Death by Any Other Name

Five day before my birthday, the year of 2020, I decided I needed to challenge myself. I wanted to have a good relaxing birthday, and to feel good about this, I came to the conclusion that I needed to exert myself. So I went to Crater Lake seeking the longest hike I could find. 30 miles from start to finish, two or three days max. I began the first day full of vim and vigor. Happy and full of love for the day. It proceeded well, over hill and under hill till it turned dark. 20 miles and many lovely photos later, I set up camp and slept; tired, but fulfilled. The next morning began as any other, happy to be in nature and on the wild lands. I set off at a good clip, and with high spirits. A few hours later, I came to a fork in the road. The signage slightly confusing, but I remained confident that I was on the Right path. Further hours slipped by. I knew I should have found water by now and grew nervous. The water was quite important, as I had been counting on finding it for a resupply. I reached the next fork in the road and sat down to think, knowing that I should have found water by now I must be on the wrong path. Now, a new dilemma rises. To try and forage onward, or turn back? After an internal battle of pride and logic, I decided on the Devil I knew. Backwards. As I started on the journey behind, I grew disenchanted. I knew that I had already gone six to eight miles in the wrong direction. With the headstrong idea that I wasted to make true progress that day, I picked up my pace. Hours pass, out of water and slowing down, I plodded on. Around 2:00 it gets to the point where I start having trouble breathing due to the thick coating of foam in my mouth and throat. The only answer I can think of is extreme, but doable. So I took out my empty water bottle and filled it with the only thing I had left. After drinking what little urine I could produce, my mouth and throat cleared up. All I was left with was the taste of shame, shame that I had only myself to blame for this predicament I had landed myself in. It is only fair to tell you how desperate I had become, yelling out for help since my last "drink". Hours later, I met a traveler. The moment I started talking to the man, I felt reassured. He gave me what water he could spare, and continued on, I asked for nothing more, and was more than grateful. It saved my life. I spent the rest of the day in a determined trudge. By the time five or six rolled by, I was back to a foamed mouth. Continuing on until it's so dark I could barely see my hands in front of my face. Storm clouds were blowing in, and I found myself camped on the top of a peak as the last light left. Knowing how badly I needed water, I left the top off my tent. Dreaming of the water brewing in the clouds. I woke up to droplets hitting my face about an hour later, it was salvation. I licked the water off the mesh top of the roof and waited for more to develop. And did it ever. I kept awake licking until I was able to try and fall asleep, but when it rains, it pours. I was soon woken up, in a pool of water. I slurped it off the floor thankfully, but I knew it wouldn't end. The cold sunk in, along with a wet chill. I was hydrated, but at the cost of body temperature and perhaps light hypothermia. One hurdle passed.. I spent the rest of the night sitting upright, doing my best not to become sodden. slurping up water and yelling to keep away the cold winds touch. It was truly the longest night of my life. I was scared that if I fell asleep I wouldn't wake back up. So I sat, and thought and shivered and yelled until first light. Then, with no other option, I packed up my now soaked pack, and ambled on. I was weary now, water was gained by brushing up against evergreens and sucking it out of my sweater. A hard truth kept me moving: the cold had a hold on me, if I stopped, starting again would only get harder. So I kept on, a pace faster than the previous day, trotting down hills for as long as I could. I knew it had to be under ten miles at this point. Then my final test presented itself. A beast had crossed my path. A beautiful bull elk stood in the path, sun beams filtering all about him though the trees. I first saw him about 50 yards off, but I couldn't make myself stop moving. So I walked towards him arms wide, talking on intention and brotherhood of the wilds. Fully expecting him to charge. Then, he made his call, High and Wonderous. That bugling call that I now associate with hope itself. He sauntered off, and I watched as he and two females walked up the mount to my right. It sobered me. from Hypothermia, or pure tiredness I know not. With a few of my senses regained, I speculated thinking on druids and our dwindling bonds with nature. I digress. After a few more hours, I made it to the road. I was able to flag down an car, who called the rangers, and finally with their patient help. I made it back to my car. Shaking and attempting not to breaking down in the aftermath of my misguided adventure. I drove away, fresh clothes and a welling heart, I speed away from the place that might have been my demise. I think. And I scream. And I call those who would have missed me most. Those who would have wept hardest of all. The fear settles in fully and the pain in my feet reminds me of my neglect, And at long last, I pray to a long forgotten God that I am thankful.