In late July I drove up to Zion National Park in Utah on the first leg of my summer road trip. I remember thinking my goal was to average at least five miles of hiking/walking/running per day on this trip, which would last a good two weeks and change, and would take me through Utah, Yellowstone (twice), Montana, Washington, Oregon, Palo Alto, and back home. Perhaps I should have trained more for the rigors of Zion hiking, maybe I was lagging a little because of plantar fascitis in my left foot, but for whatever reason, I was not moving with as much ease as I had on my two previous summer road trips through God's beautiful and awe-inspiring setting.
I got to Zion a little past six on the first night, and since it was July and would stay light late, I knew I had time to at least get in the park and partake in a short hike. I hit up Hidden Canyon, took it past the maintained trail and did some scrambling,
fell a couple times, and got back down the trail just in time for the last bits of light that were trapped inside the dazzling canyon walls. I did about four miles...a good start with limited time. It was hot, temperatures were in the mid-90s when I got in the park, and were still up in the high 70s/low 80s when it got dark.
I headed back to St. George to my Motel 6 lodging (it's cheap, folks), ironically staying in the same Room 221 I was in the summer before. At 10PM, it was still 95 degrees there. Cheers for stale, but frozen, air conditioning. I got up early, planning to do at least three hikes on the day, beginning with Angels Landing.
As you see the view from Angels' Landing is Heavenly (pun intended)...you see through Zion to the parks' entrance and all the way to the mountains that divide Utah from Arizona. There are hints, too of endless sky that grace the residents of Montana every day, but Zion gives a more ominous feel with its high walls--its peaks are very Old Testament (some even have OT names) and chiseled, not smooth. They are jagged and unforgiving. The view atop any is to die for, and if you aren't careful, you will. Hiking to the top of Angels' Landing is no easy task--you pull yourself up the spine of the jutting backbone via chains. However, there is strength and solidarity in numbers--if you take your time and pay attention to what you are doing, you will be fine. Some get to the chained part, and they stop. That's a shame, because the camaraderie at the top is a blessing. Anyone up there is happy to snap a victory photo with you in it. It's an accomplishment, it's unusual, and the view as you have already seen, is immaculate. The peak--appropriately named.
I rapidly ascended Angels' Landing, and once down its spine, I continued on the West Rim Trail--new territory for me. There were some great views initially, and then some remoteness--the perfect prescription for the claustrophobia of anyone feeling that "city life" has become too much. At one point, it was just me and two deer, one of whom I snapped a photo:
After this pic, though, I remember thinking that I wasn't feeling well. My usual "can-hike-forever" legs were not underneath me. My stomach, not great. It was hot. 98 degrees hot, and dry. So after about another mile, and a lot of day left after 7 miles of mostly uphill hiking, I decided it was time to turn back so I could get in a couple more hikes. It was only 1000-1030AM perhaps, and the 5 miles back (surpassing the Angels' Landing summit on the way down) would go quickly. Not so fast. I had to stop a good four or five times on the way down because I was exhausted--probably a sign that I needed to go slow, and needed to call it a day. But the male ego does not allow for that so early in the day. I finally got to the bottom of the trail at about 1 or so, and headed over to the lodge area to get something to drink. But then I remembered I had committed to my water-trail mix-peanut butter-apples-oranges-beef jerky-only diet for three days, so I stuck to downing water and eating a couple pieces of fruit. I very quickly found myself on my back on a nice grass lawn, getting some shade under a big tree, and then falling asleep for about an hour, using my backpack as a pillow.
I made a couple phone calls--checked in with my cousins in Montana, and my mom who hates when I go hiking or camping alone (for good reason), and realized I wasn't feeling well at all. I was okay lying down, but as soon as I got up, I would feel my muscles on the verge of cramping, I felt slightly sick to my stomach, but I was in Zion, and I had wasted too much time resting.
I decided I wanted to hit 20 miles for the day, for some silly round-numbered reason, and the Observation Point hike was 8 miles. The hike really does not seem too strenuous, and at 2200 feet of elevation gain over 4 miles up, it's really not so bad. And I got to the top, and I felt fine. I did have to stop a couple times going up, which is never a good sign, because usually while hiking I don't need to stop. But the adrenaline of knowing I would be getting a tremendous view at the end was carrying me, and the knowledge that the last portion of the hike was flat was enough to keep going through the discomfort.
