Misadventure (Part I)

I used to think "adventure" was the greatest word in the English language in terms of connotation and even just by the way it looked on paper. Declaring it amidst an apt undertaking almost gives it a noble cause. Perhaps it's the closet-hipster in me to shun it these days as the term has been, in my opinion, overly used and commercialized for some of the most mundane past times. To me, it revolves around the unknown and demands from you a test of character with no guarantee of a favorable outcome. Adventure isn't something you look for, rather it is a calling that more often falls into your lap than politely taps on your door. In the end, if you're around to tell it, it's always a hell of a story whether regretted or celebrated. I concede that many things associated with it today can be deemed adventurous but not adventure itself. Thus, in my young adult life I had come into humbly using it's less popular antonym, misadventure. In reality, misadventure is when the real adventure begins.

It had been a while since I had suffered a misadventure. Besides a misguided first love, the Mt. Aoraki incident may have been the last one survived-- I take that back. I just recalled a few repressed memories and rescind my moment of pride. Nevertheless, a venture of a boy, his bike, and no real plan of action were prime conditions for a misadventure... Or two.

The first would occur during my sampling of the vast wonders that is Zion National Park. I took my time getting settled into what I hope to be the most overpriced motel I'll ever stay in, ever. Perhaps it was the view that I was paying for.

However, I didn't need it. I was going to see the peaks with my own two feet. Specifically, a perch historically known as the Temple of Aeolus, now known as Angel's Landing. Supposedly, the first explorers into what is now Zion Canyon uttered that only an angel could land atop. Well, today this dare devil was about to play devil's advocate.

No rush to get out and start the hike early in the day may have been my first mistake but I had to fuel up and do my research. The hike supposedly took a curious five hours to complete on average despite it only being a little over five miles round trip. That should have been my first indication that some portions were exceptionally more vertical than the rest. Many briefs on the trail mentioned that it was only for the physically fit and discouraged children and the elderly. Supposedly many had died despite the park only recognizing five official deaths. Why did I even consider this hike? Like Ray said, there's a primal urge in some of us that still exists where merely looking at a mountain stirs an unrest within us that demands conquering. That and I heard the view is the one to see if you only had one day in Zion.

The first aid kit, knife, phone, two flashlights with spare batteries, a couple Cliff bars, and one bottle of water were what went into the meager satchel. Initially, I had purchased two bottles but they put a strain on my shoulder. Leaving one behind was probably the biggest mistake of the day considering it was a 100 degrees out there.

Instead of riding up, the free shuttle was taken. I was digging my own grave further with the amount of time it took for it to reach my drop zone.

It did disturb me a bit that I was the only one getting off at the trail head so late in the day without anyone saying a word. Well, the automated tour voice over did manage to disclaim, "Remember, safety is your responsibility."

Suddenly feeling the gravity of this solo hike as I recalled Aron Ralston's arm was probably still in a canyon not far from here, I took out my phone and sent my brother the following message:

"Hiking Angel's Landing. Please contact Zion search/rescue if you don't hear from me by morning. Aiming for 4 hours!"

With that, I crossed the threshold.

The trail was sandy at first then turned paved. With a developed trail like this it was a wonder how anyone could possibly die. I took the notion back as soon as the increasing grade started to strain my unused muscles and blood rushed to my face. It was official: I was out of shape. A pace was hard to keep but my spirit kept my body in check, encouraging myself not to stop too often. Before long, I passed up a young guy with a military cut decked out in the full hiking gear of the 21st century.

Already, I was growing concerned over water for I had just walked past a guy who told me he had to turn back because he didn't bring enough. Someone spared him a bottle for the hike down. By the look of the huge hiking bag on his back, I questioned just how prepared I was. Already, I was a bit worried about my water supply as each swig would knock out an 8th of the bottle at a time but I thought perhaps I, too, would meet a Good Samaritan along the way.

Thankfully, the trail turned into a cool canyon walk that was, for the most part, level. The break from the uphill climb in the desert heat brought my spirits up considerably so I spared myself the water through that portion.

On the edge, not far below was what looked to be the remnants of a stream or perhaps a raging river that must have carved out this canyon. All that was left was an eerie stagnant stream of sand. Soon the incline lead up again where I took a few minutes to prepare for the next leg that looked like a terrace. In actuality it was 21 back to back switchbacks known as Walter's Wiggles. Unfortunately I did not get a good enough shot to illustrate the thigh-burner of a stretch this was so I highly insist on looking it up.

As I rested, I heard a fellow stumbling his way down. When he finally saw me catching my breath, we heartily greeted one another. When the bloke asked if I was planning on reaching the top, I honestly confessed that I'd only go so far as the daylight and my body would allow. It was the first time I acknowledged to myself that I might be out of my league. His kind words and good humor were encouraging so with renewed spirit, I tackled the Wiggles in no time.

