How to Sweep a Girl Off Her Feet

How to Sweep a Girl Off her Feet


The next morning, Green Tortuga and I packed up and hiked the one mile to the Evolution Creek crossing. To be honest we moved with some trepidation, having heard plenty of horror stories about deep water and a strong current. According to a note posted at the ranger station a few miles before, we were going to try to cross some 25 yards up river of where the trail actually hit the water. When we arrived at the morning light splashed river, we pulled up short. Whoever decided to call this thing a creek must not have seen it at this time of year. Seriously, the thing was a river.


Up stream did not look that much different but we headed up through the trees and splashed through the small overflow streams. Once I had plotted the most likely looking path by which to cross, I decided that standing there, looking at it wasn't really accomplishing much so I pushed in. Facing up stream and planting my trekking poles firmly, I began to sidestep out toward the center of the current. As I got out into the middle of it the water was about butt deep and the force of the water made my poles vibrate in my hand. I breathed deeply and tested my footing. While the current was strong, my legs were holding strong. Several deep breaths later and I was able to let the current push me toward a tree trunk which had fallen over the water. I climbed out the other side, pretty shaken but confident. As Green Tortuga did not have poles I shouted to him to go back up the trail and cross through the meadows up there where the water was deep but not nearly as strong. Another hiker, Anne, was over there with him so I moved on down the next set of switch backs.
I was glad I had crossed before I saw what was downstream. The water gushed and rampaged against rocks and over cliffs. Truly it was a beautiful display, with the mists creating rainbows in the morning sun. This did not change the fact that it would tear a human body apart. I developed an even healthier respect for the immediate power of nature. I thanked all those whose prayers protected me, as well as the river itself for allowing me safe passage. It crashed along, seemingly indifferent to my appreciation.
During my morning lunch break, Tortuga caught back up. Apparently he had decided to cross at the same spot as I had. As it turns out my voice doesn't carry across 30 feet of raging water. Either way, we had both made it and we hiked on in squelchy shoes. Every time they threatened to be nearly dry, we had to cross another small creek. All in all I would say there were about a bazillion little crossings. While I probably could have log or rock hopped across most of them, that just seemed silly, so I splashed through with bravado. Tortuga, being more balance blessed and dexterous than myself stayed slightly drier. As evening drew nigh, we came upon Bear Creek, another reputed challenge. Driven by the determination of the day, we planned to cross that night and camp on the other side.
Again, we scouted the river up and down but upstream it was a narrow canyon with a raging torrent, downstream was very treey and Tortuga came back with a report of nothing better. We assessed the water and plotted the best course by which to maneuver the currents. I stepped into the chilly water and three steps in, I was up to my waist. A third of the way out the water was pounding against me, causing me to lean forward. Carefully I moved each of my four grounding points on at a time. In the span of a single instant I felt one of my poles slip as my leg was turned by the power of the water. The taste of metal gushed into my mouth and I quickly made my way back to Tortuga.
Back on the bank I breathed deeply, determined to maintain composure and not to be defeated. I stepped in again and was almost half way out when I felt that the current was stronger than I could handle. Only a few steps of this, certainly I could handle it. I continued to thrust my poles up stream and drove them down as hard as I could, trying to get purchase before the water hurtled them past me. On the next step I felt my footing give. As I twisted in a moment of panic, trying to maintain my balance my vision flashed on the bank where Tortuga stood, his face aghast and his hand over his mouth. In that moment everything flashed before me and came quite clear. If I lost it here there wasn't much anyone could do and I would be at the water's mercy. The water did not seem to be feeling very merciful that evening. Your prayers and thoughts held me strong and I regained my footing and quickly side scuttled back to Tortuga.
For the rest of that evening my legs remembered the feeling of the force of the current and my hands shook as if still holding onto vibrating poles. We made camp right there and for the rest of the night, the river taunted me. I tried to convince myself that the water would be lower in the morning, that I was meant to accomplish this and there would be a way. The roar of the "creek" just laughed. "You just have to try again in the morning little girl, and I've got ALL season," it seemed to say. Sleep came in short fits, I repeatedly jerked awake thinking I was being washed away. As I lay under the mesh of my tent I looked up at the stars. I can only do what I can do, and that's that. If I am meant to get across this river, I will. I knew I was meant to, and so I would but that would have to be a worry for the next morning. I gave up the weight of the worry and slept as best I could.
The next morning a cold sense of dread saturated my spirit more deeply than my wet shoes and pants did my lower extremities. I hunched over my breakfast of pop-tarts. Tortuga decided to scout downstream and I went upstream again. There was a log about 6 inches under pounding water. It would be less deep but pretty much death if you slipped. I was further disheartened. "What did you find?" Tortuga inquired when we met up at the trail. I gave my dismal report. "Well, a little further down the water spreads out into several braids and looks a lot more shallow," he beamed. I breathed a sigh of relief. We headed down to see what there was and, while wide, the water was no more than two feet deep. I don't know how to explain the depth of thanks which I offered up once we were across. I knew God had been holding that spot in store for us but it just seemed so wonderful that it could be nothing but a concession that, yes, I was meant to hike this trail.
I hiked the rest of the day with a jubilant gait and none of the rest of the river crossings were nearly as challenging. Well, the mono creek ones seemed pretty intimidating but Tortuga's scouting and map reading had us cross lower down and then we climbed up a large rock pile to catch the trail at a point where it was already past the second two crossings. Tortuga was very proud to have made it past those crossings with perfectly dry feet.
The next day we climbed over Silver Pass which didn't hold a head-lamp to its predecessors. I am not sure what it was but something snapped in me up there. I was sick and tired of being challenged to my limits every day and I just wanted to be done with it. After making our way across two or three more snow clad dips in the hillside, I was just done. I didn't dare talk to anyone because I knew I didn't have anything nice to say.
At about 4:30 pm we came across two other hikers, Double D and Danny were washing their faces in a creek. They planned to hike another 9 miles in to Red's Meadow that night to catch up to two other of their buddies. Their plan made sense to me. It would mean hiking later into the evening than I had planned, and it meant a 27 mile day but damned if that wasn't what I was going to do. I charged ahead, sometimes breaking out into a run. I got in to Red's at 7:30 and was thrilled to find the little store there was still open. I happily munched on food and drew a great deal of solace in the cheerful and happy company in which I found myself. Double D and Danny came in a bit after me and we gathered up with Green Mile and Red Head. We made camp and had a fire and their positive energy quickly drew me back from the mire of the funk toward which I had been headed. It was a joyous evening.
I had come out of the Sierras battered and bruised but not broken.