10.) Flowing With the Go.....

     Awaking at 7000 feet makes all the pain and doubt and vomit of the previous days hike just slip away.  Cool, crisp mountain air makes you want to get up and start the day as oppose to the thick, moist ball-sweat that is the calling card of Houston, TX.  The more experienced Caleb, is all packed up and finishing a breakfast of cheese and a pancake as I crawl out of my tent.  The rest has recharged me physically and the previous nights chat with Caleb has recharged me mentally.  It’s nice to see proof that I’m not crazy or stupid beyond words for taking a trip like this.  But at the same time it’s somewhat depressing to know that it’s not an original idea and theres probably thousands of people out there on similar trips right now.  Good for them I try to tell myself, challenge the norms, work less, live more; life’s too short to be miserable. And just because there are more people out there doing the same thing doesn’t make my journey any less meaningful for me.  Caleb and I shake hands, wish each other safe travels and he's gone down the mountain.  I take my time breaking camp and loading up my pack.  It’s gorgeous up here, and peaceful and I’m relieved to be alone again.  Before I head back to the trail, I leave my pack and climb the boulders and look out over the Chisos Basin.

     

     I let my feet dangle over the edge and feel terrified and alive at the same time.  “This is all natural,” I think, taking in the whole valley before me.  This just HAPPENED, the earth just DID this.  Over millions of years, with volcanoes, and water and erosion.  It’s far from the last time I will be awed by the power and capabilities of nature.  It’s a good feeling.  Makes your own problems seem less significant and everyone should take time to try and acknowledge it, you won’t be disappointed.

I’m in no shape to continue my hike as planned.  I overestimated myself and decide to retrace my steps back to the campground in the basin.  I’m disappointed in myself that I was unable to do it, but it feels good to be learning something new.  Good old trial and error; a classic technique.  Water is crazy heavy, and there isn’t anywhere to collect more along the trail.  I’m simply not strong enough yet the carry all I need with me to the south rim.  On top of that I’m still a rookie.  This was my first hike and I went all in, balls to the walls, full speed ahead.  It was a mistake.  I should have started with shorter, more level hikes and worked myself up to something like this, but live and learn.  I’ll stick to day hikes or shorter overnight ones till I build more stamina.  
The hike down is uneventful yet infinitely easier than up and what took me 6 hours to climb yesterday takes me less than two to descend.  It’s warmer at the floor of the basin, and when I make it back to my jeep I peel off my boots and socks and sit in the sun for a while. 

Last night's camp was on this ridge

     I eye the ridge line and can make out the boulders I was climbing on up there earlier this morning.  They look quite a ways up there and even though the hike didn't go according to plan, I still feel like I’ve accomplished something, and now I’m driven to work harder to improve.  
I make some changes to my itinerary in the rangers station, get some new campsites that I don’t have to climb a mountain to get to.  It’s a beautiful day so I decide to walk a few of the short trails that are right around the campground.  The window loop trail is less than a mile long and completely paved.  It’s easy on my legs and feet and still provides an killer view of The Window where all the water that falls in the Chisos Basin escapes to lower elevations over a 200 foot drop.  It’s one of the world’s premiere spots for watching sunsets.  

