Stuart Ellis

It was the morning of my thirtieth birthday. This trip happened for this reason. This hike. This trek across the valley floor.’,’

“Herm… it doesn’t look that far.” That was the first thought. Almost disappointed, but not wanting to admit it.

It was the morning of my thirtieth birthday. This trip happened for this reason. This hike. This trek across the valley floor. A moment of transition. A moment to claim as my own. “What did you do for your birthday?”

“Oh, I walked across Death Valley.”

Cool.

“I stood at the lowest possible point in the Northern Hemisphere.”

Yeah. It sounded good to me.

But this… this didn’t look like a challenging hike. It looked like a pleasant stroll… I figured, what, twenty minutes to cross?

Greg and I had often poured over maps of Death Valley in the past. The idea of the place always scared me, lets be honest. The very names conjured hazards of mythic proportions: Dante’s View, Funeral Mountains, Hell’s Gate, Starvation Canyon, Coffin Peak, Furnace Creek, Dry Bone Canyon, and the subtle, Badwater.

Badwater. That was the one that always stuck in my mind. That one spot on the map grounded the dramatic, sweeping scope of the valley. A spot that denoted despair. Not a place to stop and marvel, but a place to move on away from. Badwater.

“Looks like it’ll take about twenty minutes,” Dan said squinting into the rising sun. The winds that had plagued us the night before were gone. There were dark clouds hanging above the Panamint Range behind us, but the Funeral Mountains before us looked clear.

We were all in good humor as we stood on the West Side Highway looking east. The only debate was whether to bring the camcorder or not, but I opted not to. Cam said he was going to bring his camera. Luckily it still seemed to work despite that it took a nasty ding the afternoon before, during our repelling adventure. Besides, I was pretty sure the other three were pretty fed up with having a camcorder in their face. Plus, there still was a chance of rain.

“So what do you want to do if we hit water?” Greg shrugged. Deal with it, was the unspoken attitude. And with that we started out, laughing and working out the morning kinks. I took some pictures of the dogs, and then slowly we all started to separate. I branched out to the south, Cam to the north, Greg setting a quick, light pace as is his way, up ahead.

The silence of the valley was magnificent. The view was unbroken by anything that gave a scale of distance. There was just a breeze rumbling in my ears. Without any familiar distractions I became introspective, as was the idea for the day. I wandered off course for a good while until I felt completely alone. I found a good spot to lie down at, spread my arms out wide and stared at nothing but the clouds that drifted overhead. I had thought that this place might become oppressive, make me edgy. But instead I found a calming peace. I felt as if I were lying at the center of the universe. Everything revolved around me without touching me. I couldn’t stop smiling. It was such a wonderful present. Happy Birthday, I told myself.

As I stood to resume my hike, I got such a head-rush. The whole bowl of the valley seemed to sweep up and away from me. Whether it was from being two hundred eighty two feet below sea level, or the topography, or the atmosphere, I didn’t know. But the Funeral Mountains still looked about twenty minutes away.

The ground slowly turned from a dusty hard pack to a soft plain that was a pleasure to walk on. My knees and ankles, and especially my flat arches sighed with relief. While not dramatic, this was turning into a pleasant stroll. I had to keep an eye on the Funeral cliffs, which denoted where the trucks were parked, and maybe one eye on the shimmer that came from the valley floor, which may be the lake, or just a heat mirage.

A chilly wind brought a few sprinkles of rain. Just enough to roll down my sleeves and justify not bringing the camcorder. The idea of rain seemed doable, but a downpour would probably turn the soft turf to mud, and that was not something I wanted to look forward to.

And speaking of turf, we crossed a demarcation line and the sparse shrubs and copse of weeds vanished. Our feet just broke the ground crust leaving slight indentations. Again, pleasant.

Greg slowed down and Cameron and I regrouped with Dan once more.

“Looks like about, oh, say, twenty minutes to the other side,” Dan laughed.

I pointed to the shimmer up ahead, “That mirage sure does look like water.” Greg agreed and we shifted our route a little more south.

It was water all right. Water and waves. I knew that this had been too easy. Now would come the challenge. Would it be safe? Would we have to wade, or even swim? There was no way to tell. We could only trudge on.

“It couldn’t be all that deep, could it?” I asked aloud to no one. With my concentration on the distance I failed to note that we crossed another ground demarcation line. It was a darker one this time. The crust was thinner and the soft pack underneath wetter. “Whoa” Cameron slipped and caught himself. I felt my boots become heavier as mud clotted between the treads of my boots, then to the soles, in larger clumps. Hopefully, it would not get worse…

It got worse.

We were all side by side then as we slogged through, becoming more and more aware of each step we took. I thought it was more of an annoyance, speculating that once we hit the water our troubles would really begin.

The amount of mud caked to my boots had become troubling. Damn things were getting heavy. It broke my pacing and required more energy than I wanted. I felt it in my thighs the most. And I had to begin to concentrate. And it was getting deeper. My feet sloshed around as my toes disappeared underneath the mud. I started to hear sucking sounds when I brought each foot up, and squelching sounds when my foot came down. I was definitely annoyed. Even Greg had begun to slow down. Dan’s face had become set, and Cameron, deep in the experience, looked like he was in awe – like a kid experiencing snow for the first time.

I remember turning and looking behind us and seeing the straight tracks of footprints that lead from across the valley floor. Cameron stopped to take the picture. I thought then, as I still do now, that it is a wonderfully symbolic shot and am proud to have been part of it.

Unfortunately, that pride quickly evaporated as we trudged against the mud. I was reduced to a snails crawl. Each step took effort. Signs of fatigue were showing. I could no longer feel my toes, then the balls of my feet. Everyone else was having trouble too, but it became apparent that I was struggling the most.

