1-2 Unfortunately, the on-line instructions I looked up linked me with the second map. As you can see, this second map involves a large eye-shaped loop. We started at a lonely northern spot with the prophetic name of Forgetmenot Pond and took the southern path past Big Elbow Campground and on towards
Friday started out well enough. Melanie, Chasey, and I were only 15 minutes late arriving at Nolan and Sherry's house to pack our belongings in among the large amounts of borrowed camping gear Sherry had scavenged from friends. Almost two hours later, I left Melanie and Chasey with Nolan and Sherry to drive up together, and I took the backpacks Dan and myself would be carrying later. I went to work for an hour and managed to avoid getting wood stain on my clothing despite my frenzied painting, then raced across the city and was only five minutes late meeting Lisa for lunch. I had enough money in my account to pay for my meal. After lunch, I stopped at Safeway to pick up a few grocery items my siblings had requested, then returned my dad's car to him. I finished laundry, filled water bottles, packed the last groceries and a hatchet into the backpacks, made a picnic dinner for Dan and myself, showered and changed clothes. At my dad's request, I wrote out detailed instructions on how to get to Tombstone, since my parents had decided to meet us there on Monday to celebrate Melanie's birthday. At 5 pm, Chasey called to ask when I thought Dan and I were leaving (I had to admit I didn't really know when he would get off of work) and to tell me that it was pouring there. Then he confused me thoroughly with a comment about leaving the campsite to go to Cochrane until the weather was nicer. Oh. I guess that means the trail is really short. That's good- we won't have much day-light left by the time we start our hike.
Shortly thereafter, Dan called to say he would arrive shortly and that we needed to stop at his house to pick up a few things. I hugged my mother good-bye, we loaded Dan's car with the gear, and set off to pick up a few essentials, such as oil and gas for Dan's car so we wouldn't end up stranded on the highway somewhere. The sun was shining, Dan appeared happy with my odd food choices (spicy canned salmon with garlic dill pickles and marble cheddar on squirrely bread, carrot-pineapple-strawberry-banana-cherry-blueberry-yogurt smoothies, fresh avocados, and a choice of fresh fruit), and Dan managed to simultaneously navigate my i-pod's sound settings while also driving on 16th Avenue reading a road map without crashing. It occurred to me that I should call home and make sure my parents knew where they were going. Even though I thoroughly confused them both with my anti-map interpretation skills, Dan and my dad seemed to be in agreement about how to get there. I was satisfied. I band-aided and duck-taped my heel (in a completely unrelated previous misadventure I accidentally cut my heel open when I stepped in a hole in a tree grate down-town after leaving the DC because I was there for a shift I didn't actually have).
"We just drive until the road pretty much ends," Dan explained patiently. The map said he was right. It just didn't make any sense to me. The road just kept going when Carolyn, Vicky, and I turned into the parking lot for Elbow Lake. Where's the rest of the road? And why isn't Galatea anywhere on the map? I know we passed Galatea on the way there... Dad said my instructions were the "back way." Maybe we're just coming in from the opposite side and the map doesn't show the rest of the road clearly. Stupid map. Feeling nervous, I sent a silent plea to God, asking for his protection and guidance for the weekend.
The air was much colder by the time we found the correct parking lot for the trail head. As Dan had said, the road simply ended- it was a camping site. Neither the parking lot nor the camping ground were at all familiar, and I didn't recognize any of the other vehicles in the parking lot, but since I had no suggestions for how to find the trail head to Elbow Lake I remembered and we were standing in front of a sign for the Elbow Trail, I decided to just go with it. The sign was nearly illegible with corrosion, so we counted ourselves fortunate when an older lady came out of her RV to ask us where we were going.
"You're going where?!" her eyes bugged out in disbelief, "Tonight?! Are you sure you don't want to just stay the night here and then start in the morning?" When we'd convinced her that we were in earnest about starting out, she asked which way we intended to travel- taking the Little Elbow or the Big Elbow Trail. I think we told her the Little Elbow, and we followed her directions precisely, so how we ended up on the Big Elbow will always remain a mystery. Regardless, my optimistic estimate for time of arrival in Tombstone was midnight, but gauging from the lady's reaction I strongly suspected a more realistic guess would be 2:00am. Last night's five hours of sleep is going to feel like a long, long time ago...And so, after waving a friendly goodbye in response to the lady's "see you in an hour" and leaving behind a bottle of glacier-cold water we didn't want to carry with us, we began.
