Ventures into the Unknown

I drove by the new Granite Mountain Hotshot's State Park yesterday, and thought "why not?"

 Maybe the weather.....???

I still hold the title of curator for Prescott Fire Department, and a few times a year I am called to open up the exhibit remembering the 19 fallen members of the Granite Mountain Interagency Hotshots Crew.  They died battling a blaze in Yarnell; the subsequent community outpouring of gifts and memorial items were catalogued and stored for posterity.  I hold the keys to that collection.

 A gaggle of memories.

The parking is right off Yarnell Hill on the descent side; for those of you unfamiliar with this section of AZ89, it's a steep 2000ft mountainside with sweeeping views of the valley below.

 The Princess posing dramatically at the Yarnell Hill overlook last spring.

When I pulled in I noted the park ranger vehicle; jumping out of my car in running tights, Minimus shoes, a tee and hooded sweatshirt I automatically grabbed my pack, making sure I had a bottle of water.

A bottle.  Geez.

I was 30ft up the path when the ranger called out to me from below, asking if I had any questions about the hotshots or the trail.  I assured him I was fine, and he told me an inch and half of rain was expected, so maybe I wouldn't want to go too far.  I thanked him, and told him I had a rain poncho in my pack.  He wished me a good hike, and offered me a map.  I politely declined, knowing it was an in and out trail, and it's not like I didn't know the names of the 19.  With that, I was off.  It was 41°, and barely misting.

Now, I'm gonna be honest here.  For some reason the number 800ft was in my head.  Like, 800ft of trail.

Yeah.

 

Total elevation change over 2.85 miles: 1142ft

You see, it was soooo foggy, I couldn't see.  Literally.  Like by Wade Parker I thought I was at the top of the ridge.  And let's talk about each guy's plaque, shall we?  The mist obliterated the ability to read every single one.  I could make out a word or two, and have to guess.  The only thing I had going for me was I knew they were listed by seniority, and I knew that by heart as our exhibit also used seniority for classification.  Still, it was disappointing not to have a moment to read each story.

It was more disappointing to have a mist turn into a light sprinkle just after Eric Marsh.

I pulled out the poncho, discovering it was an "emergency" poncho.  Meaning it was thinner than a trash bag.  Nice thing was I could tie it at the bottom, it was so flimsy.  The hood refused to stay up, but I already had my sweatshirt hood up.  I was quite warm from the exercise, and took the opportunity to take a puff off the inhaler.  This hike was already more than I had anticipated.

Quite quickly, my glasses had covered in water, and I could not keep them clear.  They fogged up, too; my hoodie providing just enough barrier and warmth to keep me completely in a hazy state.  While the climb was broken up into switchbacks and not that steep, it was a climb; I was over 4000ft in altitude and I could feel my lungs struggling.  So I thought I'd just go to the ridge and back.

That map might have come in handy....

I passed the sawyers and the swampers were next.  I thought of Joe's mom, Gaye Marie, and thought about taking a picture for her, but the rain had picked up significantly.  I kept doing "systems checks"- how I felt, water level, was I warm and dry.  By Garret Zuppinger ("Zupp") I dried my hands and pulled them into my hoodie pocket, assessing their ability to warm up.  At Scott Norris I started singing the song his buddy Evan wrote for him, and decided my fingers were warm enough to continue.  Dustin's plaque was just enough out of the weather I could read his amazing testimony of Jesus Christ.  I pondered stories of Dustin and Clay, shared with me by a surviving hotshot.

Few people realize that the team had other members who weren't there that day.  Two were backups, one was on leave as he had a newborn baby at home.

By now it was raining, but with more than half the team visited, it seemed rude to leave out the rookies.  My core, head and fingers were warm and dry, my feet seemed warm despite being wet.  So I continued, now pretty certain that "800ft" was the distance between the observation platform and the fatality area.

