advantage to a cabin would be if they had hot showers which they don't," one said.
"Maybe <so and so> will have your tent set up when you get there, I don't think he stopped in here," said another.
"No, I'm carrying the tent," said a third.
One of the young women was, in fact, barely sweating. How did she do this? Copious application of baby powder or something? It was over 100 out there and she had just walked thirteen or fourteen miles in it!
I wrote words on the postcards, trying to print legibly, my lemonade half gone.
"June 17, 1997 Tuesday
Dear Katherine, Viann, John,
We went by this and took
a picture but didn't have
time/energy for the side
trail to get closer. So here's
a picture.
Just got in from the ranger.
He said I have to hike out
but take it easy during the
hot part of the day. So,
see you tomorrow late.
Phantom Ranch
(signed) Courtney & Viannah"
I wrote other appropriate things on the other cards, taking my time, listening to the chatting, bantering. People came and went. I was ready to get out of here but not ready to leave the cool. Ready to lie back down but not wanting to rush the lemonade. This was the midst of the hot part of the day, it was dragging out slowly. I needed more rest but was restless. Viannah was still writing.
At length there was nothing left to do. We got up, dropped our cards in the mule pack, dropped our cups in the nearly overflowing cup receptacle, and walked out. It was still hard to walk down stairs; I hobbled a bit, Viannah danced along as always.
More
Rest - More Heat
We were back at the site. I moved the packs to another new bit of shade, in the grass on another edge and looked for another mat-sized place for the mat. They were scarce. Inside the tent was insufferable, outside was hot. Viannah wanted to go back to the creek to wade. "Go ahead." I checked the position of the sun. We were in a deep canyon, probably half of the day's arc of travel was obscured by the walls, still, what was left was going to last seven or eight hours per day and there were more than three left today. I tried to rest.
It was no good; I decided to put on my dirty clothes and go sit in the creek for a while. It was 103 in the shade, 120 in the sun. The creek had seemed cold this morning. I took my stuff in the bathroom to change, hopping and cringing over hot sand then sharp rocks once again.
Bright
Angel Creek
Viannah was in the creek, wading up to her knees. She wouldn't get her clothes wet, "my period," she said. The path using the big rubber suction hose was well understood and well worn by now. A large man in bathing trunks was sitting in the middle of our cataract on a large rock. I waded into the muddy edge; it was frigid. The little fish started pinging my feet. I went on in to my ankles on stacked bowling ball rocks, sloshed on down to my calves, then knees, every inch frigid again. Up to the crotch, brrrr! I squatted down to get the dirty pants wet, then moving around in the deeper middle behind the little rock dam, quarter inch at a time over the dirty shirt and up to the neck. I paddled around on my knees; the current was swift. The man and the rock were in the sun upstream five yards. Viannah continued wading in the shadows, squealing every time a fish snout hit her foot.
After a while, nothing had changed, the stream was cool and rushing, the air hot. Another, thinner man came up in a bathing suite and plowed right in, ranging around like he was fishing with nets. "Ahhh, this is warm, just like bath water," he bellowed. He and the man on the rock were rafters off the Colorado, which was apparently somewhat chillier. No wonder there had not been any meal reservations at the ranch tonight or in the morning.
A couple more rafters came and tried our spot, splashed around and talked about fish, some of them endangered species, "Don't Touch!" one said.
The day was still dragging along slowly. We'd brought nothing to do on purpose (besides, anything to do would have made a heavier pack). This was a day of rest and reflection. Any ideas of local side hikes or exploration were long ago dismissed.
It was worth staying in the water, about the only way to be cool. The shade was on the rock now, all the rafters had gotten out or moved on. I sat on the rock. "Viannah, go get the camera and take my picture."
"Where will I put it?"
"We'll hang it on something, go on."
She went up the bank, ouching and cringing less than before. Experience? Acclimation?
We got interested in rocks off the bottom. There were hardly any good skippers. I tried one and got a couple of hops. Another guy sitting in the water three cataracts up was watching and gave a high sign. It was fun to skip them over the dam and into the next pool. Viannah said that one of mine skipped on the other side too.
Some rocks were red as brick. There are actual bricks in the Pacific surf nearly like that. On closer inspection, these had veins of quartz in them, not mortar. I was pulling up big ones from the bottom, Viannah smaller ones in the shallows. Why this sudden obsession with rocks? Were they the only things in reach?
"Look at that," I said in my Goofy voice, "the perfect skip!"
Viannah giggled.