The Window

     I explore a few more trails that run between the ranger station, the campground, and the restaurant.  When I get back, I let it slide that the restaurant seems kind of yuppie and over priced.  It’s literally in the middle of the mountains, which is pretty neat, and it serves food that I don’t have to cook, which is totally awesome.  I sit at the bar and order a cheese burger with fries and a beer.  I eat every bite and even ask for extra pickle spears but I have no idea if it tasted good or not.  I simply consumed it, my body needed fuel and it was worth every cent.  It’s starting to get dark by the time I finish so hurry to the jeep and begin hunting for my campsite for the night at the end of Paint Gap Hills Road. 
It’s another gravel road to start out, but soon the gravel gives way to a simple dirt track.   After a mile or 2 of this, the trail condition continues to degrade until I’m basically bouncing along over softball sized rocks.  “Nice and easy babe,” I say to the jeep, “tortoise and the hare.”  I’ll continue to talk and apologize to the jeep as the days go on; every time I bounce over a rock too harshly, or slam through a trench too aggressively.  She’s my life line for this undertaking, the tool that makes it all possible and I mean to treat her right and stay in her good graces.  It makes life easier.  (theres an analogy here, but I’m not gonna touch it, for many of the same reasons.)  Finally, I reach my campsite. It’s extremely secluded, nestled in the valley between two rounded hills.  It’s just me out here.  I saw another camper 3 or 4 miles back up the road but he’s as close as anyone gets.  I set up my tent, a little more efficiently than last time, crawl in, and sleep the sleep of the dead.

Find My Camp!

When I wake up, my lower back is one giant, tightly knotted monkey fist.  I painfully crawl out of my tent and limp around camp, hunched over like a gargoyle for a full 3 minuets before I can stand up like a human being.  This happens once or twice a year, sometimes from being engaged in some sort of vigorous activity, and sometimes from simply bending or twisting in the wrong way.  You lean forward to spit a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink and BAM! You feel that quick, sharp pinch; and pain shoots down your legs and your immediately helpless. Immobile.  The synapses between brain and muscle cease to function and, and simple motor skills become things of great, painful concentration.  The only direction you can manage is straight down.  The floor is your home now, and lying on it, flat on your back is the only position you can hold for more than a few minuets.  Humbling, embarrassing, and viciously irritating all at the same time.  You can try to stretch it out, and it helps but only slightly and momentarily. Soon you’re back in that prone position thinking of all the things you wont be able to do today.  
     The only real thing you can do is hobble to your doctor, let him poke and prod you as you grimace in pain and roll around on that paper covered table.  You get a small amount of relief on your way home from the knowledge that soon the muscle relaxers and anti inflammatory meds the doctor gave you will kick in, further hampering your motor skills but distracting you from the rock solid moose knuckle in your back.  
Fortunately, the last time this happened I was able to convince my doctor to prescribe me extra meds so I would have them if it happened again.  I fish them out of the jeep, pop one of each, and begin contemplating the prospect of breaking down camp.  Fuck that! I say to myself, shaking my head and continue to limp around camp in my club footed manner in attempts to loosen up a little.  A half hour later the meds are beginning to kick in and I feel well enough to make an attempt at one of the hills outside camp.  

I reach the crest of the ridge and immediately feel insignificant; at the vast nothingness that stretches out in every direction. Wide open and clear, the way it was before people came and ruined it with cell phone towers, fast food chains, and shopping malls.  Theres no roads, no billboards, no power lines.  Theres just, low scrub brush, juniper bushes, and rolling foothills leading up to the mountains on the horizon that finally put a stop to your sight line.  And the primitive dirt track that lead me here stretching and curving away into oblivion. 
I find a flat rock to rest on and lean forward to stretch my back.  It’s still awfully tight, but lightyears ahead of where it was when I first emerged from the tent.  I’m comforted by my recollection of seeing the words Hot Springs somewhere on my map.  I can lounge in there for a while and start a new book.  I just finished “Into the Wild” for the second time.  It seemed an appropriate read for the start of a trip like this, and it was just as good as the first time.  I write a quick note on the title page and leave it in the bear box at camp so another traveler can discover and enjoy it.  Plus, I have too many books in my car and leaving them for someone to find will slowly give me more space.
     After breaking down camp and packing up the jeep, a process that is both slow and painful, I pull back onto the main park road and head toward the hot springs.  They’re on the opposite side of the park, some 35 miles away so on my way I stop at the trail head for Balanced Rock.  It’s one of the most photographed formations in the park and I’ve got to see it.  It’s a flat, 2.5 mile round trip trail that doesn’t look too intimidating and I figure a hike will do my back some good. So with fingers crossed, I yet again, put my boots to the sand…..