At the top was a cradle of sand known as Scout's Lookout - the point where one would assess whether to turn back or carry on with the ascent.

I scouted what lay before, assuming the trail would continue but I saw no trail.

The remaining half mile to the peak was quite literally straddled on a narrow ridge that lead to Angel's Landing. There was nothing flat to stand anymore because you were either on one side of the fin or the other and all one could do was hang on to some well-used chains bolted into the cliffside. This trail suddenly turned into a climb and I was no climber. However, the method of which to complete the ascent amused me and tugged at a nerve that always answers the latter to the question "Truth or Dare?"

 

Now it's an adventure! I did not expect this and it definitely put my character to the test.

The perch looked so close yet it was much, much further. If you squint you can make out a person ahead attempting the ascent. Initially, the Tarzan action up the ridge was favored over the mundane yet more strenuous foot hike. But in time, the constant tension needed to support myself to the rock was becoming all the more tiring.

The view behind never seemed to show much progression and I had already spent half my water supply. Eventually, I reached a flat rock in which I collapsed onto all fours without a care for my dignity to catch my breath and ask myself whether it was smart to continue. In my dehydrated state, it was becoming difficult to focus on the rock I was standing on and not the seemingly shifting canyon floor below. Just then, the army kid came up behind and said he'd meet me at the top. Fair enough, I thought. The view was already gorgeous from here but it wasn't the top.

I caught my breath and pushed for the summit.

I huffed, puffed, and wheezed my way to Angel's Landing. There were four others already there, taking in the sights. I must've been the oldest one there at that moment but I was proud to be the last to summit the arduous peak that day.

Just as I arrived the military youngin' was just in the middle of telling another guy how he had no intentions of sumitting - just a day hike to Scout's Lookout and the plan was to call it good. "But then I saw Indiana Jones over here still going strong so I thought, why not," he scoffed, pointing at this geezer trying to catch his breath. He went on the say that if a guy in nothing more than a shoulder bag, shirt, jeans, and boots could tackle this, why couldn't he.

I smugly rubbed it in by saying I was just a guy and a bike with a trucker's diet and no fancy hiking gear. Upon request, I introduced myself and spilled the beans on my story. For once, the reaction was shock. I suppose my quest isn't as palatable to younger folks. It only seems to garner admiration from those who have the ability of retrospect.

The young man Private Crew Cut (never got his name) was talking to, a spry and athletic fellow by the name of Antonio exchanged photo opportunities with me in front of the canyon upon discovering we had the same fancy little cameras. Soon after, I slumped down onto the rock and assessed my situation.

The kids thought I was toasting the sunset but in actuality, I was staring at a problem. One, I was exhausted. Two, I had less water than I had hoped for the climb down. Three, daylight was leaving me. And four, the shuttles back into town would cease to operate very soon.

Once all that sunk in, I jumped to my feet, soaked up everything I could from the scenery and wished everyone a safe journey home.

Unlike the many I saw descending as I was coming up, I didn't find the trek down as daunting. I don't blame them though, considering that you had constant view of the canyon floor some 1200' below on either side of the narrow ridge you seemingly had to tight rope walk to the other side. Once the fin was crossed there was the knee-bashing Wiggles again.

The old river channel was just as refreshing as the first time. Dare I even say, I skipped right through it in excitement to reach a faucet? Rationing the water went from small sips to even laps of my tongue but every drop seem to reinvigorate my determination to get to safety.

It was a race against time and stamina now. Whenever I could, I used the downward momentum and tried to maintain a controlled gallop down the path. Soon the Virgin River came into view and I knew I was as good as saved.

My hands would have been so blistered if I hadn't already had calluses in their place. My feet felt like another story, however.

The bridge was crossed with haste as one of the last shuttles was about to depart. I sprang in as if it were the last chopper out of Vietnam and sank into my seat hearing the Jurassic Park theme on my head, keeping in tradition with evacuating from a misadventure. I remembered to text my brother to call off the hounds and that I made it back on my own. As I tucked the phone away I noticed the time and to my astonishment, I completed the hike in 2 hours and 28 minutes - less than half the average. No idea how that worked. You can bet I hogged the nearest fountain as soon as we pulled into town.

Back at the overpriced motel, I took a seat outside to enjoy the view I paid for. The mountains were now a black silhouette in the blanket of stars above. I tried to reflect on what I had learned today but I was just too tired to even think. With the harrowing day ending so peacefully, I wish it could be left there but in hitting the sack without a thought to the causes to such a potentially disastrous endeavor, I was doomed to repeat myself.