Ozark Light
Ozark Light
(Toward the Rainbows)
“If it’s that cold, I know I’ll be
miserable,” was the remark from two of my housemates Jeff and Chris. I couldn’t
blame them, the forecasted low was 16 degrees and I was worried about being
cold as well. That left two for the company to conquer a 17-mile trek through
the Ozarks in the middle of January. I
telephoned Ben who was 600 miles east in Pittsburgh, having just asked for his
girlfriend’s hand in marriage, my hope was that he still had zeal left in him
for the mountains. “Of course I’ll go! Put your man pants on Joseph,” Ben
lovingly admonished over the phone. “Alright Ben, I had two drop out so I was
just making sure. I’m glad you’re still willing. I’ll see you tomorrow morning,
drive safe.” “Thanks Brother, I can’t wait.” Ben exclaimed.
Every so
often this itch begins inside my chest, as if there is a restless creature waiting
to be fed and the only food is time spent smelling the wet dirt on the ground
as I lay looking up at the stars. I don’t know if everyone has this feeling, perhaps
some people ignore it, or perhaps I am strange; probably both are true, but
soon I’d be among the rolling mountains of the Ozarks in Mark Twain national
forest, away from school, away from noise, and away from life. I filled my pack
that night enjoying the smell of the rucksack, that mildewy camp smell of
hiking equipment. I shaved ounces off my pack but in winter it’s hard to hike
light and 38 pounds later I was ready to go.
Poor Ben
returned that Saturday evening looking as if he had already traveled the 17
miles in January cold. Engagement appears to take its toll on a man and it
showed on Ben. “How did it go?” I asked him. “Well! But I got there too early
and waited nearly two hours by the pond in the freezing cold waiting to propose.
I was so nervous I could have pooped my pants.” “I’d be nervous too,” I sympathized.
I would be, in fact these moments of uncertainty, those specific points in
time: asking out girls, public speaking, engagement, marriage, meeting new
people, awkward conversation, moving; these are some of the greatest and
terrifying times, at least for an introvert. Ben packed quickly that Saturday
night. We were to depart Sunday after church.
The next
morning I raced back home after Sunday service with one thing on my mind, the
wild. I had trained for this event, doing lunges and cardio to protect my knees
from tendonitis. I hadn’t endured a long hike in over a year and to say I was
out of shape would have been an understatement. I knew that regardless of
weather or temperature, we were going to have an adventure. Our hearts both
awaited the freedom of the mountains and in our unity so our joy grew stronger.
Little did I know what kind of challenges lay and wait for me, like a wolf
ready to strike.
Ben’s black
car sped down the interstate away from civilization as we talked about the
recent engagement, life, and our excitement for the adventure at hand. The sun
shown bright in the car, giving us the last true warmth we would feel for three
days. I took over driving for Ben, who needed some rest even though he was too
excited to sleep. Finally the road began to wind and the houses slowly
retreated until soon we saw neither building nor people. The car scuttled down
a dirt road to Roby Lake, the sun gleaming on the water with no man in sight. I
parked the car by the lake and before we left Ben and I prayed. “Lord Jesus,
thank you, Father, for your creation and for the blessing of enjoying it.
Please Father, bless our trip and our time together, that we may edify one another
and glorify you. Protect us and bring us home safe. Amen.” Packs on our backs,
poles in hand, and smiles on our faces, off we went into the vastness of
nature, walking over the low golden field as the sun began to set on the
horizon. Today would only be a couple hours of hiking and soon that gold orb of
warmth would cease to push back the cold of darkness and the bite of night. We
smiled and sang as we hiked amongst the pines, hopped across the rocks, and
breathed deeply the earth and it’s life-giving scent.
The first
night was beautiful. Ben and I made camp atop a ridge of shortleaf pine trees,
a type of fragrant conifer unique to the Ozarks. I set some pine boughs under
our tent as a form of extra cushioning, also adding a scent to our temporary home.
We lit our fire between a fallen log and three close trees, keeping in the
warmth and listening to the utter stillness of the forest. Crack and pop went
the fire, as loud as fireworks to the quiet mountain.
