We found the trailhead; my Internet research from the previous day had paid off. We had dropped Lauren at Horse Camp for the day, and Faven, Yohannes and I went off to explore. Drawn in by the pictures on-line, we were excited about doing something out of the ordinary, hiking to the Ice Caves.
Unfortunately, the trail wasn’t marked and the Internet hadn’t given all the distances. It seemed, in two-dimension, as if it should be a short trip. I had packed accordingly. We unloaded our bikes and packs to start the first leg of the journey, a seven-kilometer bike ride on the service road. My first mistake was thinking like an adult (seven kilometers should not be hard). Within the first fifteen minutes I had pulled out my tow rope (a.k.a. – the dog’s extendable leash) and was towing first Yohannes and then Faven up a small hill.
Following that we had our first pep talk, “Come on guys, you can do this! Slow and steady. Remember the turtle and the hare?”
“You know the turtle and the hare?” Yohannes queried.
“Yup, sure do! And right now we are turtles – slow and steady”, I answered, with hare-like enthusiasm.
Some seventy minutes later, we made it to the hiking trail after a stop in Marmot-valley. As we rounded a corner, we came into an open U-shaped rock face, with many jagged out-croppings; a loud high-pitched whistle assaulted our ears and we stopped to explore. We saw some very cute and chubby sandy and black furred Marmots carrying on a conversation (in stereo).
Schreeeech – Check out this crew.
Schreech – I don’t think they will make it, do you?
Schreech – Not a chance. Look at that kids’ bike, it’s so small I could ride it!
Schreech – Ba ha ha.
Schreech - Here comes a big furry beast...... HIDE!
Shortly after we started hiking the five-kilometer trail, Yohannes announced that he had to go pee. It seemed like a no-brainer to me, and moreover, I had already done a demonstration, but he was stumped.
“Find a tree” I encouraged him.
So he hiked up a bit more and stood by a tall fir tree, “I found a tree Mom”, he said.
He stood there, with a now what expression on his face – almost as if he expected the tree to open up and have a toilet inside.
“Go ahead, water the tree”, I said, smirking.
“Huh?” he responded.
“Up here, you can pee on the tree, on the rock, on the moss, on the plants – anywhere but on the trail”, I informed him.
“Really?” he asked, somewhat excitedly.
“Really”, I said. How did my kids become so urban?
So Yohannes cozied up to the tree, and then as he so often does in his daily living, he gave a play-by-play – out loud.
“Mom, the pee is not coming out. Do you think I was working my muscles too hard, and now they can’t pee?” he asked.
“Um, maybe”, was all I could think of to say.
“I can feel it, but it won’t come out” he said, “Does that ever happen to you Mom?”
“Uh, sure, it happens to everyone,” I offered, lamely.
“Oh, there it goes. Okay, that’s all done! Let’s go,” he said.
We walked on.
“Actually, I’m a pretty fast pee-er aren’t I Mom?”
“Yup, you sure are” one of the fasted I’ve ever seen, I answered.
“Hey Mom, I just thought of something”, he enthusiastically chirped.
“What?” I wondered.
“Well, I think I am going to be able to go faster now. Do you know why?” he said.
“No, I don’t…..” I said.
“Because I just got rid of a bunch of liquid, so now I’m lighter”, he answered with glee.
Onward ho!
We got lost once on our way up. It had been so long since I had hiked that I momentarily forgot to look for the orange plastic ribbon that previous trail masters use to mark an obscure trail. As we perched on the steep side of the mountain, the trail lost in a sea of loose white and sandstone rocks, a phrase from the Internet popped into my head, “Several accidents in 1998 almost brought about the closure of the access road [to the Ice Caves]. The greatest danger lies in the scree slopes of broken jagged rock - the debris of crumbling mountains”. As we sat, I knew I had gotten us in over our heads.
I suggested that it was getting too difficult and that we needed to go back. However, at this point we could see the large vertical eye-shaped opening that we knew was the Ice Cave. I couldn’t get the kids to turn back – and truthfully, I didn’t want to go back when we were so close. We picked our way back down the rock face, Yohannes bum-scooted his way down, and we reached the dirt path. It was at that moment that I gazed towards the other side, and saw an orange tie on one of the trees. It infused me with confidence and we surged on.
We traversed and scrambled across the loose rock, inching ever closer to the huge opening in the mountainside. Finally we were there. We pulled out our flashlights and scuttled inside. The air was suddenly cool and we were engulfed in an eerie darkness. It was then that the kids asked me if any animals might be living inside the cave. Ummm, no, I hoped.
