A Difficult Splendor (5)

We had wrangled over the issue of tent-or-no-tent in the our planning. There was a certain pull in all of us to just sleep out under the stars. If the weather decided on a storm or two, then so be it. But that pull was tempered by some experiences we'd had on several trips when we were supremely glad we'd brought a tent along. One night, back in Arkansas, we awoke to wind and rain off the charts. That night, a tent probably kept us alive. So, discretion being the better part of valor and all, we brought a tent along on our hike through the Grand Canyon.

Now when I say tent, I mean tent. This was no ultralight, one a half man bivy sack...no, this was a full-out shelter. We're not huge guys, but we are big guys. Remember that one night in Arkansas, when the tent saved our life? One of the guys had brought a two-man megazoid or something and although it provided a balm in gilead for us, it was by far the most uncomfortable half-night of my life. In fact, as soon as it stopped storming, I got the heck out of Dodge and slept out by the fire with the walking sticks and spiders. Based on that one experience, we decided to bring along a three/four man tent that would accomodate our frames and packs and egos. And we figured one of us would carry it one day, another the next, and so on and so forth. It was that "Bear one another's burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ" stuff.

Well, that tent quickly became a beast of burden. Our packs weighed in at around 50-60 pounds a piece and that's a heavy load. Add anything, and I mean anything, of substance to a back already weighted down with that kind of load and the pace slows considerably. My buddy (M) carried it in on the descent and about halfway down, his knees started giving him fits, so much so that we had to stop several times. My other buddy (R) and I looked at each other and knew that M needed some relief. His knees were not in great shape anyway and this was just the first day. So, we unstrapped the tent and R hitched that wagon to his star. And it wasn't too long on down the trail and R handed the burden to me.

I had trained for this trip - ran my four miles a day, used the off days for weight lifting, hydrated myself so my pee was clearer than sprite and had even dabbled in contemplative prayer. But when we strapped that tent to my pack, good-hella-mighty, it was like hoisting a draft horse on my shoulders. After my first step, the phrase "son-of-a-bitch" stumbled out of my mouth with perfect diction. My buddies looked over their shoulders and said, "Yep. That's what she is." And that's what she was the entire trip. The bitch.

Those psychologist-types tell us that if there's something big and hairy underneath your bed, then you should give it a name and in the process of naming it, you take some of it's power away to scare you or make you pee your jammies. We named that tent, but I swear it still stayed as big and hairy and heavy as ever before. It kept scaring us. And I, for one, probably peed my Ex Officio zip-off pants more than once while carrying the Bitch.

There's always something, huh? You plan and prepare and hydrate and center down in a Brother David Stendall Rast kind of way, and then you have to strap something extra on, something you didn't really prepare for. About all you can do, if you want to continue the hike, is cinch it down tight, mumble a few "son-of-a-bitch's" under your breath, and keep moving. We had to make our intended destination for the night because it was near the source of life in the Grand Canyon - water. If you start whinning about a bitch or a monkey or anything else on your back and stop every five minutes to rub your feet and prompt your comrades to say, "Well, bless you heart" - well, you won't make the campsite and you won't be able to replenish your water supply and you'll probably keel over in some rock formation and start singing hymns of the faith while the buzzards come and pick your heart out and you're foaming at the mouth like some rabid dog and your last moment of consciousness is seeing your lifelong buddies eyeing your toes like they're vienna sausages or something. No, we made the decision to carry the tent and a part of this journey was doing whatever it took to make it. I do know this - I couldn't have made it without my friends. Folks quote Philippians 4:13 all the blessed time, they put it on everything from flip calendars to screen savers. But very few people know that after ole' Paul said, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me" - he added, "But I sure am thankful for your help as well." I believe Paul knew a thing or two about carrying a Bitch on his back. And he knew it's nice to have a brother to pass it off to when you just can't go another step.