I took my time at the top. I was the last one up, and I enjoyed the solitude. I felt tired, but I took solace knowing that the rest of my work was downhill. I was a little low on water--I had brought up three liters after already downing 3 liters in between hikes, but I was dehydrated, and I was down to my last bottle. I snapped this last photo of a chipmunk eating before heading downhill:
I knew things weren't right when shortly after this photo, the desire to take in any more scenery was gone, and the desire to get down the mountain was overwhelming. My head was swelling, my stomach was aching, and both my calves were mildly cramping. At this point though, about 630PM, I knew I still had a good 2 hours of light to get down the mountain. It had taken me about 2 hours to get up, and I figured I could probably get down in about an hour and a half. But I was moving slowly. I was taking frequent breaks to catch my breath, and I was desperately thirsty. I was doing the math and realizing that I would probably run out of water, but it would be okay, because there was water at the bottom.
I got about a mile in on the return trip down, and I hit a wall. I couldn't move anymore. I sat down on the trail and tried to breathe in some air, and my left quad started cramping. So were both my calves. I drank some water and I was now down to about three-quarters of a liter left. After about five minutes, I was back up again, trying to let the momentum of the downward slope carry me. No such luck--I just couldn't move. My pace was about a step per second, each step only about a foot long. I felt like I was going to throw-up, and I actually attempted to, hoping it would make me feel better. No such luck, again. I laid down on the side of the cliff for about 15 minutes in the fetal position. There was a slight breeze, but it was still warm out. I thought to myself, "Worst case scenario is you spend the night on the mountain, and in the morning you ask for help from the first hikers up--they'll have water. Just stay calm." But that thought, with no tent, was not too calming. In retrospect, it wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world, but I probably wouldn't have slept much thinking about mountain lions, and I would have been in a lot of pain, and severely thirsty. My back was now cramping, and so was my inner thigh--everything was giving in...
Daylight was running out, and I still had about 2.5 miles to go, so I had to do something. And that's when I started to pray. I also started to cry. I told God, "I'm sorry...I'm sorry I try to do everything alone, and I'm sorry that I'm so stubborn sometimes that I don't rely on You or ask You for help. I will try to do a better job of this. But right now, I need You to help me down the mountain." In my mind flashed a series of times when I had been happy, successful, content--and during all these times I remembered I had been disciplined in my prayer habits. These thoughts passed by quickly...
I got up. But I still didn't feel well, and I still wasn't moving quickly. I had to stop about every fifty yards, but I didn't sit down anymore, because the pain of the cramping from trying to get up from a seated position was too much. I was down to a half-liter of water and I was worried, because I had two miles to go. It was already 8, and there was little light left.
I started breathing deeply, and a voice told me I was breathing in the Holy Spirit. I wasn't sure if it was a voice of my own production helping me stay calm, or if it really was a Divine Force moving me down the mountain. But I started feeling better, and I started moving faster. The next thought was that I was going to run out of water, and that's when it happened...
I clearly heard a voice. But it wasn't a voice out loud. And it wasn't that voice you hear when you are talking to yourself--not that intellectual "I am better than you" voice, not that testosterone-driven "I can do this on my own" voice, not that fear-driven "I can't do this, the world sucks" voice, but rather a very calm voice. And I knew it wasn't audible to anyone else but me (not that there was anyone else around, at least not within more than a mile of me down the trail). It was a male voice and it clearly said, "Don't worry about the water, just go."
And I did. I bolted down the mountain. I ran the last two miles. Since it was all downhill, I was able to let the downward momentum carry me. I continued to breathe deep while running. I stopped feeling thirsty. I stopped cramping. I chased a deer down the trail for a good quarter mile and I told it, "Sorry bud, I gotta go, and you are in my way." Yes, I actually talked to a deer because I felt bad about disturbing his nighttime solace. I still feel bad about it, but I had to keep going...
The whole time the only pain I felt was in my left quad from the earlier cramping, but strangely this pain served to measure each step precisely--it kept me on a steady pace down the trail. I couldn't sprint because of it, but I was moving rapidly.
I did those last two miles in about 20-25 minutes. I even passed up a couple hikers toward the bottom. I got to the bottom and I thought I would down my water, but I didn't. I still wasn't thirsty. Instead I snacked on some trail mix, and waited patiently and peacefully for the tram ride to take me back to my car.
