32
I WANT TO GO HOME
When Elizabeth mentioned that she wanted to go for a hike in late August, I became excited and at her suggestion of the Wind Rivers, I was thrilled. We hadn't walked in the Winds for the last seven years since moving to Canada. When Valerie heard we were going, she wanted to join us. I instantly thought if Susan were with us, I would have my three daughters back together. Wishful thinking. I fell so easily into denying we had been estranged for twenty-five years.
As the weeks slipped by, Valerie's interest waned and she finally reneged. A visit with her father and her cancelation of our trip had coincided. So what's new?
Elizabeth and her current boyfriend, on his way to Oregon, were driving across Canada from Massachusetts. We all would have a few days together at our cabin before he continued west and Elizabeth and I headed south for Wyoming and my beloved Winds.
The west was drier than it had been in years. I called the Outdoor Shop in Pine- dale, and learned that two nearby fires were almost under control. The entrance at Elkhart Park was closed, as well as the south entrance to Yellowstone, and there was a large burn just outside of Dubois, nowhere near where we were going.
After thirteen hours on the road we pulled into Bonnie's driveway and unloaded our gear onto her living room floor. She watched in amazement as we figured out our food for the trip, packed our backpacks and ran through our age-old list, making sure we had everything. She wanted to try on our packs to see what it was like and was satisfied to discover that this was nothing she ever wanted to do. We loaded the car, turned down her offer of a tiny radio so we could hear the weather reports, and climbed into bed, too weary and restless for sleep.
In Hoback Canyon, ten miles south of Jackson, fire-fighting camps lined the highway and heavy smoke screened the landscape. As the haze cleared, two sand- hill cranes materialized in a meadow and watched us drive by, unconcerned at all the activity around them. The meadow where we parked was far enough away from the site of the fires and we felt relieved. The day was clear, warm, and slightly windy as we began hiking up the ridge on an unmarked trail until it disappeared. Making our way through an old burn, we stopped to have a snack on a deadfall pine, and then pick up the path only to lose it again. The going was extremely difficult and my legs were becoming badly scratched as we climbed over fallen trees and struggled through the underbrush, balancing our heavy packs. We were getting very tired and dejected because we couldn't find the trail. The guy at the Outdoor Shop had told us about this shortcut, saying we would see Burnt Lake to our right and to stay high on the ridge. What ridge? We couldn't figure out why our compass registered south when we were heading north and then realized it was magnetically screwed up.
Well into the afternoon Elizabeth was tempted to turn back, change our topo map and head for another entrance. I considered that a good idea. We finally decided to drop our packs and scrambled up to the top of the hillside to take a look around. Another ridge and more trees worried us. Although we could finally see the Wind River peaks in the distance, where was the Timico Lake Trail? Exhausted and disheartened, we talked about camping at the bottom of a steep, grassy, congested ravine, but decided to hike up once more and take another look. Elizabeth ran up ahead and minutes after disappearing over the top I heard her excited yells that she had found the trail - a real trail with hoof and boot prints.
Energized by the sheer joy of discovery, we pressed on towards Lake Jacque- line, where we had been told there was good camping. Elizabeth found a beautiful spot ringed with trees above the lake, already in shadow. It took minutes for our tent to go up, then much longer to hang our heavy bags of food. My university physics came in handy and I moved up the hill, so the angle wasn't so acute, and, while she held the bag, giving it a final heave, I pulled it up. It was twilight when we heated water for tea and finished the last of our tofu rice rolls from lunch. Our sleeping bags warmed our chilled bodies as we stretched out, thankful to be where we were. My shoulders were sore, my calves scratched raw, and tender hip bones kept me on my back while I experienced a condition well beyond exhaustion. She fell asleep while I listened to the sounds of silence that wilderness wields.
Suddenly a far-off rumbling shattered the serenity. I lay still and listened. There it was again, a bit closer. It wasn't long before lightning lit up the tent and the first drops sputtered on our rain fly. This was our first night in our new tent and a good way to test its efficiency. Thunder ripped the air, crackled, groaned and rumbled overhead while the lightning never let up. It rained for about a half-hour, welcom- ing us back to the Winds and outdoor life.
The next morning we headed towards the Bell Lakes Trail, which would even- tually lead us to the Baldy Lakes Trail and our next campsite. Mt. Baldy loomed ahead and as we approached the turnoff, we noticed a yellow triangular tent below the wooden sign and wondered why those hikers camped in such an exposed site. A climb of six hundred feet over two miles brought us to the cutoff to the Lakes - hot sun, sparse clouds and short gusts of wind - and with only a mile to go, all up, we turned into the narrow bosky canyon. When we finally lowered our packs to the ground, my rubber flip-flops that had been secured to my backpack were gone. When I had tied them on this morning, I had a fleeting thought I should have clipped them onto the strap. Why don't we listen to our instincts? Elizabeth lent me hers but I couldn't imagine spending the rest of the trip without them. We pitched the tent, stashed our gear and although we were very tired, hiked to the head of the valley to stretch our legs. It was wonderful walking without weight. While cleaning our pots at the lake, a hiker came by and I asked if he had seen a pair of flip- flops on the trail. I was surprised when he said he had and knew Elizabeth thought me mad when I decided to retrieve them. With twenty minutes until sundown, I was off, running down the twisting trail into the treed gully, dodging rocks and deadfall. There they were. I was back with my bounty as the canyon dipped into soft purple-grey shadow.
Was it a bugling elk or a yelping coyote that we heard when we climbed into our sleeping bags at the end of another long day? The ground was lumpy and I changed sides with Elizabeth because, as she said, she could sleep on anything, an amazing faculty when it came to outdoor living. I slept for two-hour intervals during the calm, clear, starry night, but my pondering didn't match the peacefulness of my surroundings. I thought about a dream I'd had a few years ago: I had a child, left it, and when I returned, the realization as to what I had done left me chilled. It was very frightening and the dream image had clung to my consciousness. Then Elizabeth told me what Michio Kushi said when asked about adoption during their talks on ancestry and roots. He said that if a person neglected a child in one of their past lives, it would be the reason for them to be adopted this time around so as to experience "neglect." The word "neglect" was disturbing and left me feeling worthless.
We stayed in bed until the sun came up the next morning and talked about our pasts. I had tears in my eyes when I reminisced about leaving my daughters behind, and she spoke about how alone and miserable she was after coming west without her sisters. I guess we all were except that Steve and I had an escape - smoking dope made our burden easier to bear. She knew that when we smoked she'd be on her own and hated it. We always told her it made us more creative and she thought that was true. But it was an addiction, and answered a deeper need. More tears. Hearing her account of our marijuana use made me feel guilty and in an effort to explain, I told her I couldn't deal with my life without smoking back then. We had never discussed our real feelings after the divorce although we had certainly thrashed through the events time and again. I talked about the first trip back east to see my parents after having been gone for years and the almost inedible packaged rice dinner my mother prepared, and how, when I asked about my adoption, my mother spoke excitedly about