Here is my Alpine Avalanche column for today, The Hiking Fool. When I worked in Big Bend National Park years ago, I hiked all the time: days off, after work, and sometimes before work. I took every hike in the park literature and even some I wasn’t supposed to take. If I overheard rangers discussing a closed trail, I checked it out, assuming they were keeping special places to themselves. Recently, I learned the truth. One of my favorite Chisos destinations had been shut down because of an unusually high amount mountain lion activity in the area. What a lucky little rebel I was. Another thing I ignored was advice. Always go with a buddy, people said. For me, the point of wilderness hiking is to be alone. I like to contemplate things and reconnect with who I am. When I first came to Big Bend National Park, I was trying to find my way back to being me after a life in the fast lane, pursuing the wrong things, and being “successful” but miserable. At first I took all the popular routes, but I soon sought more isolated places. They provided the solitude I craved. One gorgeous April morning I decided to hike to the Banta Shut-in. The trailhead was near Panther Junction, the elevation gain was only 300 feet, there was a spring and small stream, and the place looked weird and darkly forbidding in the photo in the trail booklet. Why wouldn’t a girl with an imagination as big as the national park jump on that? I took water, a snack, my Walkman, my bathing suit… you know, the essentials. I told a friend my destination because she was working and wouldn’t bug me about tagging along. I advised her that I’d be back by dark and if not, something had eaten me. That thought became less humorous as I started down a narrow arroyo with high walls. To my relief, it came out into another wash that was wide and bright. And at that point sat a rock cairn, which I assumed marked the route I’d need in order to find my way back. I continued on my blissful journey, listening to music, breathing clean air, and soaking up sunshine and scenery. Gravel crunched behind me. I yanked off the earphones. At first I was nervous that a human was following me—a man, a stranger, an evil person! Then I was afraid it was something not human. I turned the Walkman off. For those of you too young to know, that was a prehistoric form of an MP3 player. They were the rage at one time. Nothing grabbed me, and I arrived at my destination and sat in the water, but I couldn’t shake the notion that somebody was watching. The Banta Shut-In juts up out of a flat desert and there is something eerie about it. Then I noticed the wet imprint of a paw that had to belong to a mountain lion. I got up, gathered my stuff, and headed back, acting casual. Just be calm. In the main arroyo I saw that there were many dark side canyons and they all had rock cairns at their entrances. Shadows grew longer. Panic set it. I wondered if any piece of my body would ever be found. Then a loud “caaaacccckk!” echoed through the labyrinth of arroyos. A gunboat-sized shadow passed overhead. I didn’t dare look up. It makes no sense, but my thoughts went to the pterodactyls that used to sweep over the land that is now the park. My heart and imagination took off at equal speeds. I stopped to drink water and try to access the intelligent side of my brain. Also, I managed to get a grip on my imagination. When I calmed down I saw a solution. If I climbed up high I might recognize something familiar. The “pterodactyl” proved to be the largest raven I’ve ever seen, but he wasn’t so fearsome pecking around in the dirt like any other bird. He cocked his head and screamed, “caaaacccckk!” That’s ravenspeak for “you idiot.” From high up, I recognized my arroyo. There was a boulder formation at its entrance with a hole like a needle’s eye. I scrambled down and ran for my life. Near the trailhead I stopped to catch my breath and two fellows with backpacks walked up. They said they were headed to the Banta Shut-In to camp overnight. “But you’ll be there in the dark,” I blurted. They looked at each other and then back at the crazy person. I started to tell them and then thought not. Let them take their chances. Besides, what was there to tell?
Posted on: Fri, 07 Mar 2014 01:34:53 +0000
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