Descent into Darkness

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Guest Post by RJ McBride

It was 1:00 pm when I left camp accompanied by light winds and a
temperature of 75 degrees under crystal clear skies. If all goes to
plan, I’ll be sitting on the summit of Colorado’s 13,500 foot Mt.
Shimby in time to watch the sun disappear beneath the horizon, back in
camp by 3 or 4 am. 

Making my way over a winding trail that led through a dense forest, I came upon a massive landslide which spread out for several hundred feet up the mountain. Surveying the cornice of snow precariously perched atop a craggy ledge leading to the summit. It was now 4:00 pm. I needed to be at the summit no later than 7:30 pm.

Standing alone on that mountain top, high in the Colorado Rockies, watching the night drape its cloak around me, I had to wonder what it was that drove me to such extremes; I’d look upon a distant horizon and long to know what is on the other side, see a cave and dare to follow its beckoning call to hidden dangers; see a mountain and feel the overwhelming need to become one with its majesty. 

Only those who’ve sat upon a mountain, who’ve experienced that all
consuming  embrace of gratitude, embraced the sweet-scented air or
watched petal-soft wisps of clouds drifting across an endless sky, can
know the communion that exists in such a precious  moment. In silent reverence, I watch with childlike wonder as clusters of stars expand
their twinkling glow across the night skies.

Reluctant as I am to leave this feeling of peace and serenity,
I know the time has come to begin my descent. With a full moon
illuminating the slopes I begin my tittering slip and slide return
down the mountain. Needing to stop and rest, I lay across the surface
of a large flat rock, letting my gaze lazily drift among the array of
stars clinging like shiny agates to a black velvet sky. 

Suddenly, I’m shaken from my day-dreaming by the crashing sounds of dislodged rocks further down the mountain. Arriving at the base of the rock slide, I point my flashlight in all directions to see if I can find what may have caused this alarming sound, perhaps a bear or some other animal. Placing my hand over the handle of my hunting knife, I cautiously proceed onward.

Facing what is now a ghostly looking wall of trees and twisted branches, I continue my search for the trail marker that will direct me toward Lake Weller from there it’s a short walk to the bridge crossing the White River which runs from the Continental Divide, past Weller campgrounds, past the town of Aspen.

In all my years of wilderness hiking I’d prided myself for having never become lost, always guided by an inner sense of direction, and although I’d never have admitted it I was definitely lost in a forest so thick that even sunlight could not penetrate.

Having broken my bigger flashlight to an earlier mishap from my stumbling over hidden tree roots, I either needed to turn off the smaller back up light and stay where I was until daylight arrived or keep moving on. As I sat mulling the thought over in my mind, I heard the distinct sound of water gurgling somewhere on the forest floor.

Clicking on my flashlight, I began following the muffled sound which led to a 3 inch wide trickle of water winding in and out of the dense underbrush. If luck held, this small stream just might lead down to the White River, allowing me to make my way along the canyon walls and back into the campgrounds.

Passing through a dense stand of trees, I came upon a small knoll surrounded by low growing bushes and ferns. Climbing to the top of the knoll, I paused to listen for any sound of running water. “Is it my imagination or do I hear the distant sound of an actual river”? I whispered. 

Unknown to me at the time, I’d been following alongside the White River but because of the forest’s density had been unable to hear it. Compelled by the overwhelming need to be freed from this unrelenting darkness, I cautiously approached the edge of a deep canyon which ran the full length of the river. Peering closer, I saw that a large tree had fallen across the canyon presently engulfed by a rising blanket of fog.

Feeling my chances to survive this ordeal were close at hand, I decided to take the risk and shimmy across the tree to the other side, from there I could walk up to the highway straight into the camp grounds. Letting my legs and hands serve as eyes, I began inching my way across the fallen tree. Feeling my right knee sliding off the spray-oaked surface, I instinctively reached for a protruding tree limb causing my only flashlight to fall from my freehand. 

As miracles would have it, the flashlight had landed on a narrow ledge, its weak beam valiantly penetrating upward through the blue-gray haze. Using my feet as probes, I slid my body onto what appeared to be secure enough ground to allow recovery of the flashlight.

As I reached down for the light, I felt the sudden collapse of the footing I’d been relying on, leaving me no choice but to grab the branches of another tree attached to the side of the canyon wall. The difference between being suspended in the dark and reaching my trusty light was but a foot away, one hasty move could send the light and its owner into the chasm below. Reaching ever so slowly, I felt my fingers slide around the flashlight; a few more selective moves, and I was once again on stable ground. Resting against a large boulder, I turned off my light and listened to the bellowing roar of the river.

Overwhelmed with emotion, I wanted to scream to the heavens about my ordeal yet fully aware that only myself, The Holy Spirit, and the forest would hear my cry in the wilderness. Wiping the dirt and sweat from my eyes and face, I looked up toward the night sky. In near giddy delight, I saw the veil of darkness beginning to lift.

Throughout the entire night I had wandered the forest swearing that I would not fail and now to look up and see the pinkish-orange light of an awakening sky was more priceless than any treasure I could behold. Enlivened by renewed hope, I scurried from rock to rock, my only thought to be back in camp, safe and sound.

Arriving at a massive boulder, I began climbing up its face so as to get a better view of what lie ahead when suddenly I came face to face with a large black bear, its sharp claws poised inches above my head, the smell of its sour breath and shaggy fur permeating the morning calm like a soggy blanket.

Before I could react, this mighty guardian of the forest suddenly disappeared from view. Climbing to where the bear had been standing, I was able to see the bear lumbering across the rockslide and into the woods. I’d come across bears in the wild before but never eyeball to eyeball.

To Native Americans, animals symbolize a sacred communion with the Great Spirit; especially so for bears, honored as powerful protectors of Mother Earth. Had this encounter been a sign from Holy Spirit that I was also being protected a guided through my own trials, that life was not to be feared, but respected and honored as God’s precious gift to man and all other life forms? 

Be this as it may, I had shared an experience few will ever know—a moment I shall forever consider most sacred and most precious. Two hours of crambling over jagged rocks and tree roots places me at Lake Weller and the footbridge leading me across the calmer waters of the White River.

Outwardly I looked and felt like I’d spent the night in blender. Inwardly, I was beaming with a renewed zest for life. Darkness, as I’d once believed, was not my enemy but simply a way to help me find the light.

REFLECTIONS

For this traveler, it’s all about mastering the fear that seeks to keep me a prisoner within my own consciousness. On a lesser level, there’s the self-glory of proclaiming, “YES, I did this!” Yet, on a higher level it’s having the boldness and the daring to follow that inner voice bringing me ever closer to the heavenly creator’s presence and the creative pulse of life itself.

Had I known what lay ahead, I might well have abandoned the idea of a night climb, but it’s simply not in my nature to back away from a challenge simply because it poses a possibility of risk.

(From the Desk of RJ—SOUL to SOUL)

____________________

RJ McBride is an author, memorialist, novelist, illustrator, cartoonist, and former art instructor. His three books in The Book of Ray series may be found on Amazon:
The Book of Ray, Volumn One: The Early Years: One Man’s Journey through Time and The Book of Ray, Volumn Two: The Middle Years: In Pursuit of Fulfillment. The Book of Ray, Volume Three: A Walk in the Light and Sound: Last Will and Testament; A Time to Remember, A Time to Honor, A Time to Forgive, A Time to Heal.