I took a lot of pictures on this hike, some are on my Instagram account deb.in.ut. Our adventure in Bell Canyon yesterday was beautiful and memorable. The hike was much more challenging than I expected, especially the part right before the falls. I didn't take pictures of that area.
On that part of the trail, we encountered several groups descending the mountain. One was a family: mom, dad, and three teenagers.
"You have a little ways to go," said the mom. She was being optimistic, but I had no idea. I believed her.
"Oh, so I shouldn't quit now then?" I joked.
"No, and you can take a long rest at the top," she answered with encouragement.
After that "little ways to go," when we'd been climbing up and over boulders on a steep slope for a long time, I thought surely we were almost there. At that point, we just happened to encounter some neighbors of my parents and my brother: a mom and her teenage daughter.
After cheerful introductions, I asked hopefully, "We're almost there right?"
The mom's face fell, she looked apologetic, and said, "No, not really. We've been walking a while. You have about 30 to 45 minutes left to go."
My heart sank. I was totally exhausted and my heart was beating so fast and hard I could feel it. I was ready to be done. I'd also been feeling a time pressure because I knew one of my daughters and my brother both had places to be soon. Psychologically, the reality that we weren't as close as I hoped, that we might have to quit before we arrived, tipped the balance. I crashed physically. I felt light headed and a little nauseous. I wasn't sure I could or should go further.
Since I knew my reaction was partly psychological, I also knew I could try to muster the physical strength to continue. We'd come so far. I couldn't just turn around. Nobody else seemed worried or discouraged. I didn't share how close I felt to giving up. Instead, I insisted I walk last in our group. I needed to go slowly. My daughters and brother appeared fine, were enjoying their conversation, and seemed to effortlessly scramble up ahead of me. I tried to breathe more deeply and slowly. I kept climbing one foot in front of the other.
A little while later, we encountered another group descending the mountain. I was much further down from our group. I asked a smiling young dad with a baby strapped on his front, "Are we almost there?"
He said, "Yes! You'll just keep going up as far as you can see, then the trail turns left, and then you're almost there. I'd say you only have another ten or fifteen minutes to go."
Because of what happened after we asked others, I thought he might be speaking optimistically, but I needed to believe him. It took a little longer than he described, but his words help me push through to the destination. There was something about his smile and his tone of voice that gave me hope.
At the top of the incline, my family members waited for me. A young woman passed us where the trail seemed to divide. She took the trail to the left.
"Are you going to the falls?" I called out after her.
"Are you talking to me?" she said, then called back, "Yes."
"That's what the sign shows," said my daughter.
I was so focused on just climbing up over the next boulder that I'd missed the obvious sign with an arrow that pointed left. That was a little embarrassing, but made me realize how I was barely hanging in there. I wasn't even really seeing anymore.
I hardly believed it, but we were very close to the falls at that point. We could hear the falling water. Because of the trees, bushes, and steep terrain, in order to see the falls, we had to climb down the mountain slope, past and around pine trees that had many exposed roots.
When we finally arrived, I felt an incredible sense of achievement and joy. I stood in awe near the falls for as long as I could.
Going down the mountain took a fraction of the time. We weren't a lot later than we originally planned. Everything worked out.
One of the benefits of the pandemic has been opening of windows of time when I have freedom to go places without worrying about my twenty-seven-year-old daughter who has Down syndrome and severe autism because my husband is now working from home. She wakes up at 9 AM, so I can go places before that time.
Once a day, she also watches a movie. Once a week, if I time it right, I put on the movie for her and go on adventures. She stays and watches the whole thing and then goes upstairs to play with her toys if I'm not back exactly on time. My husband is here if there's a problem. Yesterday, we were a little late, so my husband fed her lunch during his lunch break. We returned home right when he needed to get back to work. I took over her care.
As a result of these windows of time, it's been a most amazing summer. We've gone walking or hiking every week. I've documented all our adventures on Instagram.
Maybe because the hike was so challenging, I just can't stop looking at yesterday's pictures. They fill me with such gratitude for our world, for my body, and for time to explore.
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