It was still hot, but after an hour or two of this I was starting to shiver. Maybe just from cold. Time to get out.
I decide to walk to the south end of the campground and see if there was a way out. The map had indicated the south end as the only way in and out. The bathrooms where our site was were near the center. I passed many campsites with many people trying to stay out of the heat, or at least the direct sunlight. Near what must have been the end there were several group campsites (seven or more campers minimum). They were all empty. Then the trail led right through a big, tall chain-link fence. You could nearly see and could certainly hear the river from here. The trail, surrounded by chain-link with big "No Trespassing" signs went under an overhang, past a cabin, and to the right down to meet the main trail along the river. I studied the fence for ways in, but it was clear that they didn't want this piece of trail used during this era so I didn't look seriously.
I returned to the campsite. So there had been a 'side hike' today after all.
A
Big Reflection
Having brought along the hiking GPS receiver, I hadn't had the slightest desire to try to use it. I could have used it to document the route or estimate distances but there was no possible need for me to document this well-traveled route and estimated distances would be "crows flight" versions, cruelly optimistic compared to the winding trail, as we had already seen. Besides, it wouldn't work well some places here and I was not here to work on GPS, I was here to get away from work, that is, GPS. I cleaned up around the site, got the receiver out and set it on the table so as to collect a position for at least this location. I would put it in my spreadsheet database back home and see if it matched any Grand Canyon maps.
Once again, the packs were moved to another edge spot, still trying to keep them in shade. Some of the trees surrounding the site were making shade into it now. I pulled my mat to one place on the east side and lay down with a canteen pillow. I didn't feel great but I was beginning to feel like I might be able to make it out tomorrow if I didn't relapse too early. Too bad we had gotten up so early this morning. I took some pictures of the rock walls around us that could be fitted into a panorama then just laid for a while looking at the sky.
The list of things we could do had been emptied for the day and there were still at least two hours of direct sunlight left before we could move the tent, have dinner, and start thinking about getting some rest. The big task ahead was to hike out. Too hot to nap, any other day I'd have hardly been able to avoid dozing. My mind raced on the details of getting out, what we would try to do. We would go until the first shade after ten then wait until at least two before going on. The heat was a bad thing, we did need to avoid that, but what if it took from five to ten to get to Indian Gardens and then we didn't leave until four? It might take until nine in the evening or later to get to the top. The steepest part and we'd be tired too. I was worried again, my stomach was churning; I tried not to think about tomorrow.
I tried to think about today. Here we were at the bottom, near the end of the bottom, about 2/3 of the way through. And here was Viannah, already becoming a young woman, already 12 years old, 2/3 of the way to 18. What was ahead on both counts was an ordeal and, at the end, something big, something huge would be over, past forever. Tears came, my throat choked, my stomach felt fine.
I'd wanted to cry several times a week for many months. Under pressure for something or concern for something else, I'd get to the point of tears but have to press ahead, always too busy to pay attention. There was never a tranquil moment for letting down. Now there was.
Heck! Only six more years! Six years was hardly enough to buy a car anymore. I was already planning cars, jobs, projects and home repairs for more than six years into the future. I needed to be thinking about something for Viannah to drive to college. What a burden, cars.
I know; life itself is finite. Who knows from day to day how much is left? Who would want to? Tomorrow could be the end. Barring a bicycling accident with a car on the daily commute, this was as close to being worried about dying soon as I had been in a long time. But, I was not thinking about tomorrow. All we had to do today was eat and rest and sip a little water.
Still, the thought of Viannah, my little baby…. I remember getting up in the middle of the night to go to the hospital. Up at one, at the hospital at 3:30, she was born at 5:28 a.m. We were beat. We took her home; we took care of her. She had colic and would scream unless we sat outside. The neighbors thought we were abusing here. We'd go sit on a ground-installed power transformer at our apartment complex near the Astrodome and watch the cars go by. She would sit in my lap and watch every motion. After a while I would get bored and we'd go in. As we passed through the threshold of the front door, she would start screaming again. Sometimes for hours. I could fix it just that easy, just by taking her outside and sitting with her watching the cars go by. And now she was twelve. I couldn't fix anything easily anymore and the problems were only getting more complicated.
It had been twelve years ago, where had it all gone? Twelve years! Only half that much more and she'd be gone. Gone out to have her own life. Sure, I'd be paying for things for more years after that and she'd be home, maybe at Christmas, maybe for half the summer, but she was getting big. She could take care of herself. She was brave and determined. We were 2/3 through the part of life we would share and it was slipping away like the sun creeping towards the rock towers to the west. And, on top of that, I was, as usual, impatient to move ahead, get on with it, barely able to enjoy the moment for all the planning going on in my head.
