Walk on the Wild Side

Week #3
(C is for continental, chiaroscuro, and captive)

Chris tightened the laces on his hiking boots and mentally reviewed his checklist: pack, lunch, binoculars, camera. He smiled. I am so ready. He had planned this outing for more than seven months, as a deserved break after three long days of conference sessions and networking and talking up his company. He would end his business trip to Colorado with a walk along the Continental Divide – and if he could, he would straddle the line, with one foot in the east and the other in the west. He had rented a car and driven more than two hours southwest from his Colorado Springs hotel to this spot.
“Do you want Dan to come along?” Last night, the B&B owner had offered her husband as a hiking partner. She worried that Chris would get lost, fall into a culvert, get eaten by a bear – Chris wasn’t sure exactly what she feared.
He had no second thoughts. “I’ve been hiking for years. Every trail has its adventures. I’ll be careful.”
He set out as the sun was cresting the Sangre de Cristos to the east. The B&B, really a camp, was set high up the valley. The bright horizon cast the valley in deep shadow, and the nearside was a study in chiaroscuro.
Chris walked quickly, following a path he guessed was used by goats or deer. The trees were stubby, and the brush was dry. He stopped often for water breaks, surprised at how thirsty he was. The altitude and the low humidity seemed to suck moisture from him.
A little after noon, he reached the top of a rise that looked out over a stretch of boulders. He unfolded a small map the B&B owner had given him. By his guess, he was at nine thousand feet, give or take a couple of hundred. The real trail, the one that ran along the Divide, was still several miles ahead. He took some snapshots of the view. It was quiet and serene. He saw nothing moving except for a few buzzards coasting on the thermals. He was utterly alone.
Shrugging off a slight unease, he started into the rocky area, careful to watch his step. Within a few minutes, his mouth felt parched again. He glanced down to reach for his water bottle, and his ankle twisted sharply, sending him off balance. He was tumbling and sliding then. When he stopped, his right foot, the one that hadn’t turned, was stuck. He was a captive with no one but the wind to demand ransom.
(to be continued)