Ozark Hiker

<– Part 3

Funny how the brain works.  In the moment, it was like I could feel every second.  Terrified that each minute would be something permanent done to my friend’s mind.   Adrenaline coursing through me, waiting on him to stumble or fall.  Afraid to even entertain the one what if that hid gibbering with fear in the back of my mind.

I do remember how new-car cowardly I was going down the mountain.  Soon as we threw the packs in the bed and strapped in, I was going up that mountain like Mr. Toad’s wild ride.  L4 to H4, 2-3-L4 and back again.  One eye on the tach, another on the road.  Slip-sliding, bumping and jostling, skidding and thumping.

Grap is in the back, asking me if I got a new truck and telling me to be careful.  What’s the rush?   Did something happen?   Kat finally has a signal, we get 911 to answer and my truck’s Bluetooth picks it up and pipes it into the cab.

“Sixty-something yr-old, severe memory loss . . . can’t hold more than 30 seconds.”  In the back seat, Grap tells us he’s okay, really.  Feels fine.  Why, did something happen?    Operator asks if we want an ambulance.   “Ma’am, we were hoping you’d have a bit of guidance for us on that account.”

Skid, turn.  Watch out for tha- bump, bounce. . H4 to L4, 3 to 2.   Go, go, go.   Where do we want the ambulance?    No way they’re getting it down this way.   Don’t know if I said it, or thought it, but I have a memory of expressing that soon as I get off this mountain I’ll be heading toward Harrison and the nearest hospital at about 100 mph.  Figure they can catch me on the way.  We guessed we were about fifteen, twenty minutes away from the Compton post office.  Kat, unflappable and cool-headed, tells the 911 operator to have the pro’s meet us there.

Up, up, and away.   Vaguely remember being curious, concerned about what would happen on such a narrow road if I met someone coming while I was going.   It happened.  Didn’t slow down.  Pretty sure I kept all the wheels on the road.  I glance over and saw Kat staring at his phone and I read his mind.  I knew he was thinking about calling his wife.   Started to tell him don’t, but realized that wasn’t any of my business.  It is her Dad, after all.

Skidded into the Compton post office and wasn’t there long enough to get everyone out of the truck before the first responders showed up.   Within minutes of our arrival, I’m pretty sure we had the entire Compton VFD out in that parking lot.  Each one of them, it seemed, had one piece of rescuey equipment.  One had a giant backpack of something, another had an oxygen tank.  Someone else had bottles of water.  They were everywhere.  Grap was taking it all in stride, with kind of an “aw shucks” embarrassed grin on his face.  More folks arrived.  Ambulance wasn’t here yet, but someone on the radio said helicopter.   Grap asked me if we had to carry him, I assured him we didn’t.  He apologized, the only time I saw him distressed, because he thought he ruined the trip.   “You get through this, brother, and you’ll have made the most interesting trip we’ve ever had.”

Harrison ambulance arrived shortly after, EMTs were cool calm and collected.  Didn’t catch their names, didn’t catch anyone’s name.   Had other things on my mind than socializing, but the one with the shiny earring was cool as the Fonze.

Once it seemed like our friend wasn’t going to drop dead on us (even though nobody still could figure out what was going on), they called in the copter.   I headed out and snapped a few last-minute pictures.

Kat looked at me kind of crazylike and said, “Really?”   I nodded.  Oh yeah.   Fully intended to laugh with Grap about this one day.  Wasn’t trying to be optimistic, I just couldn’t even entertain the thought that he wasn’t going to be okay.  I heard one of the EMTs say that it didn’t look like any stroke they’d ever seen before.

And, not going to lie here. . . I was relieved that the pros were there.  He was in good hands.

Helicopter came, Grap took off toward Fayetteville.  Another good sign.  If it had been a bad stroke, then I think he would’ve headed off to Springfield.   Back in the Yota, tearing down the highway.   Kat breaks silence enough to suggest, gently, that while he appreciates my haste . . . chances are a speeding ticket (or worse) would delay our arrival even more than going the speed limit.   So I eased it down to a more reasonable, less adrenaline-charged pace.

So now you’ve read about 7 pages of this.   Approaching 4000 words.   I’ll skip over the emergency room reunion which went about how you’d expect it to go.  Nobody knew anything until the next day anyway.  I half-expected the family to throw rocks at me, but they didn’t.  Lots of hugs, tears, worries.   I’m not family, so I didn’t ask to go back and see him.  Figured he wasn’t going to remember if I did anyway.  By the next morning, Kat texts me something he found on the ‘net.   Transient Global Amnesia brought on by a sudden immersion in cold water.  Holy guacamole, that fit like it was written for him.   Sure enough, no long-term damage done.   That ended up being the diagnosis.  By Sunday afternoon, he was back to us.   Couldn’t remember more than snippets of the hike, but was joking and laughing.   We watched the video of our icy baptism for the first time.