There was nothing I could do to slow or stop it. Time went on relentlessly no matter what you did. You're born; you get older, you finally learn enough to take on life on your own. You do it, get beat up in the process, try to build a haven, start some more children. Inexorably your days slip by. You face one thing after another. Some are interesting, some are boring, some are rapturous, some are horrific. You get older, things get harder; parts of your body start acting up, then more parts. The kids grow into their own people and eventually break away. Your heart breaks. Where does the time go? We face tomorrow, the ordeal; we shy away from it, try not to think about it, try not to think about the end when the big project: the Hike Across the Grand Canyon or the Raising of a Daughter would be over. For better or for worse it would be over. I couldn't make the time stop, I couldn't do anything but forge ahead, plodding, suffering, trying to rejoice. Life is a march into increasing pain and then it's over.
I felt the pain. I shivered and sobbed and shook. I felt alone. It was time to go see if Viannah was OK in the creek.
From the top of the path I could see her sitting there on a rock near the edge building little piles of rocks all around her, maybe six in a pile, maybe nine little piles. Pagodas, each rock a little smaller than the ones below it. They had no flat sides; this was a feat of sheer patience. She didn't notice. I found a place to sit down ten yards away. She was still looking for the next perfect rock for each pile. Just a little girl. Each stack of rocks a precious creation.
I wanted her to notice, I wanted to talk to her, I wanted to tell her all these things. She worked on the rocks. I got up and moved closer, she looked over, I turned away. I got up and walked as if to go back up, but it was lonely up there. I came back and sat down, determined to hang on.
I picked up a stone and tried to skip it across the cataract. It hit one of the pagodas, knocking a rock off the top. I ran down and fished in the water for the stone, couldn't find it. My daughter's precious creation was broken! I tried another stone; it wouldn't balance well. I put it on carefully anyway and backed off slowly, sitting back down.
She moved around some more. I sat there with tears in my eyes, watching.
After a while she noticed. She got out and came over. "Dad, are you crying?"
"Yes."
"What's the matter?" She looked genuinely puzzled.
"Nothing," the man's stock answer.
She sat down and patted my back. "It's OK dad. It's OK. It'll be all right."
"Oh, it's not OK,” I said. I started into a summary of what I was thinking between chokes and sobs.
"It's
just that I was thinking that we were 2/3 of the way through this hike
and that
you're 12 years old and that's 2/3 of the way through the time that
we'll spend
together. There's nothing I can do to
stop it. The road ahead is pretty
tough."
I choked. I tried to breathe.
"I wish I just had a family business and you would stay and help me run it and we could always be together. But that's not me and that's not you, you'll just have to go off and live your own life. Maybe we'll see you some times at holidays. Well, there's six years left, but six years is hardly long enough to buy a car anymore! Life is so short. We only have the moment."
It was quiet, the stream rushed by as it always had.
"I feel better," I continued after some time.
Viannah smiled, said nothing.
I replayed more of my thoughts. She listened with interest but without participation. In half an hour the sobbing had stopped, perhaps I could carry on.
The sun was moving behind the rocks, the campsite would be in the shade. "Come on, let's go move the tent and have that 'big' supper."
"OK, dad."
The
Ranger Visits Us
The campsite was indeed in the shade and bare feet could now tolerate the sand, but everything there was still hot. We pulled everything out of the tent. Everything was hot. I went around and pulled out stakes, the straight ones and the bent ones. This wouldn't be a full setup; we just had to re-drive the stakes in new places. Viannah contributed, "It will be easier this time, I'll help some," she offered. I put in three corners with no trouble. The fourth wouldn't go in anywhere reasonably close or at any reasonable angle.
Viannah found another stake in the grass, lost by somebody else. "Dad, look."
"Yeah, I said, there are enough tent stakes in the world to put up all the tents in the world. Most times when you set up or take down you lose a couple and find a couple. All the tent stakes are just community properties that float around. Every camp site has a few in it waiting for the next set up."
"Right, dad," she did not fully believe this.
I gave up, leaving the fourth stake half way out of the ground, bent a little, again. It looked like it would be easy to trip on, again. We went around and retied the guys and pulls.
We sat down to rest, at that stage of an intense conversation when the big part is over and everybody is at ease, maybe laughing a little.
"What
would I do for a family business?"
I started wondering, rhetorically.
