By Tim Harden |
| A Walk on the Wild Side |
 Determination got me into the physical shape I needed to be in, and with the purchase of a .38 caliber revolver for the just-in-case encounter with a bear or mountain lion, I was ready to hit the mountains hard.I did just that. In day one, I headed hard into the mountains of the White River National Forest. Hours in, I came across the skeletal remains of at least five big game animals. I also got a quick glimpse of what appeared to be a mountain lion on a hill above me. Shortly after, I picked off between forty and fifty gorgeous cutthroat on a Royal Coachman. It was certainly everything I had hoped for. Nonetheless, I wanted to go again as soon as possible and go harder. I did so twice with minimal success. On July 30th, I took myself to a location in the Holy Cross Wilderness Area that looked very promising. It also looked like it was going to be my biggest adventure yet. My map revealed that I would be on a trail for a short time. When it would take me to the creek, I would abandon the trail and follow the creek upstream to where I thought the money was. I drove west that evening downing Red Bulls like it was water and had the additional high of just having booked a do-it-yourself steelhead trip to British Columbia. Amped would be an appropriate word if I was searching for an understatement. Excitement woke me up in the 4 a.m. hour, and after getting my gear together from my back of the Jeep sleep, I had my headlamp on and was headed into the darkness. I went in and went hard for about seven hours until I reached my destination. I saw mountain beauty that was overwhelming. I also found myself in situations where my motto of "better safe than sorry" had seemed to have vanished. There were many instances where I was in difficult situations, and at one point, I remember thinking or uttering to myself words that I won't forget: It's times like this that I'm glad I don't have common sense. I was in just about every situation that a rational person wouldn't want to be in. It was those scenerios where you wonder what tragedy could happen if you slipped or missed a step. By the time I reached the lake, it was about noon and already time to turn around. A large part of me was discouraged that I needed to leave to get back safely, while another part of me knew I would be back, as the few sizable cutthroat I saw were enough to begin mentally planning an overnight trip as soon as possible. Heading back, I quickly recognized that I was physically beat and that it would be more difficult to get out than it was to get in. My legs were in pain from the bushwackings I'd taken going in and were also fatigued from the hours of hiking. I was also considering the many indications of large bear presence I had witnessed when going in. After hours of heading out had passed, my body was beginning to feel the damage it had received from the day's work. Soon I begin a series of falls. The terrain, and the weak condition of my body was easily throwing me to the ground, incurring more wounds. A severe beating came after slipping from a rock ledge and landing on my chest before sliding downhill to a stopping point that kept me from continuing downhill. By the time I encountered the black bear, darkness was closing in on me, and I was at a point where I had been earlier in the day. I was trying desperately to remember at what time in the day I had been in that area, so I would know how much further I had to go. When I looked up, I calmly stared at the monster before it turned and ran up the trail. I was not phased. At this point, it was possible that my beatings and lack of water had put me into a mental state that did not acknowledge such conditions as fear or panic. I drew my .38 loaded with hollow points and followed the bear up the trail that I so needed to get back. I had assumed that this trail I'd discovered would be my salvation. The beatings continued. I was falling to the ground and recovering with exhaustion, while wondering where the hell I was. I knew if I followed the creek downstream, I would find my way. But how far downstream? Darkness would blind me from the area where I abandoned the trail, and I was unsure how I would be able to pick it back up. Darkness eventually fell upon the mountains and woods, and my legs were covered in gashes of bloody cuts and deep wounds. My shoes had cut up my ankles into wounds that made the simple task of walking even more difficult than it already was. In short time, I was unable to salivate or swallow. I imagined that I was dehydrated, and not having water as a result of having drunk it all the night before revealed an enormous dilemma. Meanwhile, I could just hardly project my voice. However, I was not concerned about my well-being. I was in a state of mind where it was like some sort of shock. It was clear that my body had taken severe damage. The falls continued, and I even fell into a pond that I could only barely see, and couldn't avoid as a result. It was at about 2 a.m. on August 1st before I arrived to my Jeep in extreme pain and exhaustion. I drove to a gas station in Vail where my crippled body took me into the store to buy drinks. The water I drank tasted almost foreign to me as I even choked on it at one point. My legs had bruises and soon-to-be scars that eventually made it difficult to simply stand. I dream of another backcountry adventure, but the scars in my memory are far deeper than what remains on my legs, and I know I'll never go it alone as much as I want to. I like to tell myself to "go hard or don't go." This is a saying I would like to keep, but I must also recognize and tell others to know their limits and to be careful when pushing those limits. Tim Harden Arvada, Colorado Guide The Hatch Fly Shop in Pine Junction, Colorado |
