Some of you may remember my whine about hiking Presa Canyon in Seminole Canyon State Park last November (see Nov. 2013, Hiking Presa Canyon). I lost five toenails on that one, and very nearly suffered heat stroke. My husband Steve took a similar hike last Sunday, with considerably better results. In fact he thoroughly enjoyed it.
It was the same canyon, same terrain, but with a few notable differences. First, it was 65 degrees F instead of 95 F last year when I went. Since stone canyons heat up like ovens when the sun hits them, this difference was huge. No heat stroke for Steve and his companions. This time of year in the Lower Pecos the weather is variable, and you have to be prepared for anything. I’ve been there in March when it was 95, and I’ve been there in March when it snowed. Luck of the draw on that one.
The second difference was that Steve is in much better physical condition than I was when I went.
After all, he’s been hiking up and down canyons everyday for the past two months. That strengthens the quads, folks. Very useful when climbing over boulders. Now, he did have knee surgery last year, but he did his physical therapy and recovered fully. I on the other hand, lackadaisically went to the gym twice a week and moaned every time I had to do a leg lift. It shows. I’m still bad.
The third big difference was that Steve and his pals got a kindly rancher to pick them up after six hours, instead of hiking the complete eight-hour trip! What I wouldn’t have given for a pickup outta there! I would’ve called EMS for a helicopter ride out except that A) there’s no cell service down in a canyon [yes, my lovelies], and B) it would’ve cost $1500.00. So I opted to keep walking. But I thought about it!
Because of his better preparation and more hospitable situation, Steve really didn’t suffer. He slept
well that night, but he didn’t hurt all over. I slept 12 hours the night after my hike! My body needed that much to recover. After all, I’d pushed these old bones pretty hard for a city slicker, which I am but wish I weren’t.
The beauty of the canyon was there for both of us, however, and any of you who make the trip. The cry of the birds, the flower hanging precariously from the stone, the buckeye trees in bloom. And of course the rock art. Because there is rock art, we fool ourselves into thinking that’s what we go to see, that that’s the reason for going. But it’s not. The canyon itself is the reason. Just to be there, in the air, surrounded by astounding beauty, as the hawks fly overhead.