[at-l] Trip Stumble and Fall Report Part 2

[CWells4638@aol.com]

    Even though my back remained on my side, my feet, particularly the 
Achilles tendon, my knees, my head and my shoulders all put forth 
declarations of war.  At one point I stopped because taking another step was 
not an option.  I leaned heavily into my hiking poles (yes, two of them with 
the politically so incorrect carbide points) and watched as my heart tried to 
pound it's way out through my ribcage.  I checked my pulse and was a little 
surprised to find it at 154.  I think that's a little past redline for a 1951 
model.  I even considered calling it quits and turning around.  But how could 
I ever face myself let alone any of you if I couldn't even reach the top of a 
single mountain a mere 3050' of climbing in 3.2 miles distance.  The answer 
was easy - I couldn't.  Eventually it slowed enough to allow me to continue, 
which I did at a more controlled pace with more frequent breaks.

    Eventually, we reached the Liberty Spring Tentsite and was surprised to 
see two tents set up well back in the woods although nobody appeared to be 
about.  I stopped just above the first platform when I saw a small clear 
stream crossing the trail.  Knowing that I was getting close to the top, and 
not wanting to run out of water, I stopped, broke out my filter and refilled 
both of the one liter bottles that I was carrying.  Continuing on another 50 
yards, I came to a cross trail.  To the left were several more tent 
platforms, to the right was a spring being piped directly out of the rock.  
Had I known, I would have filled the bottles directly, not bothering with the 
filter.  Heck, had I known, I would have left the filter at home.

    Back on the trail and knowing that the summit of the ridge was only a 
short distance ahead, we continued up.  Bandit was still well in the lead, 
but obviously worrying about my flagging pace as he returned to my side on a 
much more frequent basis, checking to make sure I was alright.  Or perhaps 
his discovery that I carried cookies in the rear pocket of the pack might 
explain some of the attention.  In either case, his constant up and back and 
up and back put me thoroughly to shame when one considers that he is coming 
up on 70 doggy years while I'm still on the thumb sucking side of 50.

    Just above the tent site, my lower back started to spasm.  Several shots 
of pain went through my lower back and hip.  I had taken a couple of codeine 
pills before leaving home, sort of "one for the road", and I wondered how 
much pain these had been masking, and whether I was ever going to make the 
top.  Going back down was a problem for later.  So I stopped and I stretched 
and I prayed.  After giving thanks for all the beauty and grandeur of my 
current setting, I asked for just one more half mile without the pain.  There 
are those who know prayer is foolish and religion is a crutch for the weak.  
I know that I asked for, and received, another half mile without pain.

    And that half mile was enough to take me to the top of Franconia Ridge 
and then across a blue blazed path to the summit of Mt. Liberty.  But the 
path across the top of the ridge, being more exposed to the chilling winds 
varied between boulder fields and ice covered boulder fields.  It occurred to 
me on more than one occassion that my Doctor definitely would not approve.  
But my doctor wasn't there, and I was, so I continued, slowly and carefully, 
and ever thankful for my carbide tipped hiking poles.  Finally, atop Mt. 
Liberty, it dawned on my who the real hiker in the family was.  I came 
crawling up across the last stretch of steep open ledge only to find Bandit 
standing atop the highest boulder on the peak, faced into the wind.  While we 
all know that dogs are "dumb animals", the look on his face spoke of triumph, 
reverence and challenge; I did it, thanks God, now where's the next mountain? 
  As for myself, had you been standing beside me, I probably would have 
explained that those tears were from the wind in my eyes, but I'm not sure 
either of us would have bought that explanation.  We paused long enough to 
take some pictures, and having had the forethought to bring a miniature 
tripod, I tried for a couple with both of us in the picture.  We then sat and 
shared an apple.  I'd bite of a chunk and hand it to Bandit and as he chewed, 
I bite off a chunk for myself.  As always, Bandit obligingly ate the core so 
I was not faced with that typical decision of "stick that wet thing into my 
pack vs. it's biodegradable".

to be continued 


Snail Male   (Pete Wells) and The Sweet B-Deet  (Bandit)

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention 
of arriving safely in one pretty and well preserved piece, 
but to skid broadside, thoroughly used up, worn out, 
shouting "GERONIMO". 
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