The floor of the cave consisted of large boulders that we had to climb and scramble over, making it very difficult to make any headway. My clock was ticking, as we had to be back at the parking lot by 3:00 pm to be on time to pick Lauren up. We had left the parking lot at 11:00, and we entered the cave at 1:25 – do the math. We were way behind schedule; but now we had to see the ice, so we carried on. The darkness was full, once you were out of the mouth of the cave, you could not see anything in front of you. I had only brought two flashlights – and had not considered the dog at all. Yohannes and I finally worked out a system where we each had a hand on the flashlight, so that we could see where to put our feet.
Finally we came to it, a thick wall of ice seeming to close off one cave from another. I approached with caution. It was neat, the kids touched it, shone their lights on it; I took a picture – and we turned on a heel and headed back out. We slid out the mouth of the cave just minutes before 2 o’clock. OMG!
Pep talk number two, “Guys, we don’t have much time before we have to be in the van driving the hour to pick up Lauren, so I even though I know you are tired (and we have run out of food and water), I want you to dig deep inside yourself and get down this mountain. We can take it slow and steady, but we can’t stop. Okay?”
They simply stared at me. I think in their hypoglycemic and exhausted state they were asking themselves, Who is this woman again? How did we get here?
Though Yohannes is normally filled with exuberance, he has a very high degree of caution when climbing. It is good, but I knew that it was not going to serve us well in that moment. I took him into my shadow. I got him to follow me and showed him every hand hold and foot stop on our way down. All of my energy and attention was directed at him. Periodically, however, I called out to Faven, “You doin’ okay?” She would simply say yes, and carry on.
After I had asked her several times, she finally said (with all the confidence of an Ethiopian born child on her first mountain hike), “Muum, you don’t have to worry about me!” I looked up and smiled at her. Not ten minutes later, with Yohannes now bum-scooting down the rock face directly behind me, I heard in front of me the sound of sliding rocks. I jerked my head around to see Faven sliding down the mountainside, headfirst, on all fours – with a look of utter astonishment on her face. She slid ten to twelve feet in mere seconds, and came to rest in the well of a tree. She appeared to be fine. In my tense and harried state – I started laughing and couldn’t stop. Faven looked at me (like I was crazy), I tried to talk to her, but looking at her only triggered more laughter. I felt horrible as I giggled like a schoolgirl. Faven started to cry. Not like she was hurt, but tears of exhaustion, frustration and fear-turned-relief. I apologized, and attempted to console her, through fits of giggles. She was not impressed. At that exact moment, Yohannes had caught up and said, “Can I try that?” Faven turned to him and grunted, “AUUGGGH!”
We carried on. Faven eventually picked herself up and followed. Abby (our dog) became our leader, picking out a trail on this trail-less sea of stone. We eventually came back to the dirt path. Relief.
I didn’t even want to speak. My legs were tired, I was thirsty, and I couldn’t imagine how we were going to get back to the van. That was when God intervened. There was a group of three hikers that had gotten to the ice cave just before us, and were still there when we started our descent. Eventually they caught up to us; one of them said to the kids, “You guys are the best hikers I have ever seen!” Both kids puffed up and sailed down the rest of the trail. We got to the bikes with dried tears on our faces, and trails of dried blood on both of Yohannes’ legs. We were all hungry, tired and thirsty. We had 32 minutes to ride out the seven kilometers. Just breathe.
Leaving the trees and the trail behind, we had to climb a hill to start. Faven made it to the top and kept going. I waited at the top for Yohannes, and then he stopped his small bike and started to walk. I parked my bike and walked down to help him. He was deflated. With tears hanging on the edge of his voice, he said, “I am so tired I feel like crying.” I knew exactly how that felt, so I took his bike and with one hand on the bike and one on his back, I guided him up the hill. After that we came to a creek where I stopped to give Abby a drink. I told the kids to go on ahead of me. That was the smartest thing I could have done. When they rely on each other, a force comes between them that is not there, if I am directing. It took me a long time to catch up to them.
We did the ride out in 30 minutes! We loaded up the bikes. I had snacks and water in the cooler (I am not so ill-prepared after all), and we headed down the highway to get Lauren. We were only minutes late.
The Ice Caves were underwhelming. Maybe not the best experience that my kids have ever had. They will, if you ask them, say that it was horrible. And yet, there were the musical Marmots, the babbling creek, some fun bum-scoot sliding and the magic of hidden ice in the midst of a hot summer day. It is what stories are made of. Moreover, a seed has been planted that will grow into something other than what it started out as. I have full confidence that my kids will at some time embrace an unlikely challenge.
From the past will come the future; what it holds, a mystery,
Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.
~Hymn of Promise
