AN IDIOT DOES WOLF MOUNTAIN

Since fall was in the air, I decided to hike with my dog, Paddy. I had not been on a 'real' hike in over 8 months, as I had injured my back earlier in the year while moving furniture. I experienced a long, painful recovery, but those days have gratefully passed. I was anxious to hit the trail with Paddy.

After researching hiking spots nearby, I settled on Pedernales Falls State Park. The park is a 30-minute drive from my house in Horseshoe Bay. I packed a water bottle, an emergency aid kit, and extra socks.

I chose Wolf Mountain trail, six miles in length with several side loops off the main trail. The path has a 1000+-foot elevation and several stream crossings. I thought hiking for an hour would be perfect timing. I felt exhilarated to walk on a beautiful trail and continued past the hour deadline because I had yet to see the Pedernales River from remote cliffs. Heaven on earth for me is hiking with Paddy on a lovely early fall day in the Texas Hill Country.

As we circumvented Wolf Mountain (named after coyotes--go figure), a sign appeared indicating a place called "Jones Spring." It was a short loop that curved back onto the main trail on the map. Jones Spring had a prehistoric significance and sounded like it might be picturesque, so we trudged on. After about 30 minutes, we stopped under a tree. I shared a two-year-old energy bar leftover from hiking in the Cascade Mountains and some water with Paddy. We left most of the disgusting energy bar untouched. We finally found Jones Spring after another 30 minutes of walking. We were rewarded with a refreshingly clear spring-fed waterhole. I thought about skinny dipping but decided this old body might be unable to get out of the water. Occasionally, I make the right decision.

The map indicated a road that led directly to the main trail. Still, signs near the waterhole pointed in the other direction. I didn't want to add another hour or so to our time, so retracing my steps was the better choice. I encouraged Paddy to drink when we crossed the creeks because we were almost out of water. The temperature had increased by about 20 degrees. 

By the time we reached the main trail, I was exhausted and severely dehydrated. I worried about Paddy, but he showed no signs of distress. He kept his anxious eyes focused on me. My back started to ache, so I took every opportunity to sit and stretch my vertebrae. Pain is sometimes a constant companion when four herniated discs and severe spinal stenosis.

We were still at least 4 miles from the car when I started feeling nauseous and dizzy. My back was the least of my worries. I knew I was in trouble. I kept thinking about the ones I loved. There wasn't even a dribble of water left in the water bottle. We were on a treeless trail in 90-degree weather with only the sun as our guide. I cringed inside before every uphill climb and wondered if I'd make it to the top, which seemed to repeat itself a million times.  I kept assuring Paddy that we'd make it. He trusted me. I'm not sure I totally believed in myself, but I prayed for the strength to get us through our crisis. Several times, I felt like I was going to faint. I instinctively knew that surrendering to it would end me, as no one else was on the trail. A passing thought was after I was found dead, my daughter would be angry that I attempted such a stunt. Even though I was somewhat delirious, I wanted my daughter to think kindly of me.

After what seemed like a hundred miles, I saw my car. I considered kissing the asphalt-paved parking lot. Instead, Paddy and I found a water spigot and drank delicious, life-saving water. I soaked my face and head. My tee shirt became utterly saturated, but I did not care. The planned two-hour hike had turned into five almost fatal long hours.

There's a big difference between being adventurous and being reckless. I was unprepared and knew better. The Boy Scouts teach survival skills and the basics of always being prepared. I would like to know if the Girl Scouts teach the same principles since I never made it past the Brownies. I was expelled from Brownies because I called the Brownie leader a "battle-ax." That could say everything about being in the situation I found myself in.

I always kept quiet about where I was going. I didn't pack enough water, and a two-year-old energy bar is insufficient for contingency planning, even for a one-hour hike.  You never know what might happen.

Years ago, I ran marathons and triathlons. I raced a bicycle professionally for a couple of years.  I remember feeling spent with a slight taste of blood in my mouth as the end of the race drew near. You think you can't go further, but somehow, you gather a strength that comes from deep inside of you. And that's what I did. Finishing this hike was much more complex and dangerous, with 40 more years under my belt. 

One thing I finally learned is to accept my limitations and be prepared. I'm fortunate to have survived to tell the story.