Lost Canyon

by Nina Revoyr

  “Fun, though, right?” said Tracy.

  “Definitely,” Todd said. “Thank you, Tracy. Thanks to all of you, actually. I didn’t know how much I needed this.”

  “Me too. I love being out here,” Tracy said. She looked at the peaks behind the lake. “I can’t wait to see what’s up there.”

  “More mountains, right?” said Oscar.

  “Right. Then the next pass, and the next one.”

  “What is it exactly that you want to see?” Gwen asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Tracy. “Beyond.”

  When they were done, they packed their food, trash, and toiletries into their bear canisters, and hid them in various rocky depressions well away from camp. Then they sat and watched the sun go down, saw the peaks that framed the lake set afire with golden light. Everything looked brighter and more defined in this glow. Gwen could see the golds and reds in the rock, the pink and orange of the clouds. The sky changed constantly, and she thought she’d never get tired of looking. It was light until almost nine.

  “Well, I’m beat,” Oscar said. “I’m hitting the sack.”

  “Me too,” Todd said. “In fact, I’m asleep already.”

  “I’m going to look at our maps and figure out our plan for tomorrow,” Tracy said.

  “You go right ahead,” said Oscar. And then the three of them crawled into their respective tents, moving around with their headlamps on, the circles of light hitting the tents from inside.

  Gwen stayed up and stared at the sky. The night came on quickly now. The stars began to reveal themselves, and as the fire died down to embers and the headlamps went out, their camp was submerged in darkness. Except it wasn’t totally dark, for there was still a slice of moon, and now the sky was alive with stars and cut straight across by a cottony ribbon of white, which she realized with astonishment was the Milky Way. She had never seen the Milky Way before; she hadn’t known it was actually real. Here in the mountains, she was filled with a peace that she got from nothing else—not work, not friends, not prayer. She was amazed at where she was, among these towering peaks, in a place that hadn’t been shaped by human hands. Although she felt small, there was a comfort in this feeling, something grounding in the vastness of the world. Being outdoors gave her a feeling of equilibrium and grace—a sense of closeness to God—that she was supposed to feel at church, and usually didn’t.

  Suddenly a point of light shot diagonally across the sky—a shooting star. And then a few minute later, another. Her heart leapt. How long ago had these stars actually existed? How long had it taken for their light to reach her? Tonight, farther into the wilderness, she was a little less afraid. Making it through the first day had made her more confident that she could meet tomorrow’s challenges, and the next day’s, and complete the thirty miles. She was satisfied—and tired. After one long last drink of water, she opened the door on her side of the tent, crawled into her sleeping bag, and fell asleep.

  Chapter Eight

  Oscar

  When Oscar’s alarm went off he did not wake gently; the state of sleep shifted into the state of pain. He lay on his back, eyes closed, and couldn’t believe how much he hurt—his shoulders, his neck, his upper and middle back, his pecs and abdominal muscles, quadriceps and hamstrings, even the muscles of his ass.

  Once, as a teenager, he’d fallen off a motorcycle and when he woke up the next morning, he’d felt like this. He let out a groan and realized he wasn’t alone in the tent. But there was no movement beside him—Todd was still asleep, his feet wrapped in a narrow mummy bag directly at Oscar’s head. And now Oscar remembered the snoring. It had started as a low rumble and then built into a sound like an eighteen-wheeler idling right beside him. Todd had snored the first night too, back at the trailhead. But nothing like this—this had been a sound louder than Oscar thought a human could make. He’d tightened the top of his sleeping bag around his head, stuck his fingers in his ears. Nothing had helped. The snoring continued, despite his not-so-gentle nudges to try and get Todd to stop. No wonder all the bears had stayed away.