I passed Kevin Woyjeck, and recalled Chief Willis asking him to recite the 10 & 20.  "Never take your eyes off the fire," I muttered, thinking of the "Swiss cheese" effect and how a perfect storm of errors had resulted in these men's deaths.  Dropping into the rim of the cauldron where I knew they died, my view was obscured by fog, but the wind lessened considerably.  The trail evened out, and I knew I had to be close to the observation point.  The trail conditions changed to terrible mud, and I knew then my journey would end at the observation area and I could not risk the journey hike to the fatality site.  That would be for another day, as the weather was growing worse.

 

Apparently you should be able to see where the incident happened from here?  You can see my footprints and the mud and standing water.

At last I saw the "shelter"...from sun maybe, but not wind and rain.  I took three pictures for the record as I dug out my emergency Mylar blanket from my pack.  I was starting to feel the cold in my core...and it was a long hike back.

 Yep.  I had made an error.

I took the Mylar and started working it open under the poncho, hoping to keep my fingers dry.  I was hiking back at the same time, knowing time was of the essence.  Ruefully I thought of my friend Cassian, who does mountain search and rescue in Maricopa, and of the Sheriff up in Coconino.  If I fell and broke something at least it would be Yavapai responding...

Thankfully the slippery mud ended the second I was off the ridge surrounding the area the guys died, and I stopped at a rock outcropping to wrap the blanket around my chest, securing it in place with my backpack.  Almost immediately I felt my core warm up, that extra layer making a world of difference.  By now my feet and legs were soaked to the skin, and I knew more than 2/3rds of the hike were left to go.

I thought of Carol, who I had just blogged about right before the hike.  I was so thankful for her life, and began to pray.  I often pray while hiking; truly it is while out in nature I feel closest to God.  This was different; I didn't feel as if I had problems or needs to be worked out.  Instead, I felt overwhelming gratitude.

As I descended the mountain, soaking wet on my bottom half and unable to see more than ten feet due to fog and water spattered glasses, I began thanking God for the many, many blessings in my life.  I thanked Him for letting me be the curator of the fire department, honored to have served in such a quiet way.  I thanked him for my years with Lia Sophia, and asked His forgiveness for not trusting Him more and giving up praying for the people who challenged my heart in business.  I thanked Him for my failed marriage, because I had wonderful children and not all had been horrible.  I thanked Him for my friends and the many people I had met in this last year, taking time to think individually of many, and asking for blessings to come to them.  I thanked Him for Ride, and began composing my to-do list for today.  I prayed for wisdom...and prayed for others that they would receive  Godly wisdom to help them find peace.

I was surprised how quickly the trail ended.  I was not surprised by how amazing I felt.

 

Oh, I felt magnificent:)

It was actually a just shy of seven mile hike, at nearly a mile high.  I had used the inhaler twice early on, but then was fine.  The hike quickly could have gone wrong, but it didn't.  My well-stocked pack served me well; the crumpled heap of plastic and Mylar had worked perfectly in a time of need.

Yesterday a friend said it looked like a heart.  I saw a fire shelter...

I'm not certain what level of success my quest has achieved.  I do know my legs contain rock-hard muscles, despite the soft layer over them.  My heart must be strong, for it never pounds out of my chest.  My frequent doctor visits (that dang allergic reaction JUST cleared up) reveals a very healthy, consistent blood pressure of 110/70.  I also know a miserable 7 mile hike in the rain with a significant elevation change was no big deal.

I've been trying to be better about food; busy days make that hard.  At least if I get in some exercise there's still results?

 2013 GMIHC, minus Percin & Marsh.

Esse quam videri is a Latin phrase meaning "To be, rather than to seem," and was the motto of the team.  I am not an athlete.  I hate exercise.  I struggle to "get out there" and defy "just do it."  Yet I love the trail, I love hiking, biking, swimming, and yes-trail running.  Is this honesty "being, rather than seeming?"

On the two year anniversary of the quest and blog I do know this:  the accountability to write about my exercise experience has kept me doing it.  The frustrations seem endless, but someday maybe I'll find consistency.  In the meantime, I'm definitely finding myself.