And laughed.

(Thanks to the first responders in Compton and the EMTs coming out of Harrison, the copter crew and the other good folks that came out to help us.  Prayers to those families in Newtown, Connecticut.  I thought long and hard about blogging today and, truth told, I desperately needed one story with a happy ending.  Maybe you did, too.)

<–Part 2 |  Part 4 –>

It started with the camera.  We were getting dressed again, gathering up shoes and gear.  Still laughing.  Grap asks me if I have his camera.  I checked.  Nope.  Still cold, I start moving on down the trail.  Kat is behind me.   Maybe twenty or so yards between the three of us.   Grap was staring up in awe.  And, really, all of us were still in awe.   Smiles still on our face.

He said that this place is so beautiful.  That he’s always wanted to see it.   Then he says it again.   Then there was a pause.  And he said it again.   Then he asked me if I had his camera.

I stopped and looked back at Kat.  We arch eyebrows at each other and just stand there a moment.  I guess we figured he was taking it all in.  No rushing on our hikes.  We don’t judge.  Hike your own and what-not.   When he repeated himself a fourth time, still staring up at the same spot, I trotted on over to Kat.

“Is he messing with us?”
“Don’t think so. . . “

We watched a bit longer then called out for him to come on, we’re heading back to make coffee or cocoa or something.  He came along and, really, you’d think nothing was wrong.   Until he got to the mouth of the canyon, turned around, and said, “Guys, have you seen this yet?  This is beautiful!”

Turned and he was looking at the waterfall, the trickle really, but the pool of water we just spent about thirty minutes cavorting in.   Arms crossed, leaning in head to head, Kat & I did some quick trail triage.  The only thing that made sense at the time was that maybe he’d had a stroke.  Obviously not a big one, because he was walking and talking and moving around just fine.   We call him over and start asking him questions.

I have to hand it to him, Grap kept his cool like a champ.  Never argued with us, didn’t even really get scared.  We quizzed him.  What is the year?  What is our names?  How long have you been married?  Name your grandkids.   Long-term stuff seemed okay, but the closer we got to immediate now the more faded it became.

Looked to Kat.  He looked to me.   “Keep moving.”   And off we went.

I don’t have any pictures of this part of the trail.  Later, when things settled down enough for me ‘n Kat to decompress, it seems we had the same thoughts ricocheting around at the same time.  Packs were maybe two miles down-trail.  Truck was maybe three miles uptrail from that.  Keys were in the packs.  Grap was keeping quiet, following us.  Not because he was worried, but because he was completely wrapped up in how beautiful this place was.  A place he’d always wanted to see.   Now and again he’d ask us if something had happened, why his shirt was wet.   We’d answer, he’d express surprise.  We’d drive on.

Didn’t want to run, no idea if he’d burst a blood vessel.  Afraid to get his heart rate going too fast.  The questions starting coming on about a 30-second loop.  Just long enough to answer them before he’d ask the same series again.  Guys, did something happen?  “Yeah, we think you had a mini-stroke.”  Aw, man, I was hoping to avoid that.  We’d walk a few more steps.   Guys, did something happen?

That was when Kat said, “I’m going for the packs” and took off running down the trail.  He’s fast.  Grap and I kept on down the trail at a leisurely pace.  He stopped frequently to take pictures and I would urge him to come on.  Cheerfully, happily, he followed.   Did something happen?  “Yeah, think you had a mini-stroke.”  Aw, man.  I was hoping to avoid that.

I went through the same series of questions.  Do you hurt anywhere?  Are you numb?  Do you know who I am?   Are you okay?  Not scared or anything?   Most of his answers were in the exact same words, with the exact same inflection as the dozens of times before.  Once, though, he answered, “Of course I’m okay, I’m with you guys.  Why, did something happen?”    Yeah.

Came to the rock wall as Kat was humping all three packs.   Threw mine on, made sure we had the keys.  Kat took lead, wearing Grap’s pack and holding his own.   I took up the rear.

The next two hours was the same 30-second conversation in a continuous loop.   Kat and I kept answering, kept joking, tried to keep laughing.   Not sure what was going through his mind, but I was going in a dozen different worst case scenarios.  What if he strokes out?  What if he loses memory of us, can we convince him to stay calm?   What if he panics?

I had my cell out, GPS on, and was dialing 911 to no signal every ten minutes.  My heart was racing, staring at Grap’s back.  Do I remember how to do CPR right?  Are we doing the right thing?  Can we get him out faster than if we waited for someone to come get him?

All this time, Grap is having the best hike of any he could recall.  He is enraptured by the beauty of it all.  Kat later described it as the essence of the man.   He was in a beautiful moment, with friends in the woods on a beautiful day.

