(This is part 3 in a five-part series)

Dr. G and I were back at the dry gulch, trying for round two. The sunlight was creeping higher up the faces of the cliffs, leaving the area where we were in dimness. We kept an eye out for snakes as we tested a few promising possible paths, but as we circled back again and again we found only dead ends. I noticed a big log across a narrow clearing, and beyond it, almost hidden under the low-growing branches of a juniper, a rock cairn. Here was the real trail! We booked it up the path and back into the sunlight. “Okay,” I announced. “Things can only get better from here on out. We forgot stuff at the car, lost water twice, got lost in the bushes, and stepped over a rattlesnake. That fulfills our adventure quota, wouldn’t you say?” Dr. G. didn’t agree. Nearly all of those events had been due to our own carelessness. In a way, he said, you could consider our experience lucky, since none of them turned out badly.

My original sensation of expansiveness and joy had faded. I noted the tiny ache forming in the arch of my right foot, the grimy feeling of dust stuck to sunscreen on my limbs, the tiredness and labored breathing brought on by the steep hill. We could still make it, though. I was sure of it. Obstacles overcome, objective in sight. We crossed an invisible boundary between desert and forest; the prickly pears were sparse now, and scattered among tree trunks. The trail descended as we headed towards Coon Creek along a steep ridge, taking off our hats so the cool breeze could evaporate the sweat from our scalps. Our footsteps were quieter now, muffled by pine needles except when one of us crunched a half-gnawed pine cone now and again. The air smelled like soft dirt and pine.

I heard a thud behind me and felt suddenly lighter. I whirled around to watch our bag of water tumble fifteen feet down the steep embankment and come to rest under a thorn bush, dribbling out its contents. You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought. Time was of the essence but I’d always been a cautious descender. I examined the options and chose a round-about route with some boulders and tree roots for footholds down the hill. Dr. G, meanwhile, had rushed towards me on the trail and plunged over the edge, half-scrambling, half-sliding, right into the thorn bush. He handed the water bladder up to me, which was now one third depleted. I fixed the hose and tighted the lid, but water was still splashing onto my hand. It must be dripping off of the outside of the bag, I decided. This time we tied it on with cords and carabineers. I heaved the pack up onto my back and took a few experimental steps. Splash, splash. Water was still dripping onto the back of my leg. Unbelievable—a leak! Well, perhaps not so unbelievable. The bag had just fallen fifteen feet into a thorn bush and maybe a little dribble wasn’t so bad. We transferred water into some other water bottles to bring the water line below the leak, and set off again.

We were very close to the creekbed now, and Dr. G was keeping a sharp eye out for running water. There were occasional damp spots here and there, but nothing actually moving. The moss was shriveled and dead in most places. The trail grew fainter and fainter, and we noticed signs of a big forest fire that had downed almost half of the trees sometime in the recent past. We weren’t hiking so much as clambering over, under, and around logs, playing “spot the cairn.” More scrapes. My hands were totally blackened by charcoal from the burned trees, as were the insides of my knees. We lost the trail two or three more times and had to rock hop up the dry creekbed until we saw it again. Of the two of us, I was better at spotting a marginally less overgrown path or a partly collapsed pile of rocks marking the way forward. Dr. G was better at rock hopping; he could look several feet ahead and move swiftly in long strides. I would to examine all the possibilities, put a foot down, test, and repeat. Even with all my caution I’d wobble or slip one time in twenty. It was slow going.

We passed a slimy, putrid puddle infested with bugs, living and dead. “That could work, in an emergency,” said Dr. G. It was now 7:30 and the sun was setting. We had only an hour or so of dusk to find a place to camp and set up. We were still on the side of the hill, and in addition to being steep it was more rock than dirt, with jagged boulders cropping up every few feet and smaller rocks spilling down into piles of shale, none of which was particularly conducive to camping. We passed a narrow flat spot between two boulders and noted it; our two-man tent just might squeeze in there. We walked a bit farther on until the trail disappeared again. Nothing better had turned up, and the tiny flat spot was within spitting distance of the grimy puddle. We decided to set up camp.