Adventures in Hiking

My wonderful husband is writing a book on hikes in the Tonto National Forest, which I believe I have already shamelessly plugged here. He is currently on an 8-day blitzkrieg wherein he will finish seven hikes in the 8 days. Well, that was his plan anyway. I may have loused it up.

He started hiking on Wednesday of last week. Over the weekend, Tony wanted me to get a hotel room near where he's hiking (up by Payson), so that he could have a shower and a bed for a night. Ben, the wonder son, had also been hiking with him. Did I mention my fabulous son hiked 36 miles in three days with my husband? In pool shoes? 'Cause that's all we can get him to wear? And yeah, he did great. The hotel meetup would be an opportunity for Tony to bring Ben back, because although Ben is a fantastic hiker, he is 11 and eventually gets tired, unlike his oddly energetic father.

About a month ago, Tony mentioned a hike that he would really like me to do with him while he was on this series of hikes. Over the weekend, he kept telling me that this would be an easy hike. On Sunday, though, I was driving him to the trailhead because I was not planning to do this hike. My ankle was hurting and it seemed a stupid idea to hike on it. So we get to the trailhead, and Tony is putting together his camera, his notebook, his GPS thing, his water, etc. He finishes, and says "why don't you just walk a little way with me?" "Okay," I say, like an idiot. "That might be nice." So I put on the extra Camelback water-holder thingy, and we start off.

It's a lovely little trail. We're actually walking by people's backyards, and through pine trees and over cute little washes. I had stretched out my foot/ankle a bit, and it wasn't even hurting at all. So, on we go. We're talking, and having a great time, and I'm glad I came along.

We come to a hill, which is part of a mountain, of course; this being Arizona. But I am determined to be a good sport and not be a whiner, so I shut up and keep hiking all the way up the hill. Then, we walk by this beautiful (from a distance) cow pond. Up close, it's got green moldy looking stuff in it, but it's still kind of pretty. We walk up another hill, and it's not so bad either. My foot/ankle still doesn't hurt. We go on, and I'm getting slower and slower. Pretty soon I stop and look back, and we've been climbing upward, very gradually, for what looks like about a mile. Well, that explains why I'm tired! That, and there's no air up there because of the elevation.

So now, Tony pulls out his map and explains that we're getting into trouble, because we're getting behind schedule (ya think!?!). We're also short on water, he explains, because he underestimated the difficulty of this hike. But, I really want to be a good sport and be supportive. We proceed up the rest of the hill, as fast as I can make it.

The next part of the hike cannot be adequately explained with human words. We had to basically scale a cliff using very, VERY steep switchbacks on the "trail." NOW my ankle hurts. All the way down to my little toe! And Tony starts looking back, looking worried, about when we're going to be done with this hike. On the way down, I begin to lose my cool. I say, "so, this is an easy hike?" Tony says yes. I say, "Really? What is considered difficult? A vertical rock face with no ropes?" I know this kind of sarcasm doesn't help anything (except it makes me feel better).

After a long, arduous journey, during which I hear Tony scream in frustration with my slowness, I get to the bottom of the cliff. Tony had lent me his hiking stick, thinking, I guess, that it would make me faster. But to no avail. I get to the bottom and I'm totally frustrated with it, because it keeps getting stuck in the catclaw and tripping me up. I am in tears from pain and frustration, and I ever-so-kindly (NOT!) ask "How in the world can you think this is an easy hike?!? Have you not met me??? Do you not know anything about me after 20 years of marriage???!)

At this point, Tony has recovered his cool. He gently, even kindly explains to me that we are REALLY behind now, and that this has become a rescue situation because we have to get me with my bad ankle out of the forest before dark. Suddenly I thought, "eez, chill, Spike. My foot hurt and I was frustrated, but there's no need to be dramatic (yeah...right. 'Cause I wasn't, eh?)

He explains that this trail "probably" junctions with the other trail in just a little ways, and that there is a spring nearby. The spring is great news, because during out little jaunt down the completely vertical rock face with no ropes (okay, I may be exaggerating just a LITTLE bit),we are OUT of water. And not even halfway through the hike. He explains that he really needs to get to the car so that he can come back and get me, and if I can make my way even a little bit toward the road, he will come and find me (remember the line from the movie whose name I can't remember, "Whatever occurs, stay alive. I WILL find you." Yeah. He was scared, and going into husband fix-it mode. He says, "If you get lost, stop. Blow this whistle, and I will find you. You want to look at the compass every now and then, and make sure you're heading north-ish. Go to the junction, turn right, and follow trail 51. Stay on that until you get to trail 48, and then I can get you in the car. But if you can't get that far, I'll find you."

I'm thinking his stumbling (or perhaps jogging, apparently, based on his speed through the trail so far) through the dark to find me is not a good idea, so after he leaves I rest a bit. I get up and start walking, and come to the trail junction in no time. I turn right, check the compass, and start walking, when I hear rustling behind me. It's Tony. He found the spring! He filled both our Camelbacks! Yay! I tell him to go on, and I hike along. The thing is, when I'm not hiking with him, I'm doing much better. I think because I'm not trying to keep up with anybody; I'm just doing my own thing. It's much easier. I do get confused a few times because the trail crosses the river bottom nine million times, and each time it does I have to re-locate the trail. Happily, he has made several cairns for my dumb self to use to find the trail. He also has the hiking stick, and the hiking stick makes a funny-looking, ant-hill-esque divot in the ground. I also can see footprints, and they're next to the ant-hill-esque thing, so whenever I find those I know I'm on the right track.

Along the way I hear more rustling, and I figure it's Tony coming back for his lame, wimpy wife. But I look at where the rustling is, and there is a GINORMOUS set of antlers rubbing against the brush above me (by at least 30 feet, so not to worry; no danger). I'm momentarily freaked out, but I go on. After a few more river crossings, I'm walking along and see something in the distance. Aha! It must be Tony, right? Nope. More deer. These are on the other side of the river bottom from me, but they, too, are GINORMOUS! They are eating their dinner on the slope, and they look up as they see me, but they don't run. We have a nice chat, and I pee in the woods, because by now my water is gone again, and I move on.

Shortly after this, I see something waving in the distance. I get to it, and it's a note from Tony. It says:

          YOU MADE IT!
          I LOVE YOU!!
Take this with you when you see it
So I know you've made it this far.


So, I got to the end of the friggin' trail. He is delighted I made it to the end and he doesn't have to bumble through the forest with a flashlight to find me. He brought Gatorade, and Cherry Coke. Cherry Coke was the first gift he ever gave me-we met at college, and my birthday is in September. We both had jobs on campus, but no one had been paid yet. He knew I like Cherry Coke, and bought me a bottle for my birthday. It's always special when he gets it for me.

In the car, on the way back to his next trailhead, I say, "Okay, so I'm great at crafting with the kids, and knitting, and crocheting. I'm fabulous at tetherball, I bake fantastic cookies, and I can walk really well. But I don't think hiking is really my sport." He agreed.

We have dinner, and I drive home.

The End.