I sat in that tram--tired, but wide awake from the experience. I was wondering when I would get thirsty, when my body would start cramping, when my stomach ache would come back and I would feel like I would vomit...but that feeling never came.
30 minutes later I was in my car, ready to make the 45 minute drive back to St. George. I stopped at a gas station convenience store in Zion on my way out, and bought two 32 ouncers of Powerade. I had plenty of water back at the hotel, but I knew it was time to hydrate. I felt fine the whole ride home...I kept waiting to feel like crap, but it never happened.
I did have a difficult time falling asleep that night...maybe it was the excitement and worry I had experienced before, some of it was some leg cramping that was going on any time I moved, but I ended up sleeping very well that night. I woke up in the morning--still not thirsty.
After packing up my stuff, I was on to Bryce Canyon NP--I would do nine miles of hiking. My quad still hurt a little, but everything else was fine. I was not tired, and I was moving at my normal not-stopping pace. One could never guess that just 15 hours before, I was lying on the side of a cliff, crying, unable to move.
I told this hiking story to a few people. Initially I explained it as a I write it today--honestly. Some people said it was altitude sickness, simple dehydration. Some people didn't think it was a big deal. Two people actually believed that I heard the Voice.
I'm not sure if that was God's voice or perhaps a guardian angel's, but I know I heard it, and I know it was an answer to my humble prayer and plea for help. In that moment when I was in the fetal position, I felt great sadness, but I didn't really feel it was my own sadness. My own was part of it--I truly did feel bad for not relying on God more. Now looking back I realize that my biggest and most frequent error is not checking in with God, and not saying my prayers.
I don't expect anyone to believe that I heard that voice and that God helped me get down Observation Point--that is for you to determine on your own. However, I know what I know--and that is when I have been at my best in life, it has been when I am closest to God...when I pursue that relationship with Him, when I believe He did send his Son to save us and to teach us true Love, and that the Holy Spirit is always with us. I do wish everyone believed this, but I probably have not done a good enough job of encouraging others, and by leading through action.
These are only words, but they are Truth for me. In the most desperate of situations, it is nice to know that I always have a Teammate out there--someone who always has my back. I would like to say that I have learned my lesson, and that I don't always wait till a desperate time to pray, but that would not be true. I'm human, I'm stubborn, and I have a tendency to forget to Whom I answer. I use exhaustion as an excuse to not pray, I leave my Bible in my car, even sometimes when I remember as I'm coming home that I could take it out and read a couple verses...
But I know I'm at my best when I am disciplined about my faith. I know I am at my best when I am praying for others. I think just like in any other relationship, God desires communication. I struggle, often, to know what I am supposed to learn through my dad's Alzheimer's. It is a brutal time, it is very sad, and often I feel alone--like most of the world (aside from those who have a loved one dealing with this horrible disease) has no idea about struggles. This is not a good feeling--this feeling of isolation. But I think sometimes it might be the same lonely feeling of the Father when we stop checking in...when we cease to pray for one another, to be good teammates, and we try to do everything on our own, and take credit for everything we do. You don't score without an assist, and ultimately your tank will run empty if you do everything for yourself, and by yourself. We need to feed off each other's energy, off each other's goodwill. We need to hear the Good stories and not focus on the bad. We need to remember that there are always people out there to help and that this is God's mission for us--to Love and Help one another. And this starts with prayer--true authentic prayer. True prayer of humility when we admit we can't do things by ourselves, and that we know our friends and loved ones can't do it by themselves either. As I've gotten older I've felt like God will never truly leave us alone, and will not desert us in our time of need. For me, it was my time in Zion when I tried to do too much, and my physical body gave out, but there was enough left spiritually, from God, to get me down to safety. But I had to believe, and I had to submit. I had to not do it alone, but allow for my Friend to help. This is the model relationship we can replicate with each other when we ask for goodness for each other.
Otherwise, it's very lonely out there. Therefore, it is my number one resolution to pray every day, for myself for wisdom, but mainly for others. It is not right to keep what I know for just myself--I know we can solve a lot through prayer. I know there will be naysayers, and that's okay. True, good, humble prayer doesn't hurt anyone. God hears it, and it's my goal to follow through. Happy 2013. God Bless...
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