Dehydration and Exhaustion
- By Javier Espinosa
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- 31 May, 2016
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I took my longest break 20 feet from the summit. I didn't know where I was.
It was 98 degrees by midday. The sun ablaze in a cloudless sky. I was out of water some 2.5 miles up the trail. On the way back, I took some breaks soaking in the cool baths of the creek. Quite enjoyable really, but deep down I knew time was running out.
Most of the summit is a blur, but I remember being shaky in the legs and hands, a little bit dizzy and disoriented. I stopped and threw up twice. There was little to no shade.
I kept telling myself I was going to make it. I never allowed the possibility of doubt, disappointment, failure, or giving up. I took my breaks, pressed onward and upward. I kept my thoughts on that icy cold Gatorade waiting for me and the cool AC blasting from Bertha’s vents.
I came upon a beautiful little harbor lined with shops, restaurants, and boats both at dock and moor. I approached a man on a boat. I was seeking transit across the bay where a wildlife refuge and dunes hailed the sights of the harbor. He agreed to take me across the bay.
I passed my time watching trout swim in the stream. Before leaving, I dipped my hands in the falls' cool pools and said, "thanks."
Heading west, I came upon a quaint little cemetery on top a hill surrounded by bluffs. It was Memorial Day. I stopped to pay my respects. Most of the vets who rest here served in WWII, others WWI.
One by one, I walked passed the American flags. The tears swelled. Flags were everywhere.
Appreciation and gratitude flush over me, and I am happy to be in such beautiful country.
I clear the sand from my sneakers, hoist my pack and trek on out into the desert once again.
