When I lost Sarah, I discovered first hand that the impact these things can have on mental health. Things got so bad that I realised I couldn’t do it on my own (stubborn to accept help as always) and though many friends had gathered around me- both in Germany and figuratively, I found I needed home and find the comfort of family.
When I got back to New Zealand, I was hurting something painful, but my journey to Nelson, and losing myself in mind-bendingly stressful work turned out to be something of a cure. But the weekends still left me sitting and stewing, left with nothing but painful memories and self-sabotaging thoughts, and though I found some relief in mindfulness meditation and other exercises, it was still a long road to recovery.
To keep my head healthy, I found I needed to move. Sitting still was torture, but for some reason, walking would ease the pain, and listening to random comedy podcasts genuinely helped. As I work primarily with kids who can’t mediate their emotions, I knew that often distraction was the first port of call to help take their minds away from the negative stimuli. I discovered in my case it was exactly the same- preacher practice what you preach!
Thus it was that on a certain Saturday in the grips of winter, I found myself at a loss for anything productive to do, and knew I needed to move. It was a fine afternoon and the cold had receded with the sun, so I decided to indulge in my fix and go out for a short hike, one I had done before and quite enjoyed.
The hike was located in the gorgeous Maitai valley, a little green paradise on the outskirts of Nelson, with open verdant fields, a beautiful river and even a frisbee golf course (which I found is a thing in Nelson- who knew?). At the end of the valley is the Maitai Dam- rather uninspiring in itself but it has a few tracks running through the pine forest and bush above the dam, including caves and a track up to the mythical Dunn mountain, which was where I intended to go.
I had run the track before in the summer- it took roughly 4 hours and was not overly arduous, so with nothing more than my t-shirt, shorts, running shoes and a pack with a thin raincoat in it, I took off merrily. I knew I had plenty of time to get it done and dusted with a few good hours of daylight left to spare.
It was with a relatively light heart I started up the track, the gravel path steep under my feet but I welcomed the strain it put on my body- the rhythmic strain of muscles moving had a calming effect that chased away negative thoughts. I was breathing hard but loving it -my fitness had increased exponentially since being forced to seek exercise as a cure, and also I had become much fitter after hiking in Peru. Smashing the Salkantay trek (you can read about this one in the blog) built both my muscular fitness and my aerobic capacity, as the extreme elevation (5000m) made each step a challenge, especially with a giant pack on my back, and sucking in enough oxygen trained my body better than anything in the gym ever could.
I was engrossed in my favourite podcast- “No such thing as a fish”. I have often considered sending the group a passionate thank you- at my worst, dealing with the loss, their foolish, fun chatter gave me the distraction I needed to avoid the descent into true darkness from which I feared I may not return. I do apologise for this writing by the way- I usually do my best to infuse these stories with humour and fun, but this one is close to my heart and was an experience full of fear and pain- so continue at your own risk. I can promise it will be raw and honest, if nothing else.
So, walking rather cheerfully, I did my usual ‘safety conscious’ action of completely ignoring where I was going. I would rarely lift my eyes from the path in front of my feet to see if I was on the right track- it was fairly well laid out and I let my feet find their own way.
However at one point, as I lifted my eyes I noticed I couldn’t see the cheery bright orange triangles that let me know I was still on the right track. Slightly rebuffed, I looked around- still no markers… huh. Strayed off the track again it seemed. With nonchalance I pulled out my phone and checked my position to see how far I had gotten lost this time. By the way maps.me is the most life-saving app I can recommend to the directionally challenged such as myself- if you download the maps ahead of time you don’t even need data. Though yes, I am sad to admit, I have on occasion forgot to do the download ahead of time and paid the price- but those are stories for another time.
What I discovered was that I was not on the track (duh) but instead it looked like I had wandered about 20 minutes away to the east. Marking my position, I set my phone in a zipped pocket on my bag, and began to bush-wack my way in the direction I needed to go.
After about a half hour I was still searching dearly for those pesky little triangles, but all to no avail. Picking out my phone once more- slightly disconcerted about the lack of battery it displayed, I saw I had taken a wrong turn and gone too far south. That was ok though, I knew the direction I needed to go in, turned to face it, and popped my phone away, zipping it tightly away once more.