In mid sentence, the ranger from Inglewood came in, checking sites.
"You were here last night so you got the run down?"
"We got nothing, you're the first ranger we've seen here." This was true, twice.
"OK, all food has to be kept in food boxes to keep it away from the animals. Unfortunately, animals have learned that plastic sacks contain food, so everything in plastic sacks has to be out of sites whether it contains food or not."
Pause.
"Even plastic sacks that don't have food in them. Got that?"
We
nodded, he went on without waiting.
"Twenty two deer have had to be destroyed this season because they eat
the
plastic bags with the food in them and their intestines get clogged."
I made a face of pity, he didn't notice.
"Keep everything within the campsite," he was looking at our packs half in, half out on re-vegetating grass. "Packs go on hangers."
"We had them up there last night," I started, "there were squirrels...."
"Tomorrow morning there's a geology talk at 7:30 up at the ranch. At 8:00 there's a...." He looked up and recognized me for the first time. "...You’ll be out of here by five a.m. No hiking between ten and two during the heat of the day. If you don't get to Indian Gardens by ten your hiking schedule is messed up. Have a big dinner. Drink plenty of fluids. Take care of yourself."
He was done. He was gone.
We looked at each other. "Let's get all the food out, have our 'big' dinner and put the rest in one of these boxes," I offered.
The
Big Supper
Food kept coming out of the packs, too much food. Pop tarts that were granulized, cookies that were crushed. Two more black bananas. Ten apples. An unopened box of two tubes of saltine crackers. Four sacks of sugary trail delights. Two tuna fish-cracker kits.
"Those are what we were saving for this big dinner," I instructed.
We opened them and started figuring out what to do with them. Two blocks of cheese in a baggy were melted together. It looked awful. "This is trash," I said and transferred it without modification to the trash bag. No loss of pack weight. Rats.
We opened two fruit cups; they were hot. I cored and quartered a couple of apples. They were warm too. All we had to drink was slightly cool canteen water.
This was about all I could take. Big supper indeed. If I always ate this way 'up top' I'd weigh about 160 instead of over 200! What was the difference? I was on business here. I was on a big hike. Big hikes are no time for eating! No time for resting!
This was in part from my upbringing. When dad and I went on hikes they were day hikes, usually half a day or less at that. We never carried food, we rarely drank water, we rarely sat and rested. Once under way, we stayed in motion until the end. This was something I needed to unlearn for much larger undertakings such as this.
As darkness fell, we engaged in a little planning session with the map. It was ten miles out and five thousand feet up. By the rule of thumb that you figure your regular hiking speed plus an hour extra for every thousand feet vertical, we could be on the trail as little as eight hours. Starting before five in the morning, we could be at the trailhead shortly after noon! Of course, we were not going to work that hard. Three or five in the afternoon was more realistic.
"But dad, the ranger said not to move until after four o'clock."
"Well, but one time he said two, I think he was confused. We'll see how it goes; I don't want to be climbing out after dark. If it's cool and we feel good, we could be out for a late lunch, like the mule riders."
"Yeah!"
We put the maps away and packed the rest of the food and the trash sacks into the food box and struggled with the lid. The animals, after all, wouldn't know the difference between food that we would eat and food that we had decided was trash. The most remarkable piece of trash that was food was the two blocks of cheese, probably ten dollars worth. I was not sure what our intentions had been for this, maybe to slice for the unopened crackers, but it hadn't appeared anytime we were eating until now and now the blocks, one white and one yellow, were melted together. There was greasy liquid circulating in the baggy. The seal was holding at least. The stuff might be partly edible, but it looked awful. I would probably not have found this mess attractive even if I were feeling great and starving! I was embarrassed about this. How would I explain it to Viann? Now we pulled the food box out of the path and turned to our clothes. Some things were dirty; the worst went right to the bottom. Some things were needed tomorrow. We left our boots on the table, but I stuffed socks into both pair, hoping that would be a signal to remember to check them and shake them out in the morning. And I was hoping that the socks would impede any creatures that wanted to crawl in during the night.
I hung my pack on the hanger then had to get it down again to hunt for tooth care stuff. Put it back and went to brush my teeth.
An
Attempt to Rest
It was 7:30, not quite 'real' sunset. Everything was still hot. It was about 100 in the tent. I was exhausted, having slept about four good hours in the last 48 and having walked at least fifteen miles.
I said, "Viannah, I'm going to lay down, four o'clock comes early."
"OK, dad, I'll be in in a minute." She was going to continue working on her journal.