  He must have fallen asleep, though, because now he was waking up. Slowly, carefully, he unzipped his bag and slid backward out of it, opened the flap on his side of the tent, and rolled out. It was about ten past six now, clear, and cold. He understood that they were in a beautiful place—the lake was still in shadow, the meadow covered with a layer of dew—or was that frost? He heard the sound of the river and the morning calls of birds, but he was aware of all this only vaguely. Mostly what he felt was his own misery. A vise seemed to be closing in on both sides of his head. And he felt like a piece of plywood was lodged in his back, holding him rigid, making it impossible for him to turn his head or even lift his arms. He thought of his earlier bravado and was annoyed at his own stupidity. He no longer had any illusions about kicking the mountain’s ass. His ass was officially kicked.

  “I feel like fucking hell,” he said aloud. But softly. He knew Tracy would have no sympathy. It was her job to push people past what they thought they could do, and suddenly he felt annoyed at her for not being more understanding about their limits and fears; for pairing him with a Westside white guy who was also an epic snorer; for bringing them out here where they hadn’t seen another soul, not one damned person, on a route that for all he knew might lead to nowhere. And Gwen. A nice person, for sure, and not bad company. But she was no more suited to being out here than his mother was. Oscar knew she had struggled yesterday, had watched her stagger under the weight of her pack—and yet she’d kept her spirits up and he was grudgingly impressed. But did she have to be so damned excited about everything? Yes, it was pretty out here; that was not a news flash. But he didn’t get her reaction to the hawk and the fish. So what if the hawk caught its lunch? That’s what hawks did. If they all thought hawks were such a novelty they should come to Glassell Park, where the big-ass pushy birds were always circling overhead, swooping down into the canyon to catch squirrels or rats.

  And Todd. Okay, well, Todd wasn’t as bad as he’d first expected. He seemed to know what he was doing, and Oscar had to admit, after falling behind yesterday, that Todd was in better shape than him. And he was turning out to be a pretty decent guy. But his cluelessness was typical and infuriating. How could he be so dismissive of things that were glaringly obvious? He probably didn’t even notice the weird looks that their party had gotten at the ranger station.

  Suddenly he felt a sharp pang of missing Claudia. He regretted not calling her before heading to the trailhead, not appreciating her enough in general. They’d met four months ago during Lily’s regular checkup, and he probably wouldn’t have noticed the nurse taking his daughter’s temperature if Lily hadn’t blurted out, “You’re so pretty!” Claudia had blushed and said, “So are you,” and then Oscar blushed too, especially when he saw that his daughter was right.

  “Well, maybe Nurse Hernandez,” he said, eyeing her name tag, “could go out with us sometime for an ice cream.” And Claudia smiled and they all blushed some more, and they met at Griffith Park that weekend, where they rode the merry-go-round and took a train ride and had double scoops of ice cream.

  Things had gone slowly—because Oscar was always working, he said, but really he wasn’t ready to settle down. Besides, he wasn’t sure what to make of this woman, who was so low-key, and so good with Lily. He hadn’t let himself realize how much he enjoyed her presence. What he wouldn’t give to be lying next to her in a soft, cushy bed, her warm hands dissolving the pain and tension in his body. Why the hell was he out here, anyway? Right now, he missed everything about his normal, everyday life. Right now, even pushy clients and an ever-ringing cell phone weren’t seeming all that bad. He had to get over this crankiness; he was stuck with these people for another three days. According to his GPS unit, they were now at 8,445 feet, and they’d traveled a little more than eight miles. Only eight miles! How the hell was he going to make it the rest of the way? Now he stood and bent sideways, touched his toes, pinwheeled his a
rms, trying to soften the plate of plywood in his back. He scratched the mosquito bites on his legs and arms, at his waist where his shirt rode up—his bug spray had been totally useless. He scratched his face too; his two-day beard was getting itchy. He examined the burst blisters on the backs of his heels and dug some Moleskin out of his pack to cushion them.

  Ten feet away, the zipper on the other tent opened, and Tracy emerged, already dressed in her clay pants and red down jacket, looking like she’d stepped out of a North Face catalog. Why was she not beaten up by sleeping on the ground? She was always so ready, whether here or at the gym at five thirty a.m., when most reasonable people were still asleep. Oscar felt another wave of resentment and tried to squelch it.

  “Morning,” she said. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Not so great, actually. As I’m sure you heard, somebody snores.”

