The Backpacker

Once, as a backpacking guide in Colorado, I had the unfortunate experience of watching strep throat sweep through our camp. We were a small, tightly knit group of guides and support staff, and worked hard to maintain health within the community. Whenever someone did get sick, they were usually confined to their room and had limited contact with the others. As well, the rest of the community was put on alert and given strict instructions; sing happy birthday twice while washing your hands thoroughly. Despite the precautions, I woke early one morning to find my throat clenched tightly about itself and burning with fury.

A handful of antibiotics.

Go to bed.

Don't come out till you feel better.

I spent the next few days drinking lots of water and eating soup in bed. Not long after, the antibiotics took effect and I began to feel better. Within the week I was healthy again and ready to go back out on the trail.

Our route that week was a long trek through a rising valley, lined by a shallow creek that would eventually feed the Rio Grande. In early summer, one could see the snow atop the peaks, which would melt and slowly gather in hopes of pouring out into the Gulf of Mexico. Of course, due to dams and irrigation, the waters no longer reach the Gulf. Instead they are mainly shed by evaporation as they rest atop the harsh earth of the southwest in fields or behind dams. The water which does reach the Gulf, mainly rain or spring water from Mexico and Texas, is reduced to a slow polluted trickle which at times never reaches its end.

Yet, whatever may dam the waters which flow, it is always refreshing to find them at their source. To take young boys into the mountains, where they are reminded that life can be much simpler and compact, where they are filled with the awe of their own manhood, is to create moments which are fashioned as mountains weathered only by God Himself. And that was our destination, the Source Itself, where the air became thin and the thick trees were left deep in the valley below.

From the very beginning, my guide partner, Allen, and I kept a strong watch over the boys, making sure that their health was always in mind. From time to time we would hear a grumble or complaint, but never anything that would give us a cause for great concern. In fact, we made good progress, and, nearing the base before our peak, we stopped beside a series of pools and falls, and allowed them some time to rest and play within the mountains care.

As we paused, I began to feel a surge of pain within my right ear. I knelt down with my hand clutched against it, informed Allen of the situation, and decided to radio in to the camp for more experienced advice.

A handful of pain relievers.

That night I laid down with my ear towards the ground, hoping that whatever was creating the pain would slip out in my sleep. The stars above danced freely about the darkness, uninhibited by manmade lights. Trying to think of anything beyond the present pain, I traced the paths of satellites amidst the dim colors of distant planets and became a child in the cradle of the valley.

The following morning I rose to the bright white of moonlight, direct from its source as well as that which cascaded off the snow capped peaks surrounding our camp. The trees and tundra on which we slept were all filled with an ambient gray-light which illuminated our gear and bags. It was early, as it had to be in order that our group might ascend the rising wall before us and be at the peak near sunrise. Always sluggish in the morning, I shook the sleep from my eyes, and did a few sit-ups in my bag to get my blood flowing again. I felt the pressure on my ear building again, and took a few more painkillers.

Though I was sluggish, the boys were even slower getting moving. It took quite a bit of encouragement, and a few choice words, to get them ready. By the time we started moving, the amber glow of a rising sun was building itself behind the divide. Allen and I took note, and pushed our group to get moving quickly.

Our ascent was slow and tedious, hampered by the thick brush that grows about the base of peaks, and the faded trail, which at times disappeared beneath our feet. Eventually though, we reached a gentle sloping plateau overlooking a high lake before our final approach. Spirits were high, though tired, and most of the boys teemed with excitement of seeing the top. Toward the back however, one of the boys, Dan, a kind-spirited boy with dark curly hair, began to complain of headache.

“A little further. We’ll be quick, then turn around and head down. Stick with us.”

Dropping our packs near the main trail, we moved up toward the peak together. Small patches of yellow flowers, which had just begun to come forth in the late spring of Summer mountains, surrounded the melting patches of snow that laid about our path. Dan, still complaining of pain, became the point of reference for the group as I moved him to the front to walk with Allen. We would reach the top as one or not at all.