However, another half hour later and still no track in sight, I was really getting frustrated- I had pushed through some low hanging scrub and bore the scratches to show for it on my hands and shins, but those damn triangles were hiding from me still. I had an inkling the track was above me- up a very steep climb. It looked a little dodgy, but I was relatively confident I could do it (I loved bouldering in Germany and had grown quite proficient at it, so this shouldn’t be too tough).
But, finally thinking more clearly, I thought I had better check my phone and position once more, as the sun was beginning to drop and with it, the temperature. Looking in my bags pocket, my heart dropped- the zip was open, and the pocket was empty. This wasn’t good- inconvenient yes, but not disastrous- it was a known track and I had at least an hour of daylight left- besides, how far could I be from the actual path? It must be right up that hill right?
So, knowing my phone was waterproof and that I could track it with my work phone tomorrow (my sore legs were not looking forward to that journey) I decided to let it go and forge ahead. This was really when things started to go poorly.
Pushing hard (I tend to lean towards brute force when things get challenging) I climbed- when one path grew too difficult, I chose another- I wasted an hour trying to push myself up an incredibly challenging hill, and with frustration at my shortcomings I finally had to admit that I simply couldn’t make it. The brush grew too dense, and the earth crumbled under my feet and hands, and I knew if I pushed further, I would fall and possibly break a limb. It was with some irony perhaps that I had grown more cautious since Sarah’s dad had passed away in a hiking accident- seeing the aftermath of losing a family member helped me develop something of a conscience about risking my own life too freely- stupid conscience.
Exploding in frustration, letting out a string of expletives, I gave up and scrambled back down the hill to a small clearing. Stopping and breathing hard, I concentrated on lowering my heart rate, and this helped calm my thoughts. I decided I had better try and reason through this. A calm head prevails, and with the fading light, I felt I had two options. One, sit still, try to build a fire- staying in the same spot is what all outdoor guides say to do when you are lost. While this appealed to me, I was painfully aware of the limited resources I had- I was already beginning to cool down, and one thin rain jacket would not protect me from the below freezing temperatures that would be joining the nightfall. With the soaking wet bush around me, I wasn’t even sure if I could start a fire. I could potentially bury myself in the brush for whatever meagre warmth it would provide, but the ground was wet and I really didn’t like my chances at -2 degrees.
The second choice was to try to find my way back, without a path- to my wee car which at the very least, had air conditioning to keep me warm overnight. There was a good chance it would be locked into the car park by the time I got back, but it was shelter, which I dearly needed.
I looked around. There appeared to be some vague semblance of a track without too many bushes and this seemed the way to go- surely this might be an abandoned path that had sat in disuse for a while? So I took off, following down, which was where I had come from.
In the fading light, the temperature dropped- I could see my breath coming out in clouds before me, sharpening a growing sense of panic. Even the choice of rushing or not was not an easy one- the more ground I covered in the daylight the better, but tiring myself out, growing wet with sweat and not having the body heat to stay warm during the night was a scary thought.
I began to hurry- this was good, as I did stave off the chill, but I began to make silly mistakes. I kept my head up, trying to find any point of reference I could that might lead me out, but I could only see trees in front and around me. Because of this, I often slipped and stumbled. I have an old ankle injury from a motorcycle crash which will swell up like an angry and particularly rotund grapefruit if I roll my foot. I certainly couldn’t walk on it if it happened now- so I forced myself to try to be more careful.
Have you ever been lost? It is definitely not fun. I compare it to being claustrophobic which, unfortunately, I am. It is like a thousand voices, all angry and terrifying, begin screaming at you from all directions. You spin, trying to find the source, to gain some anchor to stop your mind from reeling, but all you see just reinforces the fact that yes, it really is as bad as you imagine. In truth, it hardly ever is as bad as you might think- but trying to tell a panicked brain to “calm it’s shit” hardly every works well. If you don’t believe me, try telling your mum to calm down after she gives you the “you’ve just stepped over the line” look. This, I can assure you, never ends well.
Being lost is a primal feeling- and because of this, it bypasses those logical, reasoning parts of the brain and kicks you straight into the amygdala - which activates the fight-or-flight response. Without the frontal lobes (does that sound dirty or is it just me?), you can't think clearly, or make rational decisions. I knew this. I knew it, because I teach my Learning Support kids to develop strategies to stop this happening, but even knowing what was happening it was still nearly impossible to calm down. Fortunately, where our will might fail, physiology does not. I stopped and breathed, concentrating on breathing out more than in, and holding the breath. There is a nerve called the vagus nerve that runs directly from your lungs to your brain- slow one, you slow the other, and I concentrated on doing this in the hope the panic would recede.