In the
morning I poked my nose out from inside my sleeping bag as light entered the
tent from the rising sun and I immediately felt the sting of biting cold at the
tip of my noise. “Ben, are you awake” I prodded. “Ya,” said Ben. “Were you cold
at all?” I asked. “No you?” “No, but it’s really cold out there,” I whispered. I
didn’t have a really good cold-weather sleeping bag, so I brought two bags and
put them inside one another. I figured it was better to carry four extra pounds
than freeze to death overnight. The hardest part of the day is getting out of
bed in the morning. I struggle enough arising to my domestic alarm, let alone a
natural one. “Alright,” said Ben, “Lets just get up, put our clothes on, and
run to make a fire as quick as we can.” I’ve never seen a man shoot up so fast
from a sleeping bag, dress, and make a fire. By the time I was out of my warm
bag, Ben had a few twigs blazing in the fire circle. The sky was bright blue
with small wisps of clouds floating low above the valleys. The sunlight danced
off the pine needles as if shattering diamonds onto the foliage-ridden earth. I
wasn’t thinking about anything other than the sheer beauty, and life that
surrounded me. Dressed in a puffy Columbia jacket I was adequately warm as we
sat by the fire and ate breakfast, as if two hobbits were sitting in Tolkien’s
shire, reaping a harvest at wintertime.
Crunch,
crunch, went the frozen ground beneath our boots as we began the real leg of
the trip. Ten miles was the plan for the day and with our heavy packs, lack of
water, and the frosty air I was reticent to affirm our goal. We passed the time
by singing songs, reciting poetry, talking, and listening to the silence of our
thoughts or praying in our hearts. Although the work was difficult the day
passed quickly and soon it was time for lunch. We paused by our first creek
that was extremely low, bubbling along more like a brook. Immediately a large
boulder in the creek caught my eye and I quickly climbed to the top peering
over the side for brook trout, knowing a fishing hole when I saw one. The water
was crystal clear as the sunlight bounced around the creek bottom. Ben pulled
out his water purify to pump clean water into our bottles. I quickly felt the
chill of the shadow and lack of coat, so I fished through my pack dressing
quickly and stepped into the sun. The high that day was in the mid twenties and
the shade made the mid twenties seem warm. I drank from our purified water and
had never tasted water so fresh and clean. I often think about what food and
drink must have tasted like even 200 years ago. The absence of chlorine from
the water was enough to thrill any naturalist, let alone its unique lucid
flavor. That would be my last drink of clean water for a while.
Six more
miles to go, so we strapped on our heavy water-laden packs and marched along,
soon coming to the valley with another large creek when towering over us were
the cliffs of a mountain. “I bet you a nickel we are going to climb up this
mountain” I said between breaths. “I’ll take that bet,” replied Ben, “But I
think you are right, it’s a long ways up.” The path took us right to the side
of the mountain as I watched the top sloping ever closer to us as we plodded
along. A fallen tree lay over our trail with rocks stacked on top it from other
travelers. I picked up a rock and set it next to the others. Ben picked up one
slightly smaller and set it atop mine. I would have enjoyed this trip alone,
but not nearly as much as having someone to enjoy it alongside me.
Eight miles
into our trip, nature played a nasty trick on us and gave us nearly a mile of
mountain to climb. I mentally and literally tightened my straps, gritted my
teeth, gripped my poles and prepared for the most physically rigorous part of
our hike. We didn’t speak as we ascended the side of the mountain, huffing and
puffing clouds of smoke into the icy air. It didn’t matter however, because a
hiker is never cold when hiking, unless he sick. Ben allowed me to lead, which was
really a favor to me so that I could set a pace slower than he would have
trekked. I kept a steady pace to protect my knee and step-by-step we left
footprints in the half-frozen mud.
After what
seemed like hours, we reached what we thought was the summit. I marched on,
looked at the beautiful view to my left, and proceeded when I noticed Ben had
stopped. “Aren’t you going to look at this, it’s beautiful!” he wheezed. “I
think there is more to go,” I return wheezed, but I stopped and took in the
beauty with him. I was tired, sweaty and ready to camp, but we stood and
enjoyed the beauty as much as possible. “Let’s scream like Tarzan,” Ben said.