Two hours later, we came off the trail.  Still didn’t have a signal.

<–  Part 1   |   Part 3 –>

We hopped back into the Yota and turned to travel down a Not Recommended road.  I’m gripping the steering wheel with both hands, doing a 10 and 2 like a fourteen-year-old in his mom’s minivan for the first time.  Leaning forward as if it actually did a darn bit of good trying to see over the hood.  Both windows are down, foot on the brake.   I eased around the first corner and my first thought wasn’t what I planned for it to be.

My first thought was, “I bought a 4×4 for this?”   How to explain the mix of relief and disappointment I felt as I gently rolled down that recently graded dirt road?   The drive up to Kat’s mountaintop compound after a gentle rain is more rigorous than this.   I kept her in L4 really, just because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.  Well, okay, it was still a county road down the mountain.  Still a little steep.  Maybe a rock here or there.  I think one dip in the road.   I got a chance to put the Yota through a bit of a run a few hours later, but that’s for Part 3 I think.  (and still before the helicopters)

Parked at the bottom at the Cecil Cove Loop trailhead.   Got to show off a few of the secret compartments in my new truck (did I mention I got a new truck?).   Packs up, off we go.   Kat was near giddy on that first part of the trail.  Hell or High Water, we were going to find Thunder Canyon Falls.  They filled me in on the past few failed trips.   It isn’t that the falls are particularly difficult to find, especially not for this crew.  It was that we tend to hike with kids.  The last couple of times they attempted to find the falls – they had little ones in tow.   Real little ones.   And when the little guys are done, the hike is done.  This time, no little ones.  Just us manly men.   Item one on the weekend agenda was finding the falls.

Maybe a mile, mile and a half in, we came to a newly formed beaver dam.   Grap, being the scientist he is, was probably the happiest of we three stooges.  A few dry crossings later, we came upon a beautiful rock wall.  We didn’t know it, but we had far overshot our turn to go find the falls.   This looked like as good a place as any to start exploring so we stashed the packs, grabbed a water bottle and the cameras, and headed off.

A half-hour or so of bushwhacking later, Grap called it a wrong turn and we doubled back.  Found the right turn and headed off into the most beautiful area I’ve ever seen.   It has been pretty dry lately, so we didn’t expect much.   Not more than a trickle, really, but the power and artistry of water and time were evident.  We slipped and slid, crossing over the little chasm frequently . . . convinced we were on the right trail.

And we were.    I don’t think I’ve ever seen Kat or Grap so happy.  They laughed, hugged, woo-hoo’d and did everything but dance.   The waterfall wasn’t thundering, just a gentle trickle into a nearly perfect circular pool of turquoise water.   It was clear and cold and deep.   And cold.   Very cold.   Mind numbing cold.   Brain freeze cold.   (Too soon?)

Even though it was December 1^st, the weather was unseasonably warm.  High 60’s, maybe even up to 70 by the time we arrived at Thunder Canyon Falls.  It was 11:30, approximately.  Beautiful blue sky.  I won’t speculate as to who suggested this first.   There’s video evidence that I was the first to jump in, though, so no way I can shuck that blame.  We’re all of us unapologetic waterfall jumpers.  Wet hikers, we three unwise men.  Cameras were ledged, socks were protected and shoes set aside.  I stripped down to a pair of spandex shorts and my hiking shirt.  (Wasn’t a pretty sight for anyone.)  The other two idiots stripped down to their shorts.

On the video, you can see me trying to buy time with braggadocio.  Pointing at Kat and declaring that I am no longer a follower!  I shall lead (in this foolishness).  I slip and mostly fell into the water.   Went under completely and came up screaming.   It was cold.  Mere words are insufficient, so I will attempt to describe it in haiku.

cold cold cold cold cold
I can’t seem to stop screaming
cold cold cold cold cold

I drag myself out of the frigid mistake only to see Kat jump in feet-first.  He went into a deeper section and comes up hollering, too.   By this time, my body is so confused that the cold sensation has been replaced by a warm burning feeling all over my body.   I stand there, shivering, and laughing with maniacal joy.  Grap, the comparatively wise patriarch of our band of fools, can be heard on the video saying something to the effect of, “I must be out of my mind.”  He then slid into the pool and came up with an entirely new vocabulary.

That should have been enough.  But, oh no.    I had to go in again.    Which meant they had to go in again.   Great fun was had by all.  Kat took the picture below.   Grap was looking up at the canyon, the echo of our laughter was still bouncing around the canyon.  I had moved on about fifty yards down the trail, trying to get my body warmed up again through motion.  That photo should be titled Essence of Grap.  He’s thinking, in that picture, that this is the most beautiful place he’s ever seen.  He’s always wanted to see this.

By our best guess, this is the point where things got strange.   Right after that, they got real urgent and scary.