It didn’t, but it dulled, and I could push past it to ty to think. I was wandering, I knew it. I had spent the better part of an hour, and most of my remaining light, wandering with no clear direction and no point of reference. I may have gone in a circle for all I knew. But without a point of reference, what could I do? I was losing the sun, which some intrepid explorers could probably use to find their way, but I lacked that (and any other) kind of directional skill.
Besides, in the dark, anything I could see would be useless anyway- the stars wouldn’t help, I wasn’t some wayfaring Viking. While we do have Nordic roots, I was only a sedentary Viking- one who had adapted so well to Aotearoa I was essentially becoming a hobbit. Knowing I could be wandering aimlessly at night, forced not to stop so I stayed warm but having no idea where I might end up (these ranges go on for literal days of hiking) I was quite sure I couldn’t survive that scenario with the temperatures and weather that was coming.
I was scratched, tired, cold, and terrified, and I couldn’t think of a way out. With a sense of complete hopelessness, I simply sank down and clasped my head in my hands, screwing my eyes up in frustration and groaning in sheer hopelessness.
After a minute or so, I realised that my breakdown achieved nothing, so I forced myself to calm once again, quieted my breathing, and tried to think. I could hear the snaps of sticks under my knees as I shifted, and for some reason the sound brought an idea to me- sound. The one thing I could follow at night, without vision, was sound- and I could hear something in the distance- a rushing river. While this may have seemed like the salvation I was searching for, my gut twisted immediately as I considered what following a river through the bush at night would be like.
Trying to follow a river- not some gentle creek meandering past the bullrushes- no I mean a real, raging river, was not going to be easy, or safe. Rivers cut through the land- after glaciers I think they may be some of the most powerful terraformers on the planet. They cut swathes into solid rock, drop down gullies, twist in curves and make the land next to them soggy and impossibly difficult to navigate. From sinking up to your thighs in mud, to slipping on weed and moisture covered rocks, to enduring the freezing spray of the water, it was a dangerous proposition. I know this sounds melodramatic, but I had slipped and fell many a time when it was warm and I could actually see when following a river, and to do it at night was near suicidal. But what choice did I have? There were no other options, and I knew the river led to the dam (well I sincerely, severely, hoped it did, it was only logical right?), and from there I knew I could find my way, night time or not. I hoped I could stay near enough to hear it while sticking to the drier land nearby.
Buoyed a little by at least having a plan, I walked towards the sound of the river. The undergrowth naturally grew more dense, which made navigating it even harder. My bare legs were already scratched, but I ignored them, preferring haste over subtlety. The sun was gone now, but thankfully the light lingered, darkening slowly enough that I could still make good progress. I remembered a technique that Ninja used to see with at night (I know it sounds crazy but I spent 4 years getting my black belt in Ninjutsu, and I’d heard a lot of fascinating stories- some obvious legends and others less so). It was funny, I almost began to think I would be fine- the darkness wasn’t really that dark, and though peering through my fingers didn’t help me see any better (that was the technique I mentioned), it did seem to help me focus on details so I didn’t stumble so much. If this was how it was going to be, I could manage- I had fitness for days after my high alpine adventures in Peru, and even if it took all night I knew my legs wouldn’t give out. The cold was more of a worry, but keeping moving was still keeping me warm, despite the clouds of white vapour bursting from my mouth with every breath.
But it just kept getting darker, and then colder, and as the time wore on, my nerves frayed. Suddenly, my shin ran into a low lying branch with a thud, and it hurt the way you just know it’s going to swell up with a bruise. I didn’t swear, I just stopped, because this almost had me at breaking point. How could I be so stupid and get so lost, so easily? I gasped a few deep breaths, trying without success to lower the terror and frustration that was rising in me as though there was a demon straining to break out of my rib cage. You must understand, it wasn’t just the situation that was impacting my emotions, at this point in my life the strong, deep pain of losing Sarah still lived just below the surface- I had learned to hide it, even cope with it, but when I was pressed in other ways in my life, it smashed through and left my resilience lying in tatters on the floor.