The group moved forward with one step after another. Occasionally the boys would see what they believed to be our destination and push harder, only to find that they had experienced what we commonly called a false peak; an illusion created by the mountain’s shifting slope. Regardless, they continued their march until we eventually spotted the cairn that marked our goal.

“Steady, Dan. A few more paces and you’ll see what all of this effort has been for.”

In the final steps of our ascent the mountain dropped from our view and revealed the expanse of the Earth. The mountains stretched far beyond the limits of the eye as sun and sky swirled in motion and color. Before us, a vertical drop of some one thousand feet descended into a valley which would send its waters to the Pacific Ocean. Behind us, the spotted trails and rocky waters which hoped to find the Atlantic. For a moment we saw the hand of God upon the Earth and waters, rising and dividing them in his grasp. And in it everything was in perfection.

Our first sign of trouble rose from behind the ridge standing opposite our view. A large darkened plume billowed its way toward the sky as distant thunder signaled the birth of a storm. We were high, far from tree-line, and would have to cut our celebration short if we were to beat the coming storm. I called to Allen to confer with him on our situation.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to get going. You heard that right?”

“Yeah. This isn’t exactly what we’d hoped for. Probably should have tried to make better... Hey, where’s Dan?”

I spun around and searched the group for Dan’s wild hair. Not seeing anything, I looked beyond them to the patches of yellow flowers and snow. Dan was walking slowly back down the mountain with labored steps wavering to and fro about the path. It appeared as though he were having a hard time deciding where to step as there was no apparent trail to guide him. I turned to Allen.

"Gather the boys. I'm going to run down to Dan. Be ready to take out the radio and call in. First things first, keep the boys calm. We need to get off this peak, but we don't need them getting too worked up."

Louder and closer than before, another rumble of thunder sounded in the distance startling the boys. I headed down the peak, running, yet careful to not lose footing amidst the mixed earth of tundra, snow, and loose rock. By the time I got to Dan he was sitting on the ground crying with his head in his hands.

As I placed my hand upon his shoulder Dan turned around. His face was flush and his eyes were a glossy black surrounded by dark circles. Pressing two fingers against his wrist I found his pulse to be rapid and bounding, while watching his short and labored breaths. Lifting him to his feet, I began to ask a few routine questions.

“What’s your name?”

“Dan.”

“Where are you?”

“I... I don’t know. The flowers... so many flowers. Pretty flowers.”

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know. I want to sleep.”

I turned around to see Allen and the boys coming quickly off the peak. All of them were watching Dan and me, a few with fear in their faces. In the meantime, Dan had decided that the flowers were his primary concern and began picking a few at his feet.

“Pretty flowers. Look, they’re everywhere.”

“You’re right, Dan. You know, I’ve heard that there’re even prettier flowers down there. Come on, let’s get going.”

“Wait,” he said, reaching to grab another handful in the awkward uncoordinated swoop of his hand.

My mind was rushed. I needed to make a formal assessment, but with his present condition and the rapid degradation of the weather I made the decision to get him lower, and quick. Grabbing a flower, I placed it in his hand and then threw it over my shoulder. We moved slowly down the mountain, myself asking the repetitive questions as he occasionally spoke of pretty flowers and tried to reach for more.

Not long after we started moving Allen and the boys caught up to us. With no way to satiate their worried expressions, I told them the gravity of our situation. We would have to get down quickly, for Dan’s sake, as well as for the sake of the group. With Allen walking beside me, I brought him up to date with as much information as I could give him, and sent him and the boys ahead to gather the packs. While they worked, Allen radioed base camp and relayed the pertinent information.

Male.

Age 17.

A and O times 1.

Short, labored breath.

Rapid, bounding pulse.

Skin, pale and clammy.

Possible HACE.

Storm coming.

Moving down.

Over.

By the time Dan and I reached the boys they had divided our packs amongst themselves and were ready to move. We headed back down the trail to a split which had led us to our peak. Stopping near the cairn which marked the fork, I told Allen to have the boys spread out and head quickly for tree-line. At this point the clouds were directly overhead, a barrage of thunder sounding throughout the range as rain fell amidst the bright electric flash in our periphery. Regardless our tendencies, this was a situation in which we would have to presume the worst. Should lightning have struck, and we were huddled together in the open air of high altitude, there would have been no one left to save the rest.