“Ahhhhhh ehhhhh yaaaaa ehhh yaaaa” he belted into the valleys beyond, echoing
as if we were kings. I gave my Tarzan yell as well and we stood there, looking
at creation atop our conquered mountain, breathing white smoke, in and out. We
smiled, put on our packs and continued on what we thought would be the last
mile of the day. Our goal was to reach the next creek: poison creek.
The sun was
setting behind the mountain, the air growing colder, and my feet where at the
point of blistering when we finally reached the creek bed, full of glacial
boulders. You couldn’t have put two kids in a roomful of candy and had them be
more excited than we were at that moment. The boulders towered on top one
another for miles down the creek bed, as if a titan had tossed out a bucket of
rocks into a fold of the ground. Ben smiled and laughed as we both remarked how
cool it was to camp in a boulder-ridden hideout. There were dark caves and
crevices between the boulders, many to explore, but the boulders lacked one
important element we hoped for and needed for our journey home: water.
Looking all
around Ben and I marveled at the beauty of the boulders, their odd shapes,
their cavernous dens, their meshing with the cliffs, and like two children lost
in a tale we dropped our packs to explore the world before us. Soon after
leaving our packs we found a small frozen pond at the base of the titan’s
bucket of strewn rocks. The pond had the ripples frozen into it and I was unsure
the thickness of the ice or whether we would be able to draw water from this
lone well. A quick glimpse to my left revealed a large cavern, large enough for
a human, or a bear. Realizing the necessity to set up camp, Ben and I
considered putting the tent right in the midst of this dried up creek bed, but
common sense soon arrived with the danger of a flash flood or more importantly,
the small rocks that would penetrate our backs and disturb a well deserved
sleep. No, we would camp high above on the ridge, with soft leaves to sustain
our dreams.
Ascending
the steep ridge we carried our packs to an old leftover campsite still equipped
with some rotten firewood. It was to be our coldest night yet, down in the
teens, so we discussed the best manner of keeping in the warmth from the fire.
“The Boulders!” I suggested, “ We could find a boulder with three walls and
build a fire against one and sit between the other two. The boulders will act
as heat shields.” (Keep in mind as I explain the upcoming events whose idea it
was to build a fire on the boulders.) Ben agreed, and soon I was off carrying
firewood and tossing it down to him where he was beginning the fire. We picked
some boulders right off the top of the ridge, about six feet down from the
ridgeline and twenty feet up from dry creek bed. It was as if the boulders
melded with the cliff. The area we chose wasn’t too far from our tent and
wouldn’t be a difficult climb and walk to our sleeping bags. Ben picked a place
for the fire right where the sidewall of a boulder met the top of the boulder
on which we stood. Ben had a great amount of tinder already prepared, for the
boulders were covered with dry shortleaf pine needles, extra-flammable.
From the
ridge I soon saw smoke rising from behind the cliff and was happy to shortly be
joining Ben by a warm fire after such a long day. Smoke drifted high into the
clouds in puffs like a choo-choo train with small clouds at first, then
slightly more, then more, then the smoke widened, even more, and in nearly an
instant I saw smoke rising nearly ten feet across the boulders down where Ben
began his fire. “Ah, Jooosseeph?” Ben called. I knew immediately what had
happened. I dropped my winter coat where I stood, aimed my gaze at the cliff,
and ran as quickly as my tired feet would carry me to find a near forest fire
at the edge of the cliff, with Ben swatting madly at raging flames rising from
underneath the boulders!
Oddly from
my days as an EMT, I climbed steadily down the cliff, calmly helping him to
control this fire, but an utter mess on the inside. I had learned from those
days of emergencies to act calm in stressful situations because quick movements
almost always led to accidents. However, the fire was spreading and once beside
Ben I moved as fast as I could. “Dig a perimeter so it doesn’t spread” I
coughed with smoke rising all around, flame ripping from holes in between
boulders I hadn’t even noticed. Down to our hands and knees we fell, digging
and ripping the dry pine needles from the boulders in a half perimeter of
nearly twenty feet high up on the cliff. The flames continued to shoot up from
under the boulders. It took us a while to figure out what had happened to cause
such a quick fire, but the hole between the boulders became quickly evident.