I changed into my long pants and warm T-shirt, optimistic that they might make a difference later. I inched into the tent and lay flat on my back. No rock in the back now, maybe it would go better tonight. I set the backpacking alarm for 4:00 a.m., double checking the a.m. part, and made sure it was switched on, carefully switched back to 'run,' and laid back.
I lay perfectly still for an hour. It was getting darker. Viannah was still writing at the table. I rarely slept well until everyone was in place. I wished we were already on the trail. I could do something then. 'Let's see, what will I do first when I get up? I will not think about tomorrow,' I stopped myself, 'my job right now is to rest.'
Night
Terrors
Now it was 8:30, Viannah went off to the bathroom, then came back and got in the tent. We said goodnight. Before I turned over even once she was asleep, facing the tent wall. I turned on one side. Sleep was nowhere near. It was hot. I could only stay on one side for seven to ten minutes. I turned over, mind racing with plans for tomorrow, but there was really nothing to plan. We had to get up, eat, break camp, load up, and hike away, all by five. Let's see, I'll put on my shoes first.
'I will not think about tomorrow. I have to get to sleep.' I lay perfectly still. It was hot in the tent. I stuck an arm out; it was a little cooler outside.
'I'm not going to do anything about this. I'm going to lay still and go to sleep.'
'Wonder what time it is?' No, I was not going to disrupt things by grabbing for the clock or anything else. I lay perfectly still. After ten minutes, turned on my right side toward the tent wall. My right hip was sore; I fumbled with stuff in my pockets to see if it would help. No. I tried different knee arrangements. A little relief. I lay still for a while.
The centuries crawled by. I nearly drifted off. You nearly went to sleep! I snapped awake. Crap. Thoughts of mule trains and permitting procedures capered in my mind. A train from the south and train from the north met. They had different rules; I was stuck in the middle. You were nearly asleep! Snapped awake again. Damn. What's the matter here?
The mule vision repeated a dozen times. The eons dragged on. It was hot. I could only stay on back or side for a few minutes before having to turn. This was always a messy affair, trying to stay on the pad without bumping anything or anybody. All times in between I was perfectly still, wide awake. Finally, I'd had enough mule trains.
I shouted inside my head, 'I am a hiker! I don't care what the mules do! All I have to worry about is the hiking rules!'
This helped; I didn't have any trouble with mules from then on. Viannah turned over and mumbled something in her sleep.
I lay perfectly still. My eyes were perfectly shut. The stream was rushing by, a little louder than the freeway from home. The cicadas were howling overhead, like the sprinklers at home but a hundred times as loud. I was wide awake. It was hot. It was a bit after 10:30. 'I need to get some rest. If I get to sleep now, I can still be rested for tomorrow. Let's see, I'm going to get the food out first. We'll probably need a flashlight at four. Enough! I'm not thinking about tomorrow! I need to sleep!'
Five or six turns later, my gut started hurting. I started feeling like I might have soft stools again. I'm not going to give in to this. I'm going to relax and go to sleep. I lay perfectly still. It was hot. Wham! 'You were nearly asleep! I was wide awake, laying perfectly still, eyes perfectly shut in the heat. Why can't I get to sleep? There's no boat moving here. I got more sleep on Sproul every night than on this whole trip!'
'I have to remember to check my boots. What did that ranger think I was going to have for a "big" breakfast? Scrambled eggs over a camp stove? And still load up and hike out in under an hour? Maybe I should change the alarm to 3:30. No, I need the rest. I'm not going to think about tomorrow. I need to sleep!'
'Why can't I sleep? There must be something boring to think about. No. There are deserts; I've seen plenty of that. There's geology, I've seen plenty of that. I can't get to sleep. What am I going to do if I can't get to sleep all night? I'll remain exhausted.'
I would lie perfectly still. The body would be rested even if the mind wasn't. It was the body that had to hike out of here. 'Maybe I'll have enough presence of mind left not to make bad judgments.' I was worried. 'What if I push too hard and collapse? What if I can't make it out? No, I've felt better most of the day. I'm going to be fine. It will be miserable, we may get to the top after dark, but I'm going to make it, I'm sure I'm going to make it, there's nothing to worry about. I have to pack out all this food I can't eat, but I know I can do it. I've done more than the minimum training hikes. I'm no athlete but it's only ten miles forward and one mile up. I've got it made. Don't worry. Don't think about tomorrow, your only job right now is to sleep, get some rest.'