  “Really!” she laughed. “Well, that’s too bad. It was all quiet over here.”

  Now the slippery sound of nylon being pushed aside and Gwen and Todd crawled out of their tents, Todd looking like a hungover frat boy. His hair was a stirred pile of windblown blond, held in place by a faded Stanford baseball cap, and he needed a shave. Gwen’s hair was in a ponytail, with several clumps hanging loose. Both looked tired—but also peaceful and happy.

  “Morning!” Tracy said.

  Gwen stretched, yawned, rubbed her eyes, and then caught sight of the others. “Morning,” she said, laughing. “What a motley crew.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Tracy. She was moving around the edge of the campsite, gathering more sticks for the fire.

  “Wow, I did not sleep well,” Gwen said. “It was colder last night, wasn’t it? And I kept waking up because I thought I heard a bear. How is it that you’re not exhausted and sore? It’s really annoying.” But she didn’t sound annoyed. She sounded happy.

  They went off to retrieve their bear canisters, which were all undisturbed, then ducked behind boulders to pee. By the time they’d brushed their teeth and splashed their faces with river water, Tracy had made oatmeal and coffee. They filled themselves with warm food and drink, still shivering in their down jackets, and Oscar slowly started to feel human again. As the sun peeked over the range to the east, it lit the crests on either side of the valley and bathed their lake in light. Tracy pointed out their route for the day—up the canyon wall beyond the left side of the lake and toward a notch between the peaks.

  “Then what?” Todd asked. “What’s after the pass?”

  “We head back down into forest, from what I can tell. We’ll have to cross a river and then go back up to another ridge.”

  After they finished eating, they broke camp, Oscar helping Todd with the tent. He was amazed, as he had been yesterday, that all their tents, pots, clothes, and food compressed into the packs they carried on their backs. By eight thirty they were making their way back down toward the lake, then through the meadow where Gwen had seen the fawns, mud sucking their shoes and splattering their legs. Soon they were traversing up the slope, picking their way carefully through the rock. There appeared to be a bit of trail edging up the side, so they followed it, walking half a mile toward the vertex of the bowl, then doubling back, taking switchbacks up the crumbling slope.

  “Watch yourself!” Tracy shouted. “There’s a big drop here from a rock slide.”

  The worn-away spot was only five or six feet wide, and they all stepped through safely, and Oscar remembered a story that Eduardo had told him, about two mules who’d been on a resupply trip when they fell five hundred feet to their deaths. He wished he had thought to bring hiking poles; he’d underestimated how tough this trip would be.

  The trail smoothed out but the climbing was relentless—like taking stairs all the way up a skyscraper. With the weight of his pack and the pain from his blisters, every single step was a struggle. They walked past boulders whose outside layers had flaked off in thin, delicate pieces, like the crusts of pastry shells. They walked over wedges of flat, tombstone-like rock that might have been picked up and shoved diagonally back into the ground. The sun had come over the ridge and changed the temperature from cold to too hot. But the air was still bracingly fresh, tinged with a minty, spicy smell that seemed to come from the bushy plants that covered the slope. And the views were getting better and better. Each time they doubled back, they could see more of the valley, the dark blue lake where they’d camped. The mountain facing them across the lake had a thin streak of white cutting through it, like a scar from the slash of a giant dagger. As they climbed they could see more of the land to the north, the wooded valleys and distant snow-capped mountains. Despite Oscar’s soreness the pack felt better today. It was hard work stepping through and over the rocks, but the movement had loosened his muscles. He’d gotten into a rhythm and he was—finally—enjoying the landscape. They reached the pass within two hours.

  They stopped for a moment, giddy with accomplishment. Then, at Tracy’s urging, they left their packs and scrambled a hundred yards up to the top of the nearest peak. They were now at just over ten thousand feet. The views from the summit opened up to the west, countless ridges and hills, all the way to the distant horizon. Todd and Gwen took turns shooting photos of the group, and Oscar felt himself relaxing. Maybe he would make it the rest of this trip. Maybe his back would keep loosening and his head would clear, and he could really enjoy all he was seeing.

