Day 4, continued: Cough. It's hot. The sun is unforgiving and it makes me dream of being cold again like up on the mountain. I'm impressed by such extremes in such a short time span.
I pass by the lake, appreciating its novelty in a place where water can be hard to come by. I could go down for a swim, but I'm not in the mood for a detour anymore. The goal now is to make it to a nearby river for a snack and to fill up on H20 and relax in the shade.
Sneak attack by another cow hiding in the trees. I keep getting totally surprised by them because they pop up in the weirdest places. The large, sneaky animals I'm used to being surprised by are grizzlies so for some reason, I feel like I have to give them space and talk to them. Cows don't care, they just chew their cud and look at you with those big dumb eyes.
Around 2pm, I see from a distance what appears to be a cowboy with a glorious mustache on horseback. The horsemen - sporting the traditional 10-gallon hat - approached. "Howdy!" I say. With that, the black stallion bucked and the mustached cowboy tried to regain control. I seriously never thought little old me could spook a horse. He pulled the reigns and tried to manueaver the horse nearer but the horse remained timid and very cautious of me, giving me quite the stink eye. "I didn't mean to spook your horse."
"Ah, you'd think she never saw a person before."
"Are you looking for a cow? I just ran into one down the trail."
"No, she's not afraid of cows."
-I think he misheard me. After closer inspection, I see the man with the Ron Swanson 'stache had a patch on his arm that says "U.S. BORDER PATROL" in big dark print.
"Where ya headed?" He questioned half yelling as his horse started to back away.
"Patagonia."
"Not all the way today, right?"
"No, probably two days."
The horse was really moving past me now. "Okay, have a good one."
That was it. I guess I do look pretty blonde and Polish. I am a little concerned about his horse...if it is afraid of me - an average hiker - what good will it be when there's an old timey Western chase scene when the officer finds migrants? Oh wait, that doesn't happen. That's all in my imagination.
Down to the river at mile 24.2, I fill up and enjoy the shade. There's a gentle breeze and it smells good down there. It smells rich like grass, like trees, like life.
Hike hike hike on up and down rolling hills that are truly pleasant compared to the drastic lung busting inclines and knee crushing declines of the mountains. I'm still not feeling 100% but I'm enjoying the day after all. I'm glad I kept going.
I keep walking until the sun starts to set and I'm on a saddle at 6063' - a good stopping point. I set up camp and enjoy the sunset as I eat a Mountain House, plan tomorrow's hike and snuggle into my sleeping bag. The night is calm. The weather is warm. I look out to Miller Peak and it feels so far away from me now. The terrain is so different here. It is not necessarily as drastic as the mountains when it comes to topography, but certainly in beauty. Coyotes are yelping and hollering in distant locales. I imagine they're have a laugh around a campfire, telling funny stories. I feel grand.
I see and hear from down the valley a black helicopter fluttering around towards the Parker Canyon River. Hm. It must be Border Patrol. I watch as the helicopter approaches up the valley and right above me. I get out of the tent, stand up and give it a look over. Not BP, Cochise County Sheriff. They see me and circle around. I give them a thumbs up and starting getting dressed and packing up. Today, I think I'll wear the pink wool hiking shirt, since it's less rank. A pink so pank it's punk. I think about the helicopter's behavior and how I'm in Santa Cruz County, I know, because I was very proud to have walked out of the Cochise yesterday.
The chopper leaves and returns and continues to circle me. I'm confused. Had I accidentally sent an SOS when I messaged my Mom? Oh god I hope not! Nah, I work for the government, things would never happen that fast. I keep giving the thumbs up and make an X with my arms like you're supposed to signal to aircraft. They go away for awhile and I finish my packing in peace. They must be running maneuvers or practicing...
Down off the saddle, I get in my hiking rhythm. I hear the 'copter come back, this time really close. Hovering real low, I could feel the wind from the blades. Now, I'm getting angry. It's loud and I plug my ears. They leave.
I hike for two miles to Forest Road 4749, where I hear people's voices. They're shouting out a name. Out of respect for the individual, I'm changing her name to...Mary.
"You're not Mary" annouced a tall, middle aged man in a black t-shirt, cargo pants and a wide brimmed hat. His name is Scott.
