Last week ended as my friend Jeff and I contemplated the dark pool of water that lay between us and our campsite in The Narrows of Zion National Park.
An eerie shriek echoed through the canyon walls. Uncontrollable shivering spread throughout my body. It was too dark to backtrack up the river for an easier crossing; we could barely see our noses. I took a deep breath and slowly waded into the unknown. Baby steps. Icy water lapped at my thighs, then slowly lowered to my ankles. Relief spread through exhausted limbs as we flung our packs on the sand and dug our headlamps out. Night lay like a thick blanket around us, and our wimpy beams of light didn’t illuminate much.
Jeff assembled the tent while I boiled water for our freeze dried lasagna. It was then that I realized the pain signals shooting up my legs during the last mile were something I should have paid attention to. Those hiking sandals had sliced deep cuts into my skin. Would the oozing lure some carnivorous animal to us? I quickly bandaged my feet and pulled dirty socks on, hoping they would camouflage the wounded scent.
We literally inhaled the food and quickly curled up inside our sleeping bags. I twitched through restless nightmares starring wolverines, blood-thirsty trout, and whirlpools. Twice I awoke in a panic to make sure my feet had not been gnawed off by marauding creatures. By the time light pierced our nylon enclosure, I was exhausted.
After breaking camp and resolutely lacing up my hiking shoes, I followed Jeff into the numbing water. Ten additional pounds immediately soaked into my wool socks. We lumbered along, slowly treading back and forth along the river bed searching for the shallowest parts. Slosh, slip, slide, splash.
Brooding red rocks towered above us. Crimson leaves peppered the sparse trees we waded beneath as a hawk’s screech drifted through the air. Then noisy rapids led to a thundering waterfall; huge boulders jutted from the suddenly narrow river bed’s edges. Jeff chose to climb, while I edged around. Suddenly my foot plunged into a deep hole. I teetered, then splayed my arms and legs across the slimy granite face. My fingers groped for cracks and crevices while the current tugged at my waist. Jeff was nowhere in sight.
My hands slipped. The river pulled. Adrenaline surged me to an overhanging limb, where I clung for dear life. Then a strong hand grabbed my pack and pulled me to a pebbly bank, where I spluttered and squealed my indignation. My stormy glares just made Jeff laugh. Our final journey through the long section of narrows nicknamed Wall Street was both magical and torturous. At the end, we thankfully stumbled out of the river into the warm Utah sun. To this day, those purple scars on my feet still make me smile.
Our final experience in Zion was hiking Angel’s Landing trail. Packed with tourists, it was yin to the Narrows Yang. I braved the crush of humanity only because the view at the summit was advertised as worth the demanding exertion required. Steep switchbacks and chiseled steps led us steadily away from the Virgin River valley. Surrounded by sheer drop offs and cliffs, it was no place for acrophobia.
At the first set of chains cut into rock, we waited for a family to descend. I let go of the comforting cold metal to let them pass. But just as the matriarch reached my step, she panicked and lunged toward the wide landing. Her heavy pack rocketed toward me as I balanced delicately on a narrow ledge, inches away from dizzyingly empty space.
Peggy Badgett is a small-town pharmacist who lives on a 20-acre farm. She can be reached at pharmgirl3168@gmail.com.