That Was Stupid!
That Was Stupid!
“Our date is tomorrow!” I said to Emily in a message. “How adventurous are you feeling on a scale of 1 to 10—10 being ‘ready to climb Everest’ and 1 being ‘ready to stay in bed’?”
She answered, “I’m up for anything! Maybe between 5 and 8 on the scale.”
“Okay, 2 p.m., Upper Duck Egg Park. Chaseburg Saddle Club Trail. How hard can three miles be?”
“Ha, that’s been on my to-do list! I bet it’ll be tough, with creek crossings and no bridges. I’m game.”
“We'll figure it out as we go. I'll bring two poles, so if need be, you can use one. Or we can use it to pull each other up or down. Mostly me.”
“Or we can build a travois when we need to drag one of us back to the car!”
Everybody needs someone in their life who will challenge them. Emily is that person for me. We started our monthly adventure dates a couple of years ago. Life can be hectic, and having something scheduled and on the calendar is helpful. If life gets too crazy you can always cancel. With friends, there are no penalties—you simply reschedule.
We had canceled our June and July dates for family reasons, making today’s adventure extra special. We rated this trail an 8 on our adventure scale. The signs and brochures contained warnings: Rugged Trail for Advanced Hikers and Riders.
Vega, Emily’s German shepherd, led the way and Emily was the caboose. I’m a slow hiker, which puts me out front for pacing—or in this case, behind Vega.
The trail started in nearly knee-high grasses and quickly became a rocky dirt path winding down, down, down as we talked, talked, talked.
It didn’t take long before we reached our first water crossing. Off went our shoes and socks, to be tied onto Emily’s backpack. We each took a hiking pole and, yanking our bare feet out of the mucky bank, started picking our way carefully into the creek. It wasn't raging, but it was flowing steadily, wider than a triple trailer, strewn with slimy, slippery rocks, and as cold as the Antarctic.
Being shorter, I was the first to let out a screech when the icy water rose over my hips. Vega was gaily swimming around us and muddying the clear water so that we couldn’t see the creek bottom. Because of all the rocks, there was nowhere to get a secure foothold.
I held on to Emily’s hand, backpack, or whatever I could grab. We needed to stay steady.
After about 10 minutes of making our way across the creek and still not even close to halfway, one of us mentioned the cold. “Great for inflammation!” .
Even though we found the situation humorous, we began questioning our sanity. After another 10 minutes, with only a few inches gained, we started to get real.
“We're not even halfway across,” I said.
“Yep, and we have two more creek crossings to go.”
“And then we’ll need to traverse all three again to get back.”
Emily nodded. “Chacos would have been a good idea.”
As we stood there, pleasantly numb, testing out where we could next place a foot, we decided to bag it. We’d come back someday with our water sandals and try it again.
Whhhooop-swish. Something big (we never figured out what) dropped from a tree, startling both of us. Just as I said, “What the hell,” Emily shouted, “Monkey!”
We were laughing too hard for a woman with a weak bladder standing barefoot on slime-coated rocks in an ice-cold creek. And then my shoes and socks fell in. Emily managed to snatch them before they headed down to the Mississippi.
After we made our way back to shore, we heard voices, and saw two fly fishermen heading toward us from the other side of the creek. We watched as, without stopping, they walked right into the water and straight across to where I was wringing out my socks and Emily was wiping her muddy feet.
Seeing our surprise, they were quick to pull up their pants legs and show us the nifty neoprene socks attached to sturdy waterproof boots.
Later, while we enjoyed lunch in town and reminisced about our 8-rated adventure date, I exclaimed, “That was stupid!”
As we laughed, we made plans for when we’d go back.