At this point my memory becomes muddy in the rapid succession of events which unfolded before me. I remember watching Allen and the boys move down the trail in a disparate line marked by varying lengths of separation. I remember talking to Dan, the repeated questions and odd responses, shadowed by dark clouds flowing black and green as arcs of white light snaked their way to the ridge above. I remember seeing the line disappear into the valley below as I prayed to God. Amidst the chaos though, I recall the procedures which had been ingrained into us during our training, which, despite our mistakes or lack of faith, would prove to be the life-line of our trip.

In the end, my most vivid memory is that of coming upon the group sitting atop their pack chairs and spread amidst the first line of forest. By then the clouds had begun to break and blue sky could be seen trying to peek through. Dan had begun to come around, still slightly disoriented, but making progress as his breathing eased and his pulse steadied. Once again, Allen radioed base camp relaying Dan’s vitals and our position. By the time I gathered my pack and the boys were ready Dan was alert, and, though considerably weakened, able to walk on his own accord.

We moved deeper into the valley, beyond the landslide which had fallen since the last geological survey. Rocks had spilled into the valley, blocking the flow of the creek, and created a small lake. With time, the scar would heal and become indistinguishable from the rest, but for now it stood as a reminder of the immense force held within mountain walls.

Not far beyond the rock fall we spotted a level patch of green mountain grass up from the trail. We told the boys to make camp as Allen and I conferred upon the days events. Once the tents were up, we had Dan take out his sleeping gear and lay down. He fell asleep immediately.

Allen and I prepared the boys lunch as the sun came into view and played within the moving clouds. While the water boiled, I felt the pain in my ear surge again and took some more painkillers. This time however, the pain did not subside. Instead, it grew to the point of a piercing sensation, as though the Devil himself were pushing an iron rod within. My eyes began to water and my stomach turned. Allen took note and radioed in.

Having been with us through the events of the day, base camp was somewhat surprised at the change of our situation. After filling them in on Dan’s improved status, Allen handed the radio to me. I told them what I knew. It hurt like hell. We discussed a few options, but in the end they decided that I should come in that day and see a doctor the following. I was crushed.

After handing the community gear to Allen, a med pack and some rope, I had the boys circle up. I told them what was going on, that I had to head in, and that I would see them in camp. I could see in their eyes the odd confusion that comes when one of the people you have looked to for solace in difficult times becomes frail. After a few hugs and some words farewell, I turned and moved toward the end of our trail.

We had come a long way that day, but still there were a few miles between our camp and the trailhead. With each step the pain in my ear flared and reminded me why I was leaving. My walk was long and lonely, but inevitably led me to where I should be.

At the trailhead, I met Dale and the red four-dour F350 from base camp. Without much to say, I climbed into the truck, leaned back against the seat, and tried to rest despite the pain. The truck hugged the road as we twisted and wound our way past the Rio Grande Reservoir and back into the valley where our camp lay. I was greeted by a couple of the in-camp guides and the camp director.

A handful of pain relievers.

Try to sleep.

That night, my head buried in my pillow, the pain became so intense that none of the painkillers brought any relief. Unable to sleep, I consulted with one of the guide team leaders, yet came away without much more than a few kind words. Back in my room, I began to rock back and forth upon the floor as the pain seared its way through my head. Then, unexpectedly, I heard a loud pop, as fluid and blood began to pour out from within, followed by a momentary silence which quickly gave way to a monotonous ringing.

Later I would ride with Dale to Alamosa, nearly 100 miles away, to learn that my ear had burst due to a buildup of fluid caused by my unremittent case of strep throat. Of course, it had been my own carelessness, having not completed the entire cycle of antibiotics.

Thus, for nearly two months, I lived with almost no hearing from my right ear, and even longer with limited recognition because I had decided for myself when I was healthy.

In the end, I would remember this as the time when I stopped listening to God. Whether He ceased to speak or not, I cannot say, for I have since turned my deaf ear toward Him.