Being a virgin adventure, clean water sources were unknown, so I kept guzzling water until my belly ballooned up like pictures of Buddha while scavanging for forgotten energy gels shoved in the back of cabinets. With three full water bottles and several gels, I headed out.
Cinching down shoulder straps on my pack at the trail head, I set off. The trail traversed a steep hillside where I could maintain a steady trot, swatting at mosquitoes who were laying in wait. Just exactly who's blood do they suck on when I'm not around???
Eventually, I came to a makeshift bridge spanning frothy white water angrily coming down from melting snowbanks far above. The trail abruptly made a 90 degree turn, uphill. I vowed to maintain a constant hike until reaching the summit. Where the trail dared to get too close to the raging river, overflow converted the trail into a small creek. I slopped through the icy waters and kept moving. Above timberline, huge snowfields buried the trail. Frequently, a foot would punch through the crust and free fall, only stopped when other body parts smashed onto the crust. I'd wiggle my leg out of the post hole, only to repeat the process with next step...and the next...and the next...
Ah, yes! The summit, complete with prayer flags whipping in the gusty wind. Spring winds coupled with sunshine had cleared the pass of snow and the backside was a southern exposure, so the solar panel quality also had it clear of snow.
It felt good to allow my legs to cycle downhill, however, the backside was much steeper and soon, toes crammed up in the narrow tips of my shoes began to ache. With all their crying, I called them all kinds of inappropriate names and would briefly quiet them as I'd stop to drink water and strike my heel on the ground to pull the complaining toes out of their cramped quarters.
Upon reaching the turn around point, I realized I needed to ration what little water was left. I began my return trip promising the last few ounces of water would be my reward upon reaching the prayer flags again.
Legs become tired and along the march back up, a man was filling his water bottle.
"Do you have water purification tablets?" I desperately asked, willing to pay any price.
"No, but this is spring water," he replied.
It wasn't a spring, but a small drainage that went underground for about 40 feet before burping back above ground where he thought it was a clean spring. I was not quite thirsty enough to justify the risk, so I moved on.
Maybe half way up, I finished my water...complete with licking out any drops I could reach that were clinging to the sides. Still thirsty, I knew I was in trouble.
The prayer flags slapping in the wind provided a spark of happiness since it was all downhill from there. But, I was parched. Punching back across snowfields, I re-injured my ailing foot as it broke through the crust and bottomed out, twisting on a rock. The post holing across the snowfields zapped energy and spiked thirst when suddenly, I noticed a rock move.
Am I hallucinating?
The rock moved again and I walked right up to it. A high mountain ptarmigan still carrying some winter white feathers made perfect camouflage. Its self perception of being invisible was conceited as I could have kicked it.
I wonder if drinking its blood would help me out? What? That's gross! What's wrong with me?
I concluded ptarmigans must be closely related to the extinct dodo birds who watched predators approach and easily wipe them out. I let gravity take me away from the bird and realized my hurt foot would only tolerate a quick walking stride.
The trail twisted down the mountain as I became more dehydrated with mosquitoes sucking more fluid from me. I hoped my thickening blood had the viscosity of 30 weight gear oil and they'd give up trying to drink the syrup. But, they didn't seem to mind.
Finally, I was paralleling the roaring river! All that lovely water had me entranced, but my paranoia of giardia still overruled dropping to my belly and drowning myself in the river. I knew there was a giardia parasite bobbing in the whitewater, laying in wait for my approach where it would then position itself to be consumed and manifest itself inside me, knotting up my innards only to turn myself inside out afterwards.
Like the story about the mythological Medusa, I looked no further at the temptation and continued to hobble downhill.
Weird, I don't remember that rock formation... Or that tree laying across the trail... Or this embankment of stacked rock... Or...
@#$%!
Looking up, I realized I was nearly off the mountain and had missed my turn to cross the bridge!
Do I swim across and risk being swept down into the lake? Shut up, you're an idiot! Is that a grazing unicorn and a colorful Care Bear pointing uphill, showing me the way? C'mon...keep it together!
Shaking my head in total disgust, I turned and began to march back up the trail, cussing myself with each step knowing rehydrating with fluids was even more delayed with my tunnel vision missing the turn.
The bridge finally came into sight, glowing like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. My pace quickened and mercifully, I made it back to the car (8 hours after departure) and gunned it for the nearest town. Upon slowing down to stop at the convenience store, I reached for my wallet.
It was at home! My eyes darted to bright red hummingbird feeders dangling under eaves and from low tree branches...
Hmmm....
I envisioned the Police Blotter in the tiny local paper: "Parched and crazed, a delirious male was caught trespassing and chugging hummingbird nectar from multiple properties."
I drove on, and finally made it home where 80 ounces of wonderful water immediately swelled my belly.
Days later, I bought a Life Straw that filters nearly everything and, therefore, making the most rancid mud puddle safe to drink.
It is small and goes wherever I go. And, it is challenging another straw for being my favorite...
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