Tunes from church ran through my mind over and over. Tunes did this when I got anxious. Too bad I was weak on the words to those church tunes; I usually played keyboards in church and only occasionally had mental capacity for the words. Sometimes I thought I would make an intensive study of the words and even started into a few studies. This would help the head, but hymns were meant for the heart, singing them over and over is the method. "I'm with you all night long," or something like that, one of them went. I tried to fit words like those to the tunes. No luck.
Go To Sleep!
I was nearly asleep and snapped awake again. It was after midnight. Three hours and some minutes to go. I wished I could either get to sleep or four a.m. would hurry up and get here!
"Lord God, let me sleep! Lord Jesus, let me sleep! If you'll let me sleep and get me out of here tomorrow, I'll speak up during the spoken prayer time in church Sunday. I will! I will speak up! Anything to get to sleep!"
Nothing. Heat. God was not haggling with me tonight. 'I'm not going to check the clock again.' It was late; I was in a panic. I couldn't get to sleep.
Viannah turned over and said in a pedantic voice, "Well, look, you can always walk around." She is sleeping, dreaming. At least she is sleeping.
"Jesus let me sleep!" I prayed silently, holding perfectly still, eyes shut.
But there was no sleep. Maybe I was having this experience so I could identify first hand with something that I would later read in the Bible about one of the prophets in the desert. Wonder if Elijah ever had trouble sleeping in the hot night? John the Baptist? Jesus himself? Did he sleep during the forty days of fasting? Perhaps not. Sometimes answers to prayers are delayed. Sometimes they are negative. Everything could be explained away if you worked at it. There was not much time. If I went to sleep now, it would be only for about three hours. 'I'm getting up at four no matter what.'
I tried relaxation. Starting with the head and working down to the feet, tensed every muscle in turn, held, and relaxed. 'Relax that gut. I'm not getting up to sit on a pot in the middle of the night.' The hand dryer came on in the nearby men's room. Somebody went out the squeaky door and down the path. Any sleep would be better than nothing. I would hold perfectly still, the body would be rested; I would be able to make it. I had it made, but I'd feel a lot better both now and tomorrow if I could get some sleep!
'Please let me sleep, please!'
The cicadas went quiet. The last two or three had given up. I groped for my clean hiking socks. I was going to put them on in optimistic acknowledgment that it seemed just a little cooler and I didn't want my sleep to be hampered by cold feet. The socks were on. Yes, that was better. I tried counting sheep. No luck. No sleep.
Now it was between one and two. I'd turned dozens of times. I was out of things to think about. I was not going to think about anything anymore including what to think about. How did one not think about anything? I needed to be bored. I needed to be calm. I needed to sleep. I wanted to be hiking out. That was the thing that I was charged up to do. I knew I could do it. 'Let me at it! I've got the plan, I've got the boots, I've got the legs. I'm ready to go. My job right now is to sleep. I have to rest. At dawn there will be time to hike out. If it takes well into tomorrow night that's fine. I've got it made. I'm going to make it. It will be a struggle, but we'll be OK. Viannah will do fine. She springs right back every time. I will be fine even if I have to recover for 96 hours, even if Viann has to drive us all the way home Friday. I've got it made. I wish I could get to sleep!'
'Lord! Why can't I sleep.' I was not crying. I was beyond tears. It was all anxiety.
Viannah might be cool; she was curling up. I sat up and got out the sheet. I put the sheet over us. Three turns later it was all on me. She was still curled up. I flagellated to get it back on both of us. She woke up a little and helped, then went right back to sleep. I wished I could do that.
Well, it was too long now. Most of the night was gone. The alarm would go off in just a minute. I checked the clock, nearly three. I drifted off and started to dream about mules going off into a dusty sunset, mules that I didn't have to worry about. 'I'm a hiker, I don't have to worry about mule rules.' I woke and turned on my back. It was hot; it was dark gray. It was gray. 'I'm not thinking about hiking. I'm not thinking about tomorrow ... today.' I slept restlessly for a while. The sheet was messed up again, I tried kicking it down into place, pulling some up around my chin. I wasn't cold, it wasn't breezy; I just needed to feel like I did at home when I actually fell asleep. It worked some. I drifted off into dreamless sleep. I awoke and turned again and drifted off. The stream rushed by, I tossed politely in the tiny tent. I dozed.
The alarm started beeping. It was four a.m. No snoozing today! It was time to get up. It was pitch black. Here was the flashlight. It was 4:01.
"Time to get up Viannah."
"OK, dad."
I climbed out of the tent.