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Grant’s Journal

January 1

Sometimes my age slaps me in the face.

More fatigued from my earlier hike than I should be. Legs are cement.

Daylight conservation is the name of the game. No time for breaks, but I’m taking one right now, I have to. I’m just going to lie down on this boulder to feel the sun. Close my eyes for a few minutes.

Woke up feeling like Rip Van Winkle. I must have been out for an hour at least. The sun was already behind the mountains. Harder to orient myself without it. Hadn’t I been here before? I looked for the trail. How come it looked different? It was like I’d nodded off in one place and woke up in another. The only thing I knew was that I needed to go down. Simple enough, right? Too late to turn back to Morris Road, and what was there for me, anyway?

I was looking into my compass and lost my footing near the edge of a rock face and down I went… as in Chutes and Ladders down. I’m wearing my trail shoes instead of my hiking boots—another mistake. The bottoms are slippery from the snow.

Boy, did I slide. Bloodied up my hands, wiped them on my pants. My water bottle flew out of my pack with a clang, clang, clang. Did I drink as much water as I should have? No. I thought I was so smart, conserving what I had. Wasted too much time looking for it. Now it’s gone. Compass is gone, too. Apologies to my fellow leave-no-trace acolytes.

Bushwhacked through dense shrubs to find a clearing. Saw the lights of Cathedral City. Palm Springs will be north. So north I go.