Sometimes, it just happens. It happens and a person has to deal with it. Most times though there is a reason.
Bad decision followed by consequences thereof—it’s how the world works (or used to work). Today was one such day.
A Monday morning is a wonderful time to head for the trails rather than the office. Although we did some work earlier,
we approached the tough Rattlesnake hike which lies on the border of Cedar Breaks National Monument in Ashdown Gorge.
The rugged path takes one down into the amphitheater towards the river. The views of the aspen and cottonwood-dotted
forests are remarkable now that the autumn colors are dominant. Looking to the side and back views of the eroded
sandstone formations are a delight.
It’s difficult to differentiate this area from that of Bryce Canyon. Both regions, geologically neighbors, are unique.
In fact, to look into or up to these formations is absorbing a wonder of the world...(continued at
end dealing with issues of risk on the trails).
A view from the trail in Ashton Gorge, alongside Cedar Breaks National Monument.
A view in the Monument.
Looking into the distance away from the sandstone formations.
Bryce Canyon or Cedar Breaks? The latter, of course.
At least we got a good angle from our unusual location.
Once out of the very dangerous zone, we relax and Jen finds time for a camera. (See story below).
A view in Cedar Breaks Monument.
Bristlecone Pine estimated at 1,700 years old; editor, fortunately, somewhat younger.
The power of wind, water, ice and sun resulting in formations that are unbelievable.
Jen on the rattlesnake trail heading back.
Dressed in sweats which we salvaged from the trunk when we found the temperature at freezing
point on arrival at trailhead.
Shadows and sandstone, an amazing set of formations.
After breakfast near the gorge more than 2,000 feet below the surface and commencing the steep return, we noticed
a side path above us, more like a goat trail leading towards the rim of the amphitheater. We tried it. Mistake
number one but easy to extricate ourselves. We pushed ahead as the path took us above the ledge on loose sand
and stones without any form of support. ‘Turn around, dummies’, it’s not too late. We did not. We continued thinking
it would get better and lead us back to the formal path. No such luck. Jenni went to higher ground where there were
dead trees on which she could gain a little more traction. I continued on and we met at a demarcating line where
the forest bordered on the desert sand. At that stage, I had developed a loathing for myself. How could I allow
this to happen? Each time I looked towards Jenni, my heart felt sore. The drop was formidable. There would be
no means of support should a person lose footing. The acute angle was daunting leading down into the pit some
2,000 feet below. What a predicament! What’s wrong with you? Unfortunately, Jenni had not raised any objection
to following this goat path so it made it easier to continue at the time.
We climbed the loose sand with the slippery slope seeming to leer at us—at least that’s how it looked from
our perspective. We reached the top of the sandy slope and tried to cut through the forest to reacquire
the formal path. The brush was far too thick. Jenni decided not to return using my outward route and after
a short while, I joined her at the forest edge. We stood, surveyed the surroundings and made a plan. We used
some dead branches as means of support, making our way back to the sandy ledge, trying to focus on what lay ahead
while avoiding the view to our left—intimidating as it yawned widely.
After a few minutes more, part of it terrifying, we were safely back on the path. The hug was great, the relief
palpable. The discussion that followed raised some issues too personal to mention. However, the bonding was superb.
The glue is still covering our hands while the cactus thorns have since been removed. On the two occasions each
of us reached for support, we happened to grab onto cacti plants.
We undertook two hikes within the Monument and a rather tough one in the gorge. The combined total was in excess
of ten miles and over 3,000 feet elevation gain. The views of the sandstone formations and colors hit the 'perfect note'.
What a hike, what an experience. Until next time…always intending to be careful.
And yet, two days later Jenni found herself in a position frozen with fear. She could not move. A week later,
we both stood above an arroyo, in Durango, on cliff walls that were unforgiving should a person have even
a slight slip. It begs the question. In the negative, why put yourself into that situation? Perhaps the better
question might be: Can a person have a life of growth and excitement if one is forever cautious? This is not meant
as a glib or cavalier approach. Real danger exists and when one finds oneself in a position that the wrong move
guarantees death, only a fool will fail to comprehend the gravity of the situation. So what is the answer.
Who knows? Life is a risk. Risk is defined as the uncertainty of an outcome following a course of action.
So do we avoid every course of action for which we foresee some form of danger or uncertainty; or do we measure
the risk against the potential gain and act upon that judgment knowing the consequences could be serious?
Of course, when these situations develop or even when they are planned, many factors are unknown. Perhaps the most
overlooked in planning is what will a person do at the critical point. Do you go for it or turn back? A rational
answer can be justified easily for every time a person turns back...it will be correct. However, turning back
or avoiding the obstacle soon becomes the strategy of choice and before you know it, one becomes more cautious
until arriving at a totally risk averse dead-end. Ah you might say: What about balance? One needs balance in life.
Of course that's true. However, once again that's a perspective. Everyone's fulcrum rests in a different place and
of course the great concept of rationalization will justify whatever position one wants.
"We have nothing to fear but fear itself"—FDR. In the context above, this is in our opinion, meaningless. Fear is real
when one is positioned in a spot where there appears to be no exit other than an uncontrolled fall into an abyss.
Fear stares one in the eyes. We realize that Roosevelt probably meant that one should not worry for the sake
of it—something quite different. So what is the outcome of this exercise in mental gymnastics?
It's difficult to enunciate a view because each situation is different. Then there's another issue. It's not that one
looks for a precarious position because that seems like a nice idea at the time. On the contrary, these situations
suddenly arise and one finds oneself in the position of danger—already committed, so to speak. We have a strong desire
to remain safe—it is critical. We also have hopes and ambitions to achieve personal growth in the things we do as well
enjoy the excitement, adventure and discovery. We realize too that at times caution and adventure are mutually exclusive,
and so they should be, which leaves us having to make judgments frequently. We believe we are careful but in the end,
there are times when one takes a course of action that in retrospect may be wrong. So in theory, we have a good
understanding of the risks and chances of success but on the slopes, the situation is dynamic, mood dependent
and often, fraught with dangers both known and unknown. It's the latter that sneaks up on a person. We realize
we present an unsatisfactory conclusion which is slightly troubling but we suppose that's living as opposed to existing.
Cheers,
Jenni and Jeffrey
After the Rattlesnake Trail, we visited Panguitch Lake, needing to see a body of water
following an incredible desert sojourn.
Contrary to popular belief, it really is the editor who
is out of control. Need anything further be said.
(Picture taken a few years back.)
Well, maybe the editor is not solely to blame.
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