Trekking the Track

 Recently I was reading a dime store novel about some settlers in the Rockies who got caught in a sudden snowstorm.  

I grew up in the Rockies, so that got my attention. Even though my birthday's in June (early summer in Colorado), I'd had snow interrupt a few of my party plans.

But as I continued to read thru the novel, I realized I was relating because I COULD relate, if somewhat painfully. We were in Australia, maybe in our early to mid 50's when a particularly interesting 'trek' as they're called here, captured our imagination.  It's called the "6-foot track" and it's 42 KM (about 27 miles) right thru the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney.  

The reason it’s called the Six-foot track is because it was built in the 1800’s originally as a wagon trail leading to some famous caves.  They’re still famous, by the way. Anyway, the terrain is rough, so no one wanted to spend time breaking rock unnecessarily. Therefore, the trail is no more than six feet wide, just enough to accommodate the wagons, filled with tourists and their high-necked collars and bustled dresses. 

A modern road has since been built along the canyon rim, leaving the Six-foot track as part of a national park hiking trail. It takes three and a half days to complete, with one day descending into the valley, one day cutting across fairly level ground with a few rivers to ford, then the last day climbing up the other side. 

We decided (or I should say "some of us"; well, okay, I decided) that we could do this as a family.  It was July (mid-winter in Australia) so there wouldn't be any snakes, and the venomous funnel-webbed spiders would stay underground as much as possible.   

And besides, it’s “not THAT cold” I assured the kids. We'd be fine.  We arranged for friends to meet us at the caves and take us back to Sydney when it was over.

I packed carefully.  We borrowed some fancy down sleeping bags from friends.  The kids had nothing so nice, but hey, they were kids (maybe 12 and 17ish?); they’d be resilient. 

We had EVERYTHING we needed, because once you stepped off down into the escarpment, there would be no options for escape. No phone signal, no food, snacks, first aid, you name it.  

The first day went great.  We set up a picture perfect camp and Tony and I slept with the bags zipped together.  Well, actually we nearly froze to death because somehow whenever we turned over, we ratcheted all the down filling into a tight wad underneath us, both practically immobilizing us as well as making the now buried down no longer able to provide any insulating warmth. But no worries, a big campfire solved all the chills in the morning.

The next day we soldiered on, crossing high gorges where the kids kept yelling to me on the swinging bridges, "Mom!  Quit looking down and freaking out!"

The second night we unzipped our bags and slept individually, freezing again from lack of, well .... each other!

Then, the third day things went bad.  We had to climb out of the valley, and the further it went, the slower Tony and I got, and the more frustrated our kids got. I caught Nicki mentioning to her brother that she wished she had brought a book to read while she was walking at this snail’s pace. 

To add insult to injury, the higher we got as we climbed up out of the valley, the colder it got.  After several threats, the weather finally descended on us with a vengeance, including squalls of rain mixed with snow and ice. We tried to keep our chins up, but we were shaking so violently, it was practically impossible. 

After what seemed an eternity, we reached the designated campsite. Through the blur of falling snow, we could just make out the sign: "Fires prohibited". 

We slumped together and considered our options:  (1) Build a fire anyway and risk a big fine if we got caught. Would the authorities forgive us for trying to survive? (2) Put up the tent and try to get thru the night in a cold camp. Looking at our kids’ blue lips brought up images of hyperthermia. Nope. Not an option. (3) Keep walking, all the way to the town where the caves were. From here, it should be five … six hours; twice that in our present condition. 

We decided to just soldier on, at least till it got dark.  After that, no ideas. After about an hour, we came upon some rustic cabins. Completely dark, no one around. On the door of one cabin was an old sign, barely legible, but we could make out a phone number.

By now we were out of the valley … was it possible? … Yes! Digging a mobile phone out of our bag, we looked and saw bars, the first signal in three days. We called the number, and a sweet lady answered. "Just pick a cabin and pay in the morning at the grocery store,” she said. 

Whenever I find myself in dire straits, sitting in a dentist chair, looking at the electricity bill, you name it, I call to my mind a time when I remember REAL JOY.   I will never forget walking thru a field of half frozen kangaroos, all sitting with their backs to the wind, snow resting on their eyebrows, too cold to even hop away at our intrusion.  We pushed hard on the door of the cabin and there, as we flicked on the light, was that gasp of  PURE UNADULTERATED JOY!!  A roof, a fireplace, everything that we needed was all there.  AND we'd succeeded in finishing the course.  AND we were still a family. 

It makes me chuckle though, as I remember back and realize not one of us have ever mentioned this event again.

Are there examples in your life like this?  Where you didn't even know how to proceed    and then it just came together.  As I'm writing this, I remember the 23rd Psalm.  Yes, I know, my experience was nothing like David’s. But then, on that day, I was feeling a lot like a lost sheep in the arms of my Shepherd.  

Share your stories with me, will you? Have there been times when God’s rod and staff were the best things you could have imagined? 

Keep on trekkin,

Marsha

“Surely your goodness and love will follow ne all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”  (Psalms 23:6)

And by the way, Today is Nicki's birthday! Happy birthday my loving fellow trekker!!