"No, I am not."
"We're looking for a lost hiker."
I think, oooooh everything makes a lot more sense now.
"Did you get chased down by a helicopter? They said the hiker kept giving them a thumbs up and continued hiking so it didn't make sense that it would be Mary, but we thought we'd meet up with you and see if you saw anybody."
"Nope. I haven't seen anyone since 2pm yesterday when encountered BP on horseback."
"Well, we'll tell them that you are definitely not Mary and you can hike in peace."
"Well, I have this satellite messenger, if you give your number and a description of her, I can message you if I find her."
"Okay, great. 74 year old female, 5'2" short, wiry red hair."
I gather some other information like place last seen, when they realized she was overdue, etc...all the things they've taught me about in park ranger trainings throughout the years... It turns out that I would be unlikely to encounter her because she was supposed to be back by Parker Lake, and I'm quite a distance from there now.
Two middle aged women join up with us, friends of Mary. I mention how sorry I am that I'm not their friend, but I'll keep a look out. We say our goodbyes and they give me a KIND bar, which I do really kind of love.
I hike on, down through Pauline Canyon which is forested and cool. I take a break, wolf down the KIND bar and sip my water. I'm getting low, but there's supposed to be some aqua in Middle Canyon, just about a mile away so I'm not worried. Up a hill and down across another dirt road. I'm headed back up a hill when I see a backpack. Next to it, a hat, and then, I see a person...a woman person! She too is wearing a bright pink shirt and lying in the shade, but she's not moving. Oh no, I found Mary and she's dead, I think to myself.
"Hello?"
The woman stirs. Whew, sheeeeeee's alive!
"Hi."
Smiling, I ask, "Are you Mary?"
"Yes."
"Oh, am I so glad I found you!"
She tells me about she was hiking and how she got turned around. She knows she should learn how to use a GPS, but was resistant until now. She decided to stay put in the shade and wait for someone to come. (The right thing to do.) I ask if she needed water and she says that's the only thing she needs. I give her the rest of mine, knowing that less than 1/2 mile more is to be had.
"I'm not lost. I'm navigationally challenged." she jokes. I laugh nervously like a ranger would do in the knowledge that she had no detailed map, no compass, and didn't know there's water nearby...
I start getting on the Explorer to contact people and tell her she's alright. The decision came that I would walk out with her to Canelo Pass, about 4 miles where someone could pick her up.
We stop in Middle Canyon for water. She has a filter but doesn't know how to use it. I show her. She's using a Dasani plastic water bottle and the ranger in me cringes at having so little water. I'm a beast. I drink a lot of water and hate being even slightly dehydrated. I don't care how much it weighs, I rather have enough than too little. I fill up both my 3L bladder and 1.5L Nalgene - though it's only four miles to the next water - in the off (or likely) chance that she'll want more than that itsy Dasani bottle.
We hike. It's slow going but we're doing fine. I'm quite impressed by her 74 year old stamina as we hike to the high point. I feel bad for being inwardly grumpy about water even though I never showed my frustration. She's an outdoorswoman who just lost her way, and who hasn't in life, really? That being said, the desert is no joke. Mary ended up drinking a good portion of my extra water.
We get to the high point where the Scott from earlier meets us. He takes her pack and we three all hike down to Canelo Pass together. At the road, Mary thanks me and Scott puts some beer in plastic water bottles as a thank you. The Wisconsinite in me is happy. They depart and I decide to set up camp right there. I saw as we were descending the hill, there's a bright blue tank (note: "tanks" are a term for water ponds) not far from here so I can fill up before heading out.
I prepared dinner and thought about how uneventful the search and rescue was. I definitely am glad of it. Things went really well in Mary's favor and I'm happy that I stumbled upon her. The Canelo Hills are not as rugged at the Huachucas, but they certainly are remote. Who knows when the next person would be hiking in that area this time of year?
I read the ingredient list to my dehydrated chicken and rice Mountain House and on the packaging there's a Yogi Berra quote, "If you don't know where you're going, you might end up someplace else." After the day's events, I took a sip of beer and couldn't help but chuckle.
(To be continued...)
Kara, you are an inspiration! Your mom's friend, also named Sue, t.o.o.
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