Well That Was Quick

Waxing Crescent Moon

Just like that, one quick slip, and this trip is done.

I'm going home. The final leg of an oddly circuitous re-route around a closed mining reclamation area in passage 4 is a fairly steep, short, bouldery canyon with pools of water and lots of ice. I was most of the way through, picking my way downslope slowly over the rocks, when I slipped.

I didn't go completely airborne, thank goodness, using my poles to come to an awkward, four-legged stop, but the brunt of the force jacked up my already jacked up right knee. It hurt, but that knee always hurts. It hurts when I'm just kicking back watching TV - I'm pretty used to that. But after I made camp and crawled into my tent, I could see it was swollen. Overnight, it became seriously puffed up and stiff.

I thought about what I had done that day. What if I had cracked my head on one of those boulders as I fell? How long would it have taken someone to find me? There wasn't a soul around for miles.

I thought that someone would probably say, "At least he went out doing what he loved." Nonsense. No one loves cracking their head on a boulder. I would rather go out watching re-runs of the Beverly Hillbillies while eating a pint of Cherry Garcia.

The truth is I really shouldn't be doing this stuff any more. It is time to retire from backpacking and settle for the fine life of a gentleman dayhiker and car camper. It's fun, it's healthy, and I can't get into as much trouble that way.

This morning I hobbled a few slow miles on a dirt road through the restricted area. Ridiculously slow, no fun whatsoever. Finally, a bright young worker with the environmental crew saw me and gave me a lift back to Patagonia in his company truck. Hallelujah. As always, angels abound.

Next I will figure out how to get home. Patagonia is a good place to rest.

"It's not dark yet, but it's getting there."

Peace, Love, and Aging,
Jim