There weren't many other people on the trail, though we did pass two couples going in the opposite direction in the first half-hour of our trip. Warning signs instructed us to avoid the equestrian trails, since these were completely flooded out. As we came out of a forested area and were about to begin a more open segment beside a creek, we found an information sign reminiscent of the ones posted at the tops of amusement rides like the Drop of Doom. It read: "You are about to begin a 28 kilometer hike. ARE YOU PREPARED?" I felt my stomach drop a bit. No wonder the others felt they needed to leave in the morning...No wonder they'd called wondering why Dan and I hadn't left yet... I felt very glad Dan was holding my hand. Dan wisely chose that time to start telling me stories about previous camping adventures he'd had with his best friends. Apparently, just for kicks, they like to walk as far off mountain trails as they can go, then camp where no one would ever be able to find them again should they have some sort of minor mishap, like getting mauled by a bear. I felt much better. The knowledge that I wasn't the most experienced camper of the two of us was reassuring.
We walked. I felt a bit shaky, so I proactively pulled out the fruit left over from supper to eat as we walked. I still felt shaky, so I proactively ate an entire package of Starburst, after which I felt much better but my tongue felt much less so. I silently asked God to please not let me die of a low blood sugar level while we were out here in the middle of nowhere. A comfort and a silent voice whispered back, "I'm here. And this would be a very good opportunity to initiate praying out loud with Dan." The path wove in and out of wooded areas along creeks that would occasionally branch off in directions such as perpendicular to our path. No problem. There was still enough light left to figure out where the path resumed again later, and enough rocks that our feet didn't get particularly wet.
We walked. The wind became colder. We stopped cursing our hoodies for being so warm. We discussed things like how the feeling of having a heavy backpack digging into your shoulders, pressing you down, and crushing your lungs might be sort of similar to crucifixion. While retrieving our coats we discovered that we also had among our assets a head-lamp and a small flashlight. Oh yeah, Sherry loaned hers to me this morning. I totally forgot. Thanks, God. Since it was now late dusk, we proactively put the flashlights in our pockets where we had a hope of finding them again. Despite the fact that there were no clouds above us, intermittent showers would follow us around wherever we walked. Dang cariboo, hiding in the shrubs beside the path and spitting at unsuspecting tourists. We ate granola bars to spite them. When we stopped at the 3 or 4 hour's walking mark, I mentally determined that I may need to scale back my delirious ambitions of walking 8 hours per day on next summer's pilgrimage.
We stopped. Admired the stars coming out. I ate a package of gummies half way up what we would later be horrified to discover was only the first of endless long, steep inclines in the path. God, I'm running out of reaction candy. Help. A familiar voice whispered again, "You need to pray out loud with Dan." Why is that such a hard request? I asked myself. So at long last, I began praying out loud: "Hey God, thank you for looking after us this far. Please let the food last until we reach the others. Please continue helping me not have low blood sugars. Please let the others still be awake and waiting for us when we arrive so we'll be able to find them in the dark. Amen." I felt better.
It became increasingly dark. Eventually we were able to determine our direction only because the path was a light grey blotch which contrasted with the black blotches that were forests of trees on either side of us and the black sky above us. The hard crunch of white stones beneath our tired feet was comforting: it meant that we were still on the path. We ceased talking, except for occasional comments such as, "Hey, I just walked into a shrubbery." I considered pushing Dan into the trees sometimes, but I was too tired and I was pretty sure that Dan was too tired to take it jovially.
"Is that a sign?" We squinted. I found my flashlight first, and it was just bright enough to highlight the words, "Big Elbow Campground." "No way," I felt myself shrink a little on the inside; we were only half-way there and it was past 11:00 pm. We used the headlamp to look at another sign across from the first, which turned out to be a map. After Dan talked me out of just hiking into the Big Elbow Campsite and illegally camping there, we headed on once again. Then our path disappeared. Or maybe just the moonlight we'd been using to see it. Dan attempted to dig out the headlamp, but dropped it into the abyss of darkness at our feet. I retrieved my flashlight and prayed it still had enough light left to find the headlamp. It did. Exactly. Then it died. We found the path again and turned the headlamp off until absolutely needed.
