The Vaquero

Taylor lay on his back watching the stars. His breath hovered above his face. He wondered if it was his spirit there floating. He was past fear now. The first twenty four hours it consumed him, fear. He thought his body must have used up all the chemicals that spill into the blood to make a person feel afraid. He began assessing, calculating. What was his situation? What actions were possible? He remembered what happened now. He was hiking. He’d planned and trained for this hike for months. It was to be the highlight of his year, the pinnacle of all hikes he had completed–perhaps the hike of his life. A 14er, not too technical, but remote. Only a handful of people summited each year. The isolation appealed to him. He hadn’t made a mistake, hadn’t misstepped. The hike was going well and was more beautiful than he envisioned. The air cold. Even mid summer it would have been cold this high, but it was fall and the air felt crystalline. Nearing the top he stepped high onto a stone–the size of a bean bag, firmly planted. Without warning it tumbled, throwing him into the boulder field below. It bounced over him. He blacked out. When he opened his eyes he was terrified to discover he couldn’t move. His backpack was still on. Cell phone, food, emergency supplies all inside, but unattainable. He screamed and was shocked to see a wolf peer over one of the rocks above him. Lying like injured prey, he shouted to scare it away. Passing in and out of consciousness he was aware of howling. His eyes opened with the light. A thick blanket covered him. Thank god, someone had found him. The blanket stood up, jumped rock to rock and disappeared into the trees. He had heard about people in extreme circumstances hallucinating, a survival mechanism when the body and mind approached their limits. How many days? Three he thought. The wolf returned, his nose close to Taylor’s face, grey eyes looking into his. Curiosity replaced fear. Where did that come from? Not a chemical entering the bloodstream, but a firing of a synapse–electrical, something in the brain and heart. Did the wolf feel it too? Why else would he return? He could have eaten a foot, leg, or arm. Taylor couldn’t move his head, but he was pretty sure all of those appendages were still there. He passed out and woke in the dark once again covered in the warm blanket. Curled around him, grey eyes reflected in the moonlight gazing into his. The wind had stopped. Everything still. He considered that silence was not absence, but a presence. Of what? He could feel it, but he didn’t know what it was. How many days now? If he made it until sunrise it would be five, or was it six? He passed out again. Thump, thump, thump. Propellers slammed the air, reverberating against Taylor. A cold, wet nose touched his cheek and the blanket moved. Cold now. People maneuvered his body, he thought it was a good sign that he could feel hands lifting his legs and under his arms tilting him onto a stretcher. He could feel that he was being lifted, swaying gently. He heard voices, giving direction and speaking encouragement.

“You’re a lucky man Taylor. You were about to be eaten by a wolf. The helicopter scared him off.”

Tears streamed down Taylor’s face.

The following summer Taylor set out to complete the hike that nearly killed him, but had made him feel more connected to life than he thought possible. He felt more deeply now, saw more. He didn’t believe it was the result of the chemicals of shock and extreme emotion. He had read about people who had near death experiences and saw the tunnel leading to a bright light. It was discovered…or was it a theory…that the experience was the result of a chemical spilling out into the brain–an end of life concoction. Taylor wondered if they lived if there would be any substance left for their actual death. He wasn’t dismissing the importance of these compounds, but there was something else intangible like the weight of silence. He wanted to find it again. He thought about the connection with the wolf. He was sure that was a piece of the puzzle. And so he hiked. Above the tree line he examined the boulder field where he had lain immobile for seven days. The summit was windy, the view incredible. He signed his name on the paper in the little box and made his way back down. The wind carried the howl of a wolf. Taylor smiled. He didn’t find exactly what he was searching for that day. He didn’t think he would again, but he felt each day– moved through it with purpose, with open eyes, an open heart, and gratitude.