Ben had
unknowing built the fire on a hole covered by pine needles appearing to be
solid stone underneath. When the fire got going and the pine needles burned
away, the fire fell through the hole underneath into a miniature cave where
there were loads of dry leaves and pine needles, probably untouched for ages.
This quickly became a stove shooting out hot flame like a wood-burning oven at
a pizzeria or a bread shop.
Nearly
forty minutes into fire fighting, beating the flames into submission with large
logs, we found ourselves forced to use our remaining six liters of water to
quench the last few hungry flames. After seeing only smoke, with large logs in
our dirt ridden hands, we beat and beat the smoke until only wet half-burnt
pine needles and leaves remained. Ben and I sat back after our ten mile hike, two
hours of fire making, and fire-fighting utterly exhausted, wanting nothing more
than a drink, warmth, and some food. We had no water, no fire, and no way to
cook our food. “Well, I’ll go get some water from that pond” said Ben, “and you
can make the fire on top the ridge.” Dazed from slight smoke inhalation and
exhaustion, I agreed, without really thinking about the pond from where I later
heard three loud strikes. Crack! Crack! Crack! Went the ice from down below as
Ben opened its life giving liquid with his Moses like staff. Pump, pump went
the filter as the water flowed into our bottles. The water was cold like death.
I decided
to make our own heat shield by piling some rocks to make a wall and placing
large logs atop one another on which our backs would rest. The distance of the
rock wall from the log wall was roughly four feet and in between the fire and I
finally sat. Warm with the flames blazing by my feet, just breathing in deep,
and out, I looked up at the stars popping out of the sky, the moon rising in
the East and the utter stillness of the dark forest all around me. It was as if
I had carved out my little place in the wilderness for the night, not yet
allowing the darkness to come into this holy space; it was only six o’clock. I
heard Ben’s footsteps as he came back from down below, having filled nearly
five liters of water into our bottles so we could cook our supper. “Here” he
handed me my Nalgene. I drank a good cold mouthful of water and neither tasted
nor smelled the contents of my drink. Ben sat down beside me, slumping from
fatigue and sitting beside the warm fire. I had moved too much that day and my
hunger had passed, and as great as my need was to eat, I couldn’t bring myself
to consume any nutrition. Ben however, was ravaged, and as quickly as he
slumped by the fire, just as quickly did he pull out his stove to begin dinner.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” asked Ben curiously. “I just don’t feel very good. I
am not that hungry yet. I will be, I think I just need to settle down.” The
fire burned and time passed. I listened to the smack of Bens lips at he ate his
supper in the gray of the light. I didn’t feel well.
An hour or
so passed before I forced myself to eat some dinner. I brought along a
dehydrated chili that I mixed with some Raman noodles, but having not read
carefully, realized that my chili required a pound of beef and sauce. I
unhappily ate extremely spicy chilly with Raman noodles, but I knew it was good
to get some nutrition into my body. I began to feel somewhat better and Ben and
I talked about the day and reflected about the near forest fire we hard
started. I could tell he was beating himself up about it, so I did my best to
encourage him when I could. The night was closing in all around us, and even an
inch outside our circle of fire reflectors allowed biting cold onto our bodies.
We talked and laughed, enjoying the night and regaining our lost strength. I
had printed out two stories by Edgar Allan Poe and had promised Ben that
tonight we would read “Black Cat.”
Around a
quarter till ten we began to read the haunting story of “Black Cat,” a tale
full of creepy grotesque things that a crazed man does to his loving pet for no
sensible reason. I had been asking Ben periodically throughout the night if he
could hear rustling in the woods. “I don’t hear anything,” he would reply in
between mouthfuls of food. As I read the story of “Black Cat” I came to the
part where the man mad with anger, takes a knife and cuts out the eyes of the
cat, only to later hang it on a tree, when all of the sudden I noticed a
stillness all around me. “Ahrouuuuuuuuu! Ahr Ahr Ahrouuuuuu” went the voice of
a creature in the darkness only twenty yards behind our fire. Then another
“Ahrouuuuu” then another, and another, and five more, and ten more, until
uncountable howls penetrated the stillness; I could hear them coming toward us.