A big part of my job is supporting mental health with both my students and their teachers- I knew pain needed to be acknowledged and worked through, given the time each individual needs to process through it. Normally, at low points like this, when my own pain felt as sharp as steel, I would take time, walk in nature, watch something to distract me, or try mindfulness meditation. I placed my mental health at the top of my hierarchy of needs because I knew where the depths of pain had led me during my worst times. But here I had no choice but to swallow it, and the terror, back down and try to focus on the present. The throbbing of my shin and the cold returned in full measure, but the sadness that had awoken did not recede, and I crouched, head in my hands, and let the tears roll. It was only a short few hacking sobs but it did calm me down. I had learned over the past year that crying was amazingly cathartic and should not be avoided. Standing up, using my mantra that gave no comfort yet somehow brought me peace, said “It is what it is”. To it, I added sadly, “I miss you Sarah” and began to walk again.
Unfortunately, I took barely a few steps and stumbled again, and I knew I simply couldn’t do this. It wasn’t a matter of determination or strength, it simply wasn’t possible to blunder blindly in the bush- I would achieve nothing but more injury.
Alright think, I thought, what can you do- you lost your phone so you have no light. Is there any other resource you have that might help? Thinking through my meagre possessions, I shouted with glee at what the disgusting habit of smoking I had picked up in Europe had given me- a source of light! With frenzied excitement, I tore open the front pocket of my bag and dug through to find an old, chunky yellow lighter and flicked it to life. The tiny spark of fire blinded me after the darkness, and somehow made the dark outside the circle of light seem even darker, more palpable. But I had light, and as bear Grills likes to say, the psychological benefits of light are wonderful for the soul. It did lift my spirits, and I breathed a huge sigh. If I could see, I could do this.
I stepped forward, peering out in the bush, but almost immediately my heart sank. The lighter created a tiny nimbus of light that didn’t even reach my feet, and the brightness destroyed my ability to see in the dark. Lowering the lighter nearer to the ground, I could see maybe a half foot in front of my feet. Shuffling forward, I moved ahead, small step by small step, and blanched as a low lying limb bashed into my head. No no no, I thought, I had this- I had light! Why wasn’t this working? My thumb was growing uncomfortably hot, holding it low was pushing the flame towards my hand. My legs were strong, but crouching like this couldn’t get me any distance- my thighs were already beginning to protest. But maybe, now I had flame, I would be able to light a fire, or perhaps even make a torch to see by. I looked around- everything I saw was damp but perhaps the leaf litter under the top layer was still dry.
Dragging my hands through the leaves I soon realised it got wetter the further I dug. Thats ok, I thought, I knew some ferns stayed pretty dry under their green outer-layer, so if I could find one I might be able to make a decent fire for warmth, or at the very least get one started enough to burn the less damp stuff.
Unfortunately there was nothing of the kind around me, little though I could see. Think, think… what else could I burn? There were just thousands of scrub branches surrounding me- these had flaking bark patches that were fine and though damp, might be enough to get a tinder started. Using my hand to rub up and down the branch (I was so miserable that the sexual connotation didn’t even cross my mind) I collected a small pile in the palm of my hand. Carefully sheltering them from any errant drops of rain (there had been a few- my heartbeat jacking up every time I felt one) I said a silent prayer and held the lighter to the tiny bundle cupped in my hands.
Have you ever seen what happens when you hold an open flame to plastic? How it kind of curls and smokes but doesn’t actually catch alight? That is exactly what happened here. I groaned in disbelief and hurriedly made a larger pile from a more sheltered area- but only achieved the same result. I tried once more and then just gave up. I sat on my ass in the wet, surrounded by oppressive darkness, lost, freezing, near blind, and once again, I felt the fear and panic surge in me with the kind of unstoppable force of vomit.
My legs grew quickly cold, and I tried to tug my snug, thin rain jacket over my knees for a modicum of warmth. Cursing my love of tight fitting clothes (yes, vanity is not always practical), I realised it wouldn’t fit. I also cursed my complete lack of preparation. My family and friends had often told me off for the kind of tramping that I did- I would look for a nice peak and just go for it, perhaps shoving a warm jacket in my pack but not considering anything in New Zealand dangerous enough to cause any kind of serious problem. There was some poetic justice here in fact, as I had recently almost killed myself (again, not hyperbole) climbing a disused track to the highest mountain in the Kahurangi ranges- Mt Owen. That is a story for another time, but I remembered how the near death experience had highlighted the loss my family would feel if I really did die. Being with Sarah, seeing how the loss of her father had affected her, I realised for the first time how others would feel if I was lost, and when I was with her through some very challenging months, I felt as though I was her rock, the one thing that held her together. It made me more careful, more aware of my value to others if something happened to me. I never wanted to cause that kind of pain to anyone I loved.