"Do any of these mountains like a tombstone to you?" Dan asked, looking around. "They all do," I told him, only half-joking. "Hey, is that a sign?" We fished out the headlamp. Yes, it was a sign. It was a sign for a snow-mobiling path. I could have cried. We kept walking. The path began to sort itself into a pattern of long ascents and descents. Dan worked to keep us both going with optimistic statements like, "The campground has to be at the top of this rise," or "It must be at the bottom of this hill." We stopped a few times so I could desperately shout at the top of my lungs, "Nolan? Melanie? Chasey? Sherry? HELL-OOOO!!! HELLO?!" I began to doubt myself: did we miss a turn-off in the mysteries of the thick growth? Did we pass right by the camp and were now on our way to the Mt. Romulus campground? "No," Dan rationally assured me over and over, "The map showed Tombstone as being on the curve before the next long straight to Romulus. We haven't gone around any large curves yet, and worse case scenario if we did we'd only end up at Romulus next anyways."
The time came when we absolutely needed the headlamp. It was because we didn't want to step in the minor creeks crossing our path at the bottom of every descent. Actually, crossing those puddles and creeks were the only times when Dan and I stopped holding hands. Which was good, because between the slipperiness of the path rocks, the slopes, and my knees occasionally going on vacations, it was really handy to have someone there to hold me up (pun entirely intended). Although slightly distracted by the fact that I desperately needed to pee, and had been in such a state for hours, I was reminded of an earlier conversation with Dan in which he told me about a dream where he was carrying/supporting me. At the time, I laughed because of the particular symbols used to convey that idea, but I had recognized the conversation as being an answer from God to my doubts. So here was the dream, incarnated. And really, it felt kind of dream-like at times. There was a sense of timelessness that enveloped us there, a bittersweet rhythm. I really want to stop walking and lay down and sleep. But the stars are really beautiful. I really need to pee. But I'm really happy holding Dan's hand and walking in the silence and freshness of the mountains.
And then we really needed the headlamp. Not only had clouds covered over the moon and eliminated our only natural light, but there was nothing for the moonlight to reflect on- our path was composed of dirt and pine needles. We came to the top of a rise where the path followed the edge of a cliff and were sliced with a particularly icy wind. There was no sign of our campground, just another for snowmobiling. I decided it was time for a private trip into the woods. When I came back, Dan suggested we sit and rest for a while. We did. I started to fall asleep. Then I became cold. I was still wearing shorts and it was windy and raining and cold. I asked Dan if he wanted to continue walking or to just set up camp where we were and continue again in the morning. "Well we can't camp here- the wind's too cold and the rocky path will really suck to sleep on," Dan answered. I vaguely considered pushing him off the cliff, but I was too tired. Sigh. Fine, I guess we'll keep walking, I thought dismally as my teeth began to chatter. But apparently what Dan actually meant was that we should set up the tent in the woods behind us where it was softer and more sheltered. Thank you God, for leaving us one of the tents.
And so, feeling sort of useless, I held up the headlamp with my frozen hands while Dan figured out in the dark in the woods in the rain how to put up our tent. I mentally chastised myself for feeling grouchy about how long it was taking, since I was sure Dan's hands were probably colder than mine from trying to get the tent together. Amazingly, the only thing Dan wasn't able to figure out at 4 in the morning after five hours of sleep the night previous and approximately 8 hours hiking after 8 hours work, was the entrance way to the tent. Getting sleeping bags unpacked, wet layers off, and dry, warm layers on in our tent, which was located on a slant, in a modest manner was interesting. I curled up in my sleeping bag and felt like I was going to die of cold. Dan told me stories about winter camping. Dan, I am NEVER going winter camping with you. Ever.