  They carefully worked their way back to the pass, then continued down the other side. It was steeper here, loose boulders and unstable dirt, so the others all used their hiking poles to brace themselves. The downhill was much harder on Oscar’s feet and knees; he felt like the Tin Man, creaking and in need of oil. About halfway down they crossed a flat sheet of water sliding over rust-colored rock—they were on top of a waterfall. They dipped their hats in the water and Oscar draped a bandanna over his head, to shield his neck and face from the sun. They filled their bottles again, looking over the edge where the water fell to some unseen place below. It was a lovely spot, but they soon walked on.

  As they approached a cluster of trees, he saw something on the ground, a white and orange object that stood out against the sand-colored earth.

  “What’s that?” he asked, pointing.

  Tracy, who was leading, went to look at it. “Wow,” she said.

  Gwen, who was right behind her, went over too. She jumped back as if she’d been burned. “Jesus.”

  Oscar followed and looked over Gwen’s shoulder. It was an owl’s head, perfectly severed, as pristine as if the bird were still alive. Its feathers were white with a ring of orange rust; they looked downy and waved in the breeze. Its narrow beak was shiny and its eyes were wide open, staring up at them. It was hard to believe the rest of the body was gone. There was no blood—the head had been removed with surgical precision.

  “Wow,” Oscar said, echoing Tracy. “That is fucking weird.”

  “Must have been an eagle or a hawk,” Todd said. “It probably dropped him.”

  “It still looks alive, doesn’t it?” Oscar said.

  “Yeah, it’s amazing,” Tracy said. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It does look alive,” Todd said. “Must have just happened.”

  “It’s creepy,” Gwen said. “I don’t want to look at it anymore.”

  She seemed genuinely freaked out and Oscar didn’t blame her. Sure, the head was beautiful in a macabre kind of way, but it was hard not to take it as an omen. He became even more certain that it signaled bad luck when, within a few minutes of resuming their hike, they heard the sound of water—not the gentle trickling of the river in the meadow but a louder sound, active, insistent. Oscar’s stomach tightened. This was real water—how big and fast would it be? And how the hell would they get across it?

  Todd must have been thinking the same thing because now he remarked, “You hear that? Doesn’t sound like a creek.”

  “What’ll we do if it’s too big to cross?” Gwen asked.

  “It won’t be,” Tracy as
sured them.

  They were all quiet for the next few minutes, watching their footing, and with their voices still, the river grew louder. They hiked down through one last steep section and then suddenly there it was: a solid mass of moving, churning water, twenty feet wide, big and full and serious.

  They stood four abreast at the edge of the woods, about ten feet up from the bank.

  “Well,” Todd said after a few moments of quiet, “that’s a heck of a river.”

  It was like a living thing, the river, steady and strong, arguing with itself and with them. The water flowed past them quickly without flourish or drama; it stepped down several terraces, rounded a corner, and disappeared from view. But the sheer mass of it—the steady inevitable progression—made Oscar wonder about the strength of the current. It looked powerful and indifferent. And cold.

  “How deep do you think it is?” Gwen asked.

  “No way to tell, really,” Tracy said. “Not until we start to cross it.”

  “You actually want to try and cross this thing?” Oscar blurted out. “No way, Tracy. This is serious. This is too fucking much for me.”

  Tracy stared out at the river for so long that Oscar wasn’t sure she’d heard him. Then she said thoughtfully, “There’s got to be a way. Let me just go upriver for a bit to see if there’s an easier spot.”

  “I’ll go down,” Todd said, and Oscar looked at him, surprised.

  “Really?”

  Todd shrugged. “It’s worth checking out. It would suck if there was an easier place just around the corner and we didn’t even bother to look.”

  Were these people crazy? Were they out of their fucking minds? Oscar thought of the tourists who died every year in Yosemite, the ones who stepped over railings and past clear warning signs. But while he hated to admit it, Todd’s calmness eased his own nerves just a little. And he discovered to his own surprise that he trusted this guy’s judgment more than he trusted Tracy’s.