Eleven o’clock, the sun close to its zenith is bearing down on the sparse, prickly bushes, on the beaver cactus, half of its leaves white and sun-bleached. The path is sand and grit; my feet sink in and each step means lifting, rolling and losing momentum. The enthusiasm of the cool early morning has waned and my confidence of being able to carry the weight of my pack melts in the rising heat. A familiar nausea is making itself known and I know I have to rest, drink electrolytes and give my heart the chance to lower its rate. Memories of “bonking” in the heat have me on alert. I’m experienced. I can control this, I think. I lower my pack to the ground. It weighs as much as a sturdy 4-yr-old toddler. So this is what migrant parents carry when crossing the border. If they make it this far, they have walked a thousand miles. The trail north to Canada stretches for 3000 miles. I have a trail app that tells me where water is and if it’s drinkable. The stock tank with water is another 10 miles, my app tells me. How do migrants locate water in such a remote and barren region? A soap tree yucca lets me rest in its narrow shade. I eat something, drink water with electrolytes, and doze off. When I wake, I feel well enough to carry on. I meet up with my hiking friends when they wait for me. This trail circles private property and seems to take us on the long route to the foothills. A barrel cactus with magenta blooms, an orange-yellow California poppy delight my vision. What is this one lonely poppy doing so far from home? What am I doing so far from home? Whose crazy idea was it to go on a 6-day backpack trip into the desert at my age? Do I need to admit defeat and let nature win this round? I resist. Day one is tough, I remind myself. This one is just harder. With frequent rest stops, lightening my load as I sip my water, I make it to our agreed camp near the stock tank at 6:00 pm. An eleven-hour day of walking and carrying, interspersed by rest-stops like buttons on a jacket. Feeling weak and dead-tired, I set up camp and make a freeze-dried dinner. I need the salt dinner provides. Amazing what I can do when I must.
A 9-hour sleep puts me back together and I feel no worse for wear the next morning. I reassure myself that I can still do this. Are there older migrants, I ask myself? Probably few. The old ones stay behind, suffer under an oppressive regime, without support from their children. The grown children with the grandchildren are walking north to freedom and a better economy. Upon arrival and finding work, they will send money. It seems so simple in theory, but isn’t. Speaking with migrant workers in Nepal who made good money far from home in Dubai, I learned they couldn’t take the harsh life of long work days, sleeping in crowded quarters, paying off what they owed their recruiting bosses and sending the rest of their earnings home to feed a family they never saw.
Economic needs are not forcing me to walk long days. I started these long walks to get away from depression and loss. No longer depressed or grieving, I choose to sleep in a tent in the wild to remind myself that I am part of a much bigger whole, not isolated in my bed of comfort. I do this to stay resilient, stay aware. When I get tired, I can adjust my pace. All that worries me are my water carries. Living without my usual comforts, living in survival mode, away from civilized distractions, I find joy bubbling up on a cool morning as the sun slants through the trees. Yes, I made it into the desert foothills and the alligator spruce was my steady companion for shade. If I lived here year-round, I would have alligator skin also. I see bear scat, but no bears. What size territory do they require for water and food? We find no water for 3 days, except the caches of water caring people have left at strategic points. Trail angels, as they’re called, are the angels that offer trail magic. They are real, not just a matter of belief. Faith and trust erupt when things work out on the trail. Devoid of normal securities, life awakens a primitive way of being. I become trusting. I ask for what I need as I walk through Mother Nature’s house. I’ve done this yearly for 12 years, so I expect things will work out. I live in a state of trust. Besides, worrying isn’t going to make anything better. So, yes, I believe in something bigger to protect me, keep me alert, sharpen my senses so I make wise decisions. I give myself over to the bigger thing. I give up control of what will happen. Of course I bring my camel. Isn’t that what they say? Believe in Allah, but tie up your camel. My camel is the bladder in my backpack, is the emergency GPS device in case of serious trouble, is the food and warm enough covers for cold desert nights, is a water filter to make the intermittent creek water safe to drink.
I may think about the migrants following my footsteps to freedom while I walk. I will not know their dread, their hope, their worn-out resources. Their faith in things working out is a faith of necessity. For them, there is no way out. They depend on the angels on the way.
I watch the sunrise, glowing red and orange, against the dark trees around my camp. Another day on the trail awaits. My feet will carry me, my heart won’t let me down as it pumps my blood. I become stronger every day. I could walk forever; feel the peace that hangs among the trees and boulders in the stillness of a warm afternoon. A 15-foot bloom on a desert spoon plant is the beacon of life, a once in a life-time chance for survival of its species.
Nature tells me what I need to know: “Simply trust! Do not the leaves just flutter down?” (anonymous). Nature gives me awe and chills as an elk - most likely female as females bugle in spring - bugles in the night near my tent. She answers to the call of the wild. So do I. I walk and carry and don’t stop until I’ve reached the sign by the asphalt road that says STOP. I wait for my pickup ride and say my goodbyes to the delicate desert primrose with its face up to the sky. A marvel of beauty, short-lived but part of the cycle of life. I had the opportunity to experience being part of this cycle for another year, another section of trail.
Congratulations on another completion and the motivation to do it again! You deserve the admiration of all your readers. But perhaps the joy on the trail and the beauty of nature is more than enough to keep you returning to the wilderness. 👏👏👏💕
Beautiful journey. Inward and outward. :)