Friday, May 5, 2006
Page 15
AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)
Hike Leaves Mom Quaking
By J’AMY PACHECO
“To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom.”
—Bertrand Russell
I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I’m a bit of a scaredy-cat.
I’m not afraid of my own shadow or anything like that (well, except when I get up in the middle of the night and it surprises me). But when it comes to adventure, let’s just say I sometimes have to talk myself into trying new things.
Fortunately, my daughter is even worse than her mother. I say “fortunately” because while it can be a real pain to have to check under the bed for monsters every night, it’s kept me from having to be braver than I feel at places with things like giant roller coasters.
I used to be a lot braver. When I was about 25, for example, I became a certified SCUBA diver. I was the only female in the class, the rest of whom were Special Forces reservists. We all took our first open water dive in the choppy gray water off the coast of Newport, Rhode Island, while a hurricane was blowing offshore. That took some courage.
I once rode in a plane that flew surprisingly low over a volcanic steam vent on Kilauea, and didn’t bat an eye. Today, I look at the pictures and can’t believe I did that.
No doubt about it, I used to be a lot braver.
I don’t miss those days, but I don’t want my daughter to go through life afraid of almost everything. That’s one of the things that can happen when you shelter your child as much as I do.
So when some mildly crazy outdoorsy friends of ours invited us to go hiking, we decided to go – despite that fact that the highlight of our trip would be a close-up look at the legendary San Andreas Fault.
Gulp.
My idea of mountaineering involves watching Mickey Mouse scale the Matterhorn at Disneyland. I’ve never had an urge to venture into the San Bernardino area mountains. People get lost up there, for heaven’s sake.
But since she was a toddler, my child has longingly gazed up at those mountains whenever we drove through the Cajon Pass. Many times she has breathed a deep sigh and said, “I wish I could climb that.”
When the opportunity came, we took it.
Our first stop was at a place called Mormon Rocks. This was a piece of cake. There were no bathrooms, but I knew there were plenty of fast food restaurants right around the corner.
Our next stop was a ranger station surrounded by pine trees. We hiked a gentle little trail, marveling at the tiny acorns and the giant conifer cones. We read with great interest about how Native Americans had used these gifts of nature to make things like tea, medicine and gum.
After a nice picnic at a park with surprisingly clean bathrooms, it was time to take the plunge (so to speak). We hiked over cut and fallen trees, past mistletoe and through fields of rocks that our guides explained were “slickensides.”
These rocks, they explained, had been scratched and polished as a result of fault movement. I couldn’t help noticing that these rocks were everywhere around our feet.
After we hiked a bit further, our guide halted at the base of a small hill. We would, he explained, climb that hill on our hands and knees in order to view the fault.
As soon as I started my ascent, I realized why we had to crawl. It was covered with an ashy-sort of substance, not unlike gray talcum powder.
As I neared the top, I felt like a maiden perched on the lip of a volcano. I wondered what horror waited on the other side.
Imagine my surprise when I saw a valley filled with mountain foliage, a peaceful stream and even a little waterfall. With my scared little daughter beside me, we gazed at the view, marveled at the spectacle, and silently prayed the overlook wouldn’t collapse under our weight.
I couldn’t help wondering what would happen if the Big One came while we were there. I tried not to think about all the rocks around us.
We looked, took pictures, and then we slid down on our backsides. We went home without anything bad happening, and celebrated our bravery. Now, we’ve seen the mighty San Andreas, and we know a lot more about it than we used to.
That’s one fear down, a million more to go. But I guess you have to start somewhere.
Copyright 2006, Metropolitan News Company