One Red-Headed Cuckoo in the Bush Worth More than Two in the Hand

While in college, my friends and I would take our Christmas break and spend a month in Big Bend, Texas, backpacking and camping. I’m not talking day trips up a little trail and back again. I am talking about carrying everything we needed to survive, on our backs–the guys would have packs ranging from 60 to 65 lbs. and my pack was upwards of 50 lbs. (not too lame for a 5’2”, 100 lb. girly girl). Because we were spoiled and accustomed to luxuries we just could not leave behind, we included things like toilet paper, toothbrush, novel, and flashlight alongside our necessities such as tent, warm clothes, food, water, water, and more water.

Now, I like hot showers as much as the next person, but how long has the average person gone without a shower? 1, 2, 3, days? I have discovered a truly interesting phenomenon–after 3 or 4 days without bathing, one begins to become so familiar with their own personal stench, it almost disappears. Okay, I’m sure just anyone off the street wouldn’t think it was non-existent, but you do become oblivious to your own scent. Believe me, this is a good thing when you are living with yourself and other stinking friends within such within the same. The longest I’ve ever climbed up and down mountains, through valleys and into canyons without feeling the sting of a steaming shower on my sore muscles was eight days. Yep, eight days without washing your discreet parts or hair. There were no streams or lakes, so precious drinking water was only used for a quick splash on the face and brushing teeth.

This was about the time in my life I also discovered the range of my courage. I grew up a timid little mouse. My mother was basically afraid for her daughters to leave her sight, and this over-protection was probably the root of my later rebellion. The older I became, the more I longed for and began to fight for, independence. I became fearless, testing the limits of my physical and psychological strength. There is nothing in the world like backpacking and climbing peaks, to find out just how strong and courageous you are.

A few days into a hike to the Rio Grande (water we still didn’t attempt to filter and drink), I found myself alone in camp. Camp consisted of three tiny tents set up in the sand a few yards away from the river. We had gotten off the trail we had planned to follow because intersecting animal paths or rock cairns were easy to misread at times. This particular day, two of the guys had walked back 20 miles to retrieve the vehicle, which was being left farther and farther behind, with every wrong step we took. The other three friends decided to go on a day hike in the opposite direction. I decided to stay, read, write, and relax. Being alone was a welcome break, after several days of hiking with five others.

Sitting beside the Rio Grande, thoroughly engrossed in writing in my journal, I heard the bark of a dog and looked up to see seven men on horseback, on the other side of the river. I felt obligated to be friendly, and waved, since they were directly across from me on the river bank.  They waved back.  I was boldly thinking how glad I was to have the river separating us and had barely completed that thought on my journal page, when I heard what sounded like the splash of horses’ hooves in water. The little dog didn’t even have to swim; the water didn’t come up to the horses’ knees (do horses have knees?).  I couldn’t have been more stunned if I had stuck a bobby pin into an electrical outlet. I quietly began to panic. I tried to nonchalantly keep writing. What could I do? There was no place to run, no place to hide. I was alone in the desert with seven men coming toward me–it might as well have been a hundred–the nearest town, vehicle, or friend was too many miles away. So much for strong and independent at that moment.

When they reached the shore near me, I looked up and in my calmest, most profound voice said, “Uh, the river isn’t very deep, is it?”

“No speak English,” was the response of their English-speaking leader. I then chose to do the only other thing that came to mind: I shook my head and ignored them. My heart was racing, my breathing was quick and shallow. Sweat poured off me as I rapidly journaled, Are they going to kidnap me? Are they going to take me to Mexico? Will I ever see my friends again?  How will anyone know what happened to me?  They sat on their horses and talked, laughed, and stripped every nerve in my body bare with every second they lingered. If they had come any closer, my trembling would have been obvious.

Maybe the sight of three tents told them there were other people nearby. Maybe God heard my prayer and had placed a hedge of protection around me in that desolate place. Maybe they were just good people. Before long, they, their horses, and dog, headed away from our camp.

I never felt such genuine relief. I thanked God, finished my journaling, and enjoyed several more hours at the camp reading, eating lunch, napping, and exploring. I was feeling quite self-sufficient and courageous again. Walking around between prickly pear, saguaro, and mesquite, I searched for anything interesting to catch my eye–scorpion, snake, neat rocks, when I froze in my tracks. The unmistakable bark of a dog. Oh my God, it never occurred to me the men might have to return.

The barking was far enough away, that I scanned the barren desert landscape for a place to hide. Everything was flat, with great space between bushes and cacti in treeless, sand covered land. I could run for a tent, but I instinctively didn’t like the idea of being in an enclosed area without seeing what was going on, when they returned and possibly found me. My only other option was to hide right where I was. I chose the largest mesquite bush to crouch behind. I held my breath as they rode back into our camp. Again, the men sat on their horses, talking, laughing, singing, and whistling. Lots of laughing. It seemed like a lifetime as I crouched behind the sparse bush there in the sand. That incessant laughing.  I held my breath until my lungs ached, because I was sure they could hear every time I inhaled and exhaled. When they finally crossed the river and walked their horses slowly away from camp, I found myself immovable. Crying quietly as I shook, I was stuck for several more minutes; I knew it had been a close call.

When I finally crawled out from behind the naked mesquite bush, reality smacked me in the face. Of course, there had been more laughter on the second ride through camp; I was crouching behind the largest tiny deciduous bush in the middle of the desert, fully within the horsemen’s bird’s eye view of the entire barren countryside, wearing a bright, red bandana on top of my head, looking like a cuckoo bird.  By the time the others returned, I was almost ready to laugh at my adventure.

This story was originally published at Oxymoronlover’s Blog, 2009.