All of this musing brought my Auntie to mind- she and I had been through lockdown together, and I always let her know where I was going and when I intended to get back. She would be worried, more so, and I knew she felt responsible for my safety on behalf of my parents. I hadn’t been able to let her know I would be late when I had my phone on me (I had still held out hope I would make it out in time to avoid any concerns) so she would be sitting alone stressing. That was not fair, though her fears would be legitimate. Life really is easier living without anyone depending on you.
With guilt curdling in my gut alongside the panic and sadness, I stood up, realising that quitting, as easy as that might seem, wasn’t an option. I couldn’t give up- my pain in the moment would be nothing compared to what others would go through if this ended badly. Plus, I hate it when others get to say “I told you so”. My stubbornness to never concede an opinion might actually outweigh my stubbornness to not die, so I knew now no matter what, I had to get through this. Not exactly a spoiler alert I realise, as I’m writing this right now- but hey, maybe this is one of those “Into the Wilderness” situations where my journal is found alongside my heroically posed corpse, written in blood and dirt with a twig. Yeah, nah….
Anyway, determined, I was hit with a spark of clarity. This wasn’t the first time this had happened to me- I had been alone in the dark in freezing temperatures before (you would think I would have learned by now but apparently it takes two horrifying experiences before my mind bothers to remember them). When I had decided to climb a random mountain in the Atacama desert in Chile, I had reached the campsite after dark and used my phone light to set up the tent. This had drained the battery quickly, and having no light when there were genuine cougars (not the hot kind, the ones with a tail) roaming around I had started to panic as well. But keeping calm, I had dug through my pack for my ever-present Kindle- which had a week long battery and produced enough light I could see to complete the tent (as an aside, at that elevation in the desert it was so cold at night that my water drinking hose froze up, so that was another thing that sparked my memory).
Letting out a bark of excitement, I swung my bag off my back and hurriedly dug through, finding the comforting black rectangle of my e-reader. With shaking hands and a whispered prayer, I held down the power button and also held my breath.
In a flash of light, the screen lit up, and I almost sobbed with relief. I had 62% battery left, and as I scaled up the brightness half-way I knew, finally, I had something to see by. The soft glow was gentle enough not to blind me but pierced the darkness effectively- I couldn’t see much, but I could see enough. This was it- I knew now I could do it, provided no other disasters befell me.
I stood, listened for the river, and started moving again. It wasn’t easy- I was tired, cold and sore, and still very lost- but pushing through physical pain has never been much of a problem for me.
The next few hours passed in a blur, though strange snippets stand out, such as seeing shadowy figures at the edge of my vision, spooking me every time.
I remember losing my feet ankle deep in mud when I strayed too close to the river, and sliding down steep banks of pine needles on my backside, dodging low hanging branches and bruising myself on rocks I couldn’t see. It was dreamlike, and a sense of unreality fell over me, and the thoughts running through my mind felt like those of a fever dream- unfortunately often returning to Sarah, and I started to punch myself in the thigh as a way to try to break the thought pattern when they came up.
During this time, I prayed. God has always been close, and a presence in my life I will never relinquish. In the past, when I was scared or hurting, I would pray, and His peace would almost always soon follow. I felt that with His support I could get through anything, but processing through the break up, I had not felt the usual comfort. I thought perhaps He kept it for special, life threatening situations- this had certainly been the case in the past- but now, praying almost continuously, I felt nothing.
No comfort, no support, just an absence. It may sound odd, but this didn’t change my view of Him- God is good, and I knew regardless of how He was interacting with me, His character didn’t change. But I had, for the first time in my life, found anger towards God. I knew beyond a shadow of doubt this was unjustified- faith is not simple- but I couldn’t stop it. I’d lost Sarah, despite my prayers. I’d found no comfort from God bar the slow, natural healing I was doing, and now I was lost, scared, hurt, and there was still nothing. God is big, He can take our anger, and though I knew it was wrong it wouldn’t leave. But this didn’t help anything, and churning emotions continuing, I kept on.