I was losing my happy thought.

Ahead, the expanse of mud seemed to stretch for miles, ending only with a far greater obstacle, the lake. Badwater.

My thighs were trembling now, burning with fatigue. Some times when I stepped down, I could not feel any solid ground, just depthless mud sucking me down. I had to immediately shift my weight and wrench my back foot up without loosing my boot to the gripping mud. Then repeat. And repeat. Then…

I was straining hard. And I hadn’t gone anywhere. A prevailing sense of helplessness descended upon me. I did not know if I could make it. What then? I mean, they would not be able to carry me out, right? And the idea of the hike was my idea. Failure’s heavy hammer pounded me with alacrity.

Splosh-suck-splosh-suck

None of us could stop in fear of sinking. Mud was over my boots. Needed to rest. Just a moment. Sinking. Must move. So hard now.

Suck-groan-splosh-groan-suck

Dan was concerned with my progress. He slowed so I wouldn’t be left behind. “I’m getting worried,” I remember telling him.

“Just keep going.”

But to where? More mud? Deeper mud? Attitude has so much bearing when you are hiking. It is the most dominating force of momentum. And I was in critical danger of losing mine.

I don’t know if Cameron said it, or I said it back to him, or whether simply remembered his words in my head… but his voice, once again declared to me, “You’re really living now.”

Ah, yes. To be totally in the moment. But still, the mud – sinking, fighting against it, sinking deeper. I tried anger as a motivator. Rage. Anything to tap reserves of strength. I saw Greg up ahead and hated him. I have walked since the beginning of my life and there he was, up ahead of me with a light tread. Fuck him.

My thighs were shaking. My calves were aching. I was numb from my ankles on down. My feet were lead. Could not stop. Could not stop.

Fear set in. If that would not get me out of the mess, I figured nothing would. I was embarrassed about how bad my condition was. Panic over-road pride. I must get out! Everything and everybody was holding me back. I should be able to fly…

Boy was I becoming delirious. Then came a jolt of pure exultation. My right foot found firmer ground. Not much, but it was enough to stop and rest. The next step I was sinking into the mud again. Hope was ripped away from me. Then I heard Greg-the-antichrist call out, “It gets harder up here!”

I did not think that I could make it. Let me be honest. I was going to die out here.

Cameron then exclaimed, “Yeah, the ground’s harder.”

Dan was encouraging me to keep going. Greg and Cam had stopped to cheer me on. My crushed pride was pushed aside by gratitude. My legs were rubbery. My lower back was strained. Then I felt firmer ground beneath my feet. Just a little, but it was enough. Enough to catch my breath again. Enough to pause just a moment. Energy quickly returned. I would walk two or three steps and pause again. Take the weight off of one leg. I was able to look up and smile and give the thumbs up sign. Greg, Cam, and Dan applauded. Knowing he was no longer needed, Greg hiked onward toward the lake. Slowly I caught up with Dan and Cam.

“Dude, I thought I was going to die.”

“That was harsh, man.”

I was ready to piss myself with fatigue, but as long as was out of the mud, I didn’t care. The ground was no longer flat, but increasingly rough with small ruts and burms encrusted with a layer of salt. We had to watch where we were stepping. It was easy to twist something or take a tumble. But it was exhilarating to be able to walk on top of the ground, not in it.

I had found my happy thought again.

When we hit Badwater Lake I no longer cared. Fatigue had sapped all of my anxieties about what lay ahead. Sure, the ground started to turn to mud again. Didn’t care. Sure, we were slipping. Didn’t care. Sure, there were waves on the glistening water. Didn’t care. Sure, I would sink up to my ass in mud and water and salt… Oh well. Cameron had said it. Live in the moment. I was too tired not to. Besides, I was powerless to change what was up ahead. And it was a freeing experience.

The lake looked much too large to go around so Greg plunged ahead.

Funny thing about fatigue and perspective. It looked like Greg was walking on the water. The glare, the clouds, the atmosphere, mixed with the exhaustion and tunnel vision, Greg was trotting along the top of the waves.

Crazy.

Then Dan hit the water way off to my right. He did not sink. “It’s not too bad!” he called out. Cameron was at an equal distance off to my left, and, I’ll be damned, he too was walking on the waves.

Just as I neared the lake the ground firmed right up again. The salt had crystallized so thickly that I had solid footing. Then I too, stepped into the water.

I had to laugh. It was only inches deep. It was so vast that the wind caused ripples that looked like miniature waves. From a distance, without anything around it to give it perspective, they looked like ocean waves.

The laughter came from down deep.

The euphoria lasted for the rest of the hike. Sure, the water started getting deeper. Big deal. There were a couple of dips that brought the water up past my knees, but if I would have to swim, then I would swim. But it never came to that. I remember looking out to my left and seeing Cameron, a silhouette walking on top of what looked like a glistening silver sea, and shouted, “Cameron, You are the only pagan that I know that can walk on water!”

Dan, to my right, was also a dark outline, save for his smiling teeth. Greg was a dot on the ocean up in front. I saw him pause once, turn back to us, and stomp his feet, He was on dry land again. The thought crossed my mind – what if there was mud on the other side? Would I be able to get through? I could only ride the wave of emotions that carried me forward and not stop, just keep going to the end.

After all, it looked like it would only take, say, twenty minutes.

I often wonder if our footprints are still there – immortalized for all time, across one of the deepest parts of the world. Or, more probably, has wind and water and time swept the valley clean again – forever pristine, forever forbidding. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, really. But to me the thought will stand forever; a testimony to adventure, and to the bonds of friendship. They will be imprinted forever – like footprints on the moon.