Beyond the Trailhead

WHEN WE WERE YOUNG, my brother Alvin and I, went elk hunting together up the Valicito River in the San Juan National Forest of Southern Colorado. We hired an outfitter to pack us in to a campsite at the foot of Sheep Draw on Mount Emerson. We were camping at 9,000 feet elevation and planned to hunt up toward the timberline, which was at nearly 12,000 feet.

After the packer dumped our gear and headed his pack horses back down the trail, we quickly searched for a place to erect our A-frame tent. It didn’t take long because we wanted to scope the high meadows before dark. We knew that if elk could be spotted before dark they would be near there at daybreak.

We spent a sleepless night because the flow of the Valicito was noisy and there were several wind squalls

throughout the night. We also were anxious about our early rise that would allow us to be near where we saw elk grazing a few hours earlier. So while it was still dark,

we started up Sheep Draw. Alvin took the left side and I the right. Our next rendezvous was planned for late in the day or after dark at camp. At about 10,000 feet elevation, my path was blocked by a steep rock wall. To get over the barrier I climbed on top of one rock and reached for another to assist my climb. However, it was inches away from my reach. Just a small jump would help get me to the trail I needed only twenty yards away. Leap I did, which was a terrible decision. The ledge that was to hold me was a loose rock. In that instant, I realized it was one of the worst mistakes of my life.

In the early darkness, I fell and began sliding down a very steep slope leading to a giant rock slide stretching far below. I could feel my slide gaining momentum as I tried to grab small trees and rocks but to no avail. Just ahead of me was a small clump of bushes on the edge of the rock slide. Beyond these bushes there was nothing to stop me from going over the rock slide. My only chance of survival was to spread my legs wide to catch as many bushes as possible. Suddenly my slide stopped in the middle of the bushes. I lay very still not wanting to loosen anything holding me. I soon realized my hunting rifle had gone on down the rock slide and I could sense the vast open space near my feet. The few sprouts had probably saved my life.

I didn’t dare move. My breath was heavy. I felt bruised. My left shoulder was hurting. It took several minutes before I felt safe enough to roll over on one side and assess my dilemma. After carefully crawling away from the rock slide, I grabbed hold of a small tree and lay there getting my breath and trying to determine what to do next. Never in my life had I felt so alone and helpless. Yet I realized how lucky and blessed that a few small bushes on Mount Emerson had saved me from serious injuries or death.

I had read many stories about hikers and hunters having accidents in wilderness areas and I realized the dangers involved. Many times the injured person becomes easy prey for mountain lions, bear and wolves. Just the thought piqued my awareness and made my adrenalin flow rise. Rather than cater to my aches and pains, safety became my priority. I stood up slowly and moved as close to the rock wall as possible and waited for sunrise to light my way back to camp.

Throughout the day in camp, the realization of how close I had come to disaster allowed me to once again understand an important truth about people and the wilderness which is described in one of my books, Beyond the Trailhead, written years later.

“The wilderness will greet you with its beauty and independence. You enter on its terms. It offers you adventure and discovery but never protection and sympathy. You are welcomed but not solicited.”

“There are dangers, if you are careless. It is filled with surprises that bring alive every human sense. Sometimes it will test your ability to survive.”

As the morning cleared and normal sights and sounds of the wilderness returned, I still felt the wilderness welcome. To this day, even though the physical and mental impact of my injuries still remain, the spiritual bond with that wilderness has not diminished. I believe that everyone who is able should experience the wildness, loneliness, beauty and panoply of moods and remote purity of America’s great wilderness treasures. What they give us is a destination to escape the rush of our daily life to refresh our mind, soul and spirit.

I frequently dream of High Country areas of the West. It has become a lasting part of my writing that is obvious as you read my poem, Dreaming of High Country.

My nights are filled with High Country dreams,/mountain peaks, long rocky slides and/clouds floating below my feet.

Trails never ending beckon/through yellow aspen groves, waving,/sharing their crackling music freely.

Winding, never straight pathways,/where rock walls closely hover one side and/open space the other looming far out.

Voices disappear when hoof-beats/drift out to open space and are lost forever./Thoughts are pulled back to safety.

Riders know that up ahead, beyond menacing trails/lush grassy fields and water holes wait/near secret lairs of hunter’s prey.

Horses and men hoard their dreams and/anxiously travel on, their/known quest is waiting.

Then tents go up and shadows move eastward,/day disappears, voices quieten and/heaven opens its door to beauty and sleep.

Eyes grow heavy, ears still listen for/magic sounds drifting across slopes where/rival bulls face challenge and coyotes wail.

Still unheard are silent prayers and thoughts/of creation and the spiritual connection/of personal dreams and this High Country invasion.

—Chet Dixon is a businessman, philanthropist, and published author of multiple works, including the poetry collections Beyond the Trailhead, Affections Not Sleeping, and Skipping Rocks on Water. He resides near Branson, Missouri, but his heart lives in the western wilderness.