Ben and I
looked at each other with a mix of fear and excitement in our eyes. “What do we
do” I whispered. “Where is my stick” Ben snarled. “What are you going to do,
beat them with a stick?” “What do you think we should do?,” Ben said with the
howling still in the background. “Run to the tent” I cried. Leaving all of his
food out and his pack open, Ben ran wildly to the tent. I quickly stuffed what
I could into my pack, picked it up and ran behind him. We dove into the tent
head first, fighting to get the flaps zipped, undressed and into our sleeping
bags. Within thirty seconds we were bundled up lying side-by-side listening for
the howls to continue. Our tent was nearly twenty yards from our fire, so
perhaps we could have at least diverted their attention. Laying on our backs,
watching the smoke rise from our heavy breathing by the light of the moon, we
listened for the soft foot prints of either coyotes, or wolves.
I heard
nothing. An hour passed by. Ben began to snore rather loudly and I had to pee,
so killing two birds with one stone I woke him. “Ben” “Ya” “I have to pee, do
you think it’s clear?” “Do you want me to go with you?” I knew he was serious
but that sounded ridiculous. “No, I’m just going unzip the tent and pee out the
side of the flap.” After I finished and significantly marked my territory from
predators, I felt comfortable enough to sleep. I slinked back into my double
bags and quickly fell asleep, except that something was still wrong; I was hot.
The next
twenty four hours were a blur, but I remember waking up in the night and taking
off layer after layer of clothing, feeling hotter and hotter, not even
considering that the temperature dropped into the lows teens that night. I just
wanted to sleep, more frustrated than concerned, I ended up only in my long
underwear, sweating. When I awoke at eight in the morning, I found a layer of
ice between my sleeping bag and my sleeping mat. I had been so hot that
condensation formed underneath my mat and froze even under my sleeping bag. It
was that cold. From this point on I simply had nausea, or so I thought. I
reluctantly ate some oatmeal, bite by bite for breakfast, though every spoonful
felt like I was putting poison into my body. Something was wrong and I was
beginning to realize it when I smelled my water bottle in the light of morning.
“Ben, my water smells like sewage” I said.
In the fury
of our forest fire I had not given thought to the stagnant well of water, which
Ben had pumped through a mere filter. Water like this should always be boiled.
We had five some miles left to hike that day and despite some dehydration and
nausea, I wasn’t about to give up, nor could I really because I was in the middle
of the Ozarks. Luckily Ben had drunk less un-boiled water than I and was
feeling healthy. After packing up camp,
we saddled our packs upon our backs and began our five-mile hike back to the
car. Every step became a nauseous jolt to my stomach. The air was cold, but I
was still sweating, feeling the sweat freezing on my skin as I trudged along. I
had brought a bandana and wrapped it around my face to quench the stinging cold
on my sweating face from the low twenty-degree temperature. Ben was very gracious
to me, allowing me to lead and set a pace I could keep while remaining silent
because I was miserable and could barley talk. The miles dragged on.
Two miles
from the car was a waterfall, which was trickling from the dry winter, but we
used it only to rest and to boil a little water, that I barely sipped. I would
have enjoyed the waterfall, but I knew we couldn’t stay long with my
deteriorating condition. After what felt like days of trudging we made it to
our starting point where the trail’s circle first began. One mile left. I had
renewed strength from this sign. Perhaps as fast as I could trek I focused on
each step, beginning to feel dizzy, but knowing that the car was just around the
corner. Ben gave me some verbal encouragement and right when I thought I would
need another rest, we began to see the low golden orb fields from the entrance
of our hike in the setting sun. Like two ragged dolls, we limped to the car,
Ben immediately starting the engine, threw our packs in the back and we headed to
the nearest gas station for water. The nearest gas station was a thirty-minute
drive out of the forest and into the town of Roby. I lay my head on the seat
belt, eyes rolled back, feeling my body rocking back and forth with waves of
nausea. I wondered what Ben was thinking.