Much of this time I have thankfully blacked out, but things do return to me now in times of stress- similar to PTSD symptoms in a way. The problem with following a river is you don’t always get to go the way you want to, or even a way that is safe. This was a mountain river- at one point I found myself gripping my kindle uncomfortably in my teeth while trying to use both hands to grip the thin shrubs jutting out of a wet rocky cliff face. There was no way around, I had to get down this way or I was not going any further. I did clearly think that if the shrubs broke or I slipped, the 30 foot drop onto the rocks below would maim, if not kill me. I was shaking from both the cold (the spray of the river diving over the cliff permeated the air) and exhaustion, which didn’t help my grip. I’m not sure how long it took, but eventually I got to the base and could work my way to a place further away from the river. It was not the last cliff I had to climb down that night.
I was forced to cross the river several times, the water rising up to my thighs and leaving me shivering on the other side. There is something quite terrifying about plunging into rushing water at night, not being able to see your feet, or what might be in the water along with you (despite the fact that this was NZ and other than a brush from an eel, there was nothing to fear).
Over time, the land flattened out and the river diminished, and as I broke through some dense brush, which still scratched and tore at my bleeding legs, I came across a high river bank on the opposite shore. Out of the bush, with no tree cover, I could see enough to make out most things, and for some reason the cliff looked familiar to me- if I could just get there, peek over it, perhaps it would show me the way out or at the very least, a bush free environment- my legs couldn’t take much more punishment.
I delved into the river, sinking immediately up to my thighs, which was not a good sign. I tracked sideways looking for boulders that would stop me plunging deeper. Eventually I made it across, and got to the bank. It was taller than I’d hoped, and I tried unsuccessfully to scramble up it, getting high enough a fall could do some damage, but no luck. My frustration levels rose, as I was sure I could get my bearings if I just got to the top.
Dejected, I thought I had better get back to the original plan, when all of a sudden, I could see the river, and the bank clearly. Blinking in surprise, I looked behind me to see one of the most beautiful sights I could imagine- a huge, full moon was shining brightly (reflecting brightly? Does the moon really shine?) and I could see everything.
This was what I had waited for. While it was still relatively dark in the dense bush, out here I could make out that the scrub definitely seemed to disappear over the bank- I had to get there- flat land was what I needed to get through this.
Splashing through the freezing river once more, I found another spot to scale. Struggling, my arms and hands shaking from adrenalin and fatigue, I crested the bank after a good 10 minutes of struggle. What I saw in the moonlight almost broke my heart. I couldn’t see anything new- the bush began again in about 20 feet, and it looked darker and more foreboding than the other side was. Where the hell was I? I’d been walking for hours and I was still completely lost in the bush- how was this possible?
Grinding my teeth to stop from screaming out in frustration, I turned and looked at the steep bank I had just climbed. I had to stick to the plan, no back tracking. Get back across the river and just stick to the plan- it had to lead me somewhere.
After splashing through the water once again, my soggy shoes (ironically waterproof) made sad little splashing sounds as I once again crouched, took a deep breath, and headed back into the brush that scrapped and tore at my legs.
After another hour or so of blurry, confused travel, I noticed it getting noticeably darker. Not even caring that clouds were obscuring the moon, I once again pulled out my kindle and began to guide myself by the light of the small ebook. Then I felt it. A splash against my cheek. Then another. No, no, it couldn’t get worse, it couldn’t! But the rain started to fall in earnest and I pulled my raincoat (the one sensible thing I had brought along with me) closer, and lifted up the hood. While the temperature didn’t noticeably drop, freezing water on my legs and hands numbed me to the bone, and despite the protests in my aching body, I forced myself to walk faster.
The rain lasted a half hour, but returned periodically every now and again just to add insult to injury. I was shaking from the cold, but not seriously, so I knew hypothermia wasn’t hitting me just yet. Keep moving, ignore the pain, the cold, the wet, the fear, just keep going on.
Have you ever had an irritating song run through your head that you just can’t get rid of? Mine became “Just keep going on, just keep going on, take every knock as a boost, and every stumble as a stepping stone, lift up your head, prove em wrong, just keep going on…”
It did. Over and over, every time I hit my shin or slipped to my hands, it would start again. Not inspirational, but annoying. But my anger at the stupidity of my mind for focussing on this song distracted me, and perhaps that’s why it happened.
