Navigational Uncertainty
Earlier that day, I was hiking in the kind of peppery quiet that comes from being more than two miles down a a popular National Park trail. That is to say, a smattering of walkers who possess an understanding of being farther out. They nodded and said hello – sometimes without the “h” so they were really saying “low” which precisely matched their vocal pitch. But nothing else was bartered, no lingering conversation, no other social burden to carry.
It was during these few exchanged words that the rain began. Well, not so much began as hovered. The clouds were fully covering the desert sun but none of the wetness descended far enough to touch the tops of the sandstone fins I was walking between. These formations were stacked like library books on a shelf with only enough room between them to see slices of light. Or, depending on the level of erosion, only space to allow my shoulders to pass if I turned sideways. They were good shelter; they would be better graves. It was with this thought that I lost the trail.
The path was vague to begin with but since it crossed both slickrock and washes it took some navigational skill to follow. The white pinpoints created by hiking pole tips were a surprisingly helpful at marking the path. But, as I soon realized, just because others had chosen that direction didn’t mean it was the right way to go.
“When the fear bells rang their song everything was sharpened. My ears were carefully seeking human voices.”
I looked out at the vastness without the wonder of the first few miles of trail, not looking to frame the best angle for a photograph. Not with the delicious taste of quiet. No, it was the thought that I was really fairly alone. I knew I would eventually make it back, but it was no longer certain that when I did it would still be a the time I had appointed for my ride. I began calculating my remaining water, tried to gauge how cold I might be if the rain made it to the ground, and what kind of rock configurations would make the best shelter.
Although scary, that moment was a good one. When the fear bells rang their song everything was sharpened. My ears were carefully seeking human voices. My eyes were casting for a path not only under my feet but everywhere within my vision. My grip on the hiking poles tightened because they marked that civilization that still existed. My nose felt for just how far away the rain might be. My fingertips tingled in uncertainty. My stomach dropped with the same feeling people pay real dollars to experience in theme parks. It only took losing the trail for half a mile for me to board the rollercoaster. And though I stay away from such mechanical contrivances, this feeling is part of the reason that I seek out the trails.
A day in the desert; getting lost, getting myself found, walking under a cloud of evaporating water, then watching the thirsty sand absorb all that goodness from the sky.
Inspired by events in Arches National Park, Utah.
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