Soon we
arrived at the gas station full of locals wearing flannel and cowboy boots. In
walks two ragged looking men with grim faces, limping around like they were in
a fight. We were in a fight, with nature. I immediately went to the cooler and
opened a bottle of water and began to slowly drink. I felt so dehydrated that I
knew I should take it slowly less I vomit on the floor. I grabbed a handful of
Tums, hoping they would settle my stomach, paid for the items, and walked out
of the store with Ben, eyes staring into our backs.
One hour
into our drive home I told Ben to pull over. I swiveled right on my seat,
opened the door, leaned over and vomited my oatmeal on the pavement along the
highway. I didn’t feel better, and even worse I saw I wasn’t digesting
anything. It looked as if I just eaten my breakfast, but nearly seven hours had
passed. We got back in the car. I drank small sips of water and small beads of
sweat formed on my forehead. I was out of the woods, but my adventure wasn’t
quite over.
I lay in
bed, sweating into the sheets feeling utterly terrible, not knowing what was
happening, feeling delusional and battling the rumbling in my lower intestine
that would soon let loose. I watched “Downton Abbey” on the computer, a funny
thing to watch after such a tough hiking trip. My colon rumbled again, dizzily
I tried to rise from the bed, but found I barely had the strength to lift my
arm. “Oh no” I thought in my head. “This is bad.” Little by little I made goals
of moving different body parts to make it to the bathroom. Ten minutes later I
found myself sitting on the toilet seat and after finishing a bout of diarrhea
I found I couldn’t move my arms to grab the toilet paper. I began to panic,
flinging my arms around like a rag doll, grabbing some toilet paper but unable
to grasp it in my fingers, dropping it on the floor, picking up another role
and repeating the process. Toilet paper was all over the bathroom floor. Then I lost my hearing. “Why can’t I hear” I
thought in a panic. The world went silent and the sound of a blank TV screen
rustled in my brain. Then came the water. I felt all my pores open like the
gates of a dam. I watched water rush off my nose in a stream falling in a
puddle on the ground. I realized I was in a lot of trouble, slumped my head
forward, and prayed. “Lord Jesus, I’m too young to die, not like this, please,
help me.” Then, as quickly as I prayed, the feeling passed. I regained my
hearing, finished my business, and rose soaking wet from the toilet seat. I
washed my hands and face and hobbled back to my bed. I telephoned Ben, although
he was only in the other room.
I sat on
the side of my bed, my face completely green. When Ben walked in I looked at
him in the eye and said, “Something happened.” Ben checked on me every half
hour after that, brought me tea and water, and told me we would be going to the
hospital if I didn’t get better. I continued to sweat, running a fever, but I
felt a lot better after that event, as if the evil parasite in my body passed.
I slept the rest of the day and the night, feeling much healthier when I woke
in the morning. I still had some recovering to do, but my adventure was now
over, and Ben stuck by me all the way, unpacking my bag and airing out our
equipment as I slept.
I suppose
we live for these moments of respite, to go outside our routine and conquer a
mountain, in whatever form it takes. I loved every minute of the trip, from the
intense hiking to fire fighting, wolf or coyotes wailing, and even the
depredating physical exhaustion. I wouldn’t ask for giardia again, but I can
now say how miserable an experience it is to drink filthy water. My housemates
got a kick out of seeing toilet paper rolls strewn over the bathroom floor,
wondering what happened. Thinking back on it, I am sure that every Ozark animal
used that lone pond to clean, drink, and poop, hence the sewage smell of my
water bottle. I couldn’t have asked for a greater adventure or a better partner
to adventure alongside me. Part of being human is exploring and pushing our bodies
to enjoy the unexplored and unchallenged world. I am thankful that I made it
out alive and will look forward to returning again to the wet dirt and starry
sky. I’ve learned many valuable lessons, not the least being the joy of camaraderie
on a hike toward the rainbows[1].
posted by Joseph at
8:17 PM
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