Gradually the landscape changed- it became smaller trees, wetter ground, and I did not even try to avoid sinking up to my ankles anymore. Growing very tired, my concentration lapsed, and I stumbled head over heels into a large section of brush. I heard the snapping of twigs and felt a slice up my right thigh. Lying there in the mud, staring up at a cloudy sky (through the rain) I simply gave up. It was just too much, and I was too stupid, to get this done. No tears or cries this time, just a withdrawal into myself. This lasted about 5 minutes, as the warmth of my body sapped into the earth and the shaking really started. I wrapped my arms around me and just huddled, my faults and failures so real to me. I mourned the loss of Sarah, knowing so clearly how I had failed her, and thought of the pain I would cause my family.
Shit, quit whining boy (I had developed a love of vulgar language in Europe)- this isn’t that bad.
Others have gone through injury, sickness, true danger- I had met many personally and their stories of overcoming always inspired me. I thought to myself “you are just cold, lost and alone. Grow a pair and get on with it”.
So I did. I hauled myself to my feet (allowing myself as many ‘old man getting up from a seat’ noises as I could manage) and started to shuffle once more.
I’m not sure how long it took, another hour at least, but at one point I realised I wasn’t crouching anymore. I stood up, and as the clouds parted a huge open expanse was revealed to me. It was a clearing made by logging- clogged with gorse bushes (these are shrubs so horribly full of prickles, it’s as though a pine tree had angry sex with a cactus and birthed a thousand mutant babies all intent on stabbing you repeatedly in any exposed area of skin you show them). But I didn’t care, it was different, and I could see with the moonlight which had returned as the rain clouds receded- it was all coming up Gareth! In fact, looking around, this place almost looked similar to the start of the track, and a thin line running along the cliff in front of me might just be the road I had started on- yes!
This dear reader, is the beginning of the end of the nightmare for me. Yes, I got turned around twice and it took me at least another hour to wade through the gorse bushes to get to the actual road (climbing over 20 foot tall piles of slash that sunk beneath my feet and threatened to swallow me like quicksand) but I just pushed on. The gorse tore at my already bleeding skin, the rain turned up twice more, but after all of it, I made it to what did turn out to be the quarry road and peered down it to see my wee little Siri waiting faithfully for her dad to come find her (Siri is my wonderful, if tiny, little blue bottle of a car).
Running (well, shuffling painfully in what was probably a fair impression of Quasimodo) I got to my car and dove in to the warmth. I had left warm, dry pants, socks and shoes (thank God) inside the car and quickly did a nude strip in the moonlight to get the dry clothes onto me.
She started straight up, and some very generous soul had graciously left the gate closed, but not locked, and in a haze of hot A/C I drove, probably far too fast, back the long road to my Auntie’s house.
I won’t recall the details of what happened after this, except to say I woke up my aunt to let her know I was ok (she had called my family, friends and the police in fear of what might have happened to me). She took one look at my eyes and dove in for a hug. I didn’t think I looked that bad (I had changed clothes after all) but seeing myself in the mirror and inspecting the damage to my ruined body, I was shocked at the haunted look in my eyes. This wasn’t me, this was someone who had been very scared, and pushed too far. It wasn’t fun to see.
One last epilogue I must add, is that after washing away the blood and mud from my body, I called my friends, knowing they (and not my family) would still be awake and scared for me. Answering immediately, I was berated severly for several long minutes, but only after they had ensured I was ok. I took the telling off gladly, as after the tongue lashing I got, I found out that they were in the process of looking up plane tickets to come and find me if it came to that. One of my closest friends even drove an hour and a half the next day to check up on me. My friends and I are close, we have been for many years, and I know they are truely loyal. It still brings tears to me that I am so blessed to have such amazing humans in my life.
Feeling suffused with a warmth that had nothing to do with the shower, I drifted off finally into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. The nightmares would come later, but they didn’t last for too long.
Incidentally, the next day I returned (hobbling like a clubfooted pirate) back into the very bush that had caused me such pain. The deep scratches on my legs tore open and bled again in the process, but I managed, by some miracle, to track down my phone. I found I had come to within about 300m of the track at one point, and seeing where I must have hiked in the dark I shivered- it was not a safe, nor hospitable place to be at any time, day or night. I thanked God that I was alive, able to move (ish) and that I did not cause my friends and family any more pain than they had already endured. I swore above all else I would be well prepared next time for any trek I took in the future, and I am proud to say I have stuck to this, even getting a epub should such a disaster happen again. Heres to many more exciting (and far less deadly) adventures.
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