I did fall asleep. I didn't freeze to death. I did end up sliding down to the bottom of the tent and then having to worm my way back up to the top again a few times. I didn't wake up Dan when I started giggling about being unable to worm up the slippery, sloped floor of our tent while cocooned in a twisted up sleeping bag. I did thank God that I had switched our family's thin sleeping bag for the newer and warmer one I had borrowed from Andrea. I didn't have any low blood sugars in the night (Thank you, God, again). I did find myself sort of curled up against Dan in the morning. I didn't feel too guilty about it since we were in separate sleeping bags. I did get up to go to the bathroom, get dressed, and take my blood test before Dan woke up. Except it wasn't as easy as it sounds, because our tent had slid downhill in the night and the door was now right up against a pine tree which I had to climb around while also climbing over our wet gear and climbing into my wet shoes.
Still, the morning felt good. Much to my satisfaction, my guess at the time being about 9 am was off by only 3 minutes according to my blood tester. To my irritation, my blood test was quite high. I took a small amount of insulin to bring it back down again, found some dried blueberries and cranberries for Dan to eat, and helped pack up the gear again. Food remaining in our possession: a package of graham crackers, a bag of marshmallows, a bag of sliced mushrooms, and a bag of smushed tomatoes. We decided we wanted real food with my siblings. We started walking.
Unfortunately, the path became much narrower after our camping break so we had a difficult time holding hands while walking. Other things made up for this, though; such as the warm sunshine and the discovery of wild strawberries growing alongside the cliff-bordering path. My sense of relationship equity was restored when I discovered I was much better at making these discoveries than Dan.
Then we came to a creek. Our pathway continued on the other side. There were no stepping stones or logs to use as a bridge. It was too wide and deep to jump across. "Let's try going further down. Maybe there's another place to cross," I suggested. There wasn't. So we took off our shoes and socks, rolled up our pants, put on our sandals, and broke open the package of graham crackers. If you're going to cross a glacier cold creek with extremely sore muscles and little sleep, it's better to do it fortified with some kind of sustenance. Then we crossed. I laughed at Dan when his pants became wet but I considerately didn't push him over. Once on the other side, we walked through scrubby low shrubs, crossed another glacier cold stream, then discovered that the path crossed back the way it came so we had to cross the small and large glacier cold creeks all over again. Fortunately, the fifth time we came to a creek needing to be crossed, there were some stepping stones, and the sixth crossing had a nice 3 inch wide log to cross, provided one's balance was steady.
Then we were at the bottom of a hill. At the top of the hill we could see a sign. We decided to switch back into our hiking shoes, then start up the hill to read it. Holding hands, we stared up at the hill. It wasn't a large hill, but it seemed huge to our miserable calf muscles. "If that's another snowmobiling sign, can we vandalize it?" I asked Dan. "Yes," said Dan magnanimously, "Or at least throw rocks at it. I think that would make me feel much better." "Okay." So we started up. And the sign said...
"Welcome to Tombstone Backcountry Campground." And there was Sherry, sitting on the path warming herself in the sun. She looked kind of surprised to see us (in a welcoming, happy sort of surprised way). "Hey! Nolan and Chasey just left to go looking for you. They went the other way. We weren't expecting you from this direction...I'll see if I can run and catch them." Melanie came over to welcome us to their campsite, and not long after Sherry returned with Nolan and Chasey. Nolan and Sherry kindly heated up and served us leftover chili from the night before. Nothing ever tasted so great. "Ha, ha!" cried Nolan triumphantly, "Sherry thought you'd stopped in Little Elbow to camp when it got too late. I rolled my eyes and said, 'Yeah right. It's Faye. She's probably gotten lost and is on some ridiculous misadventure.'" Then, in order to prevent a similar misadventure story from happening to my parents, to whom I had given an identical cursed map for getting to the campsite, Nolan and Chasey had to hike to the bottom of the mountain to find a phone to redirect our parents. And Dan and I? Well, we went back to bed (for a couple hours, in separate sleeping bags, in a dry, properly set up, level tent, under the watch of my siblings). The End. Or should I say, 'Amen'?
2 comments:
ah, Faye... your adventures make me smile.
I always enjoy being part of your ridiculous misadventures Faye. Life would be so boring without them.
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