Rocky Mountain High

by Sarah Larson

Professor of English

GPC - Dunwoody Campus

The air was cool and fragrant as my sister Elizabeth and I, seven and five, clad in yellow sunsuits, waded in the sparkling mountain stream. My family had escaped the sultry, hot Illinois summer by visiting Gradmother Spicer in Colorado Springs and this mountain picnic of fried chicken, rolls, and green grapes was the most fun so far.

My sister squealed with delight. “There’s a chipmunk.” I saw a shy deer and my biology teacher-principal dad pointed at the quivering leaves on the aspen trees.

“Do we have to leave? I pleaded.

My mother and grandmother, as if to delay the pain, went in search of cool drinks and snacks so that we could all stay to see a sunset in the Rocky Mountains.

While they were gone, my dad announced with an air of authority, “Come on girls; I’ll show you what happens to the vegetation – all those green growing things – as the elevation gets higher and higher.” We didn’t understand the biological significance but it all translated to a mountain hike and we excitedly pulled on his trouser legs as he wrote a note. “We’ve gone hiking.” He selected several large smooth rocks to weigh down the message. “We’ll be back in an hour,” he scribbled as an afterthought. Wanting to make his point about the thinning greenery, he bypassed the smaller mountain nearby and marched us straight up Mount Cutler. “This mountain is the second highest in this range; the only one higher is Pikes Peak,” he declared. It was three o’clock in the afternoon, and the sun was shining brightly on the mountain trail. Higher and higher we climbed as Dad pointed to each unusual rock formation and Elizabeth and I gathered pink and white quartz rocks and put them in our shallow pockets. “See, there aren’t as many trees and shrubs now; there are not enough gases and soil to keep them alive. It’s getting late; we’d better start down now.”

The day did not end gradually. Almost without warning an inky blackness surrounded us. We could barely see each other in the fierce darkness. Dad held on to our hands as he found himself walking in circles. The mountain trail was no longer visible; soon we were on our knees, feeling out in front of us. “Sit here; I’ll try to find the way down,” he said rather abruptly. We heard our dad sliding and the rocks rolling and echoing as he held on to the trees and seemed to dangle over the edge of the cliff.

“Daddy, don’t leave us, Daddy,” we cried. “Don’t fall. Please come back. Come back.” There was fear in our voices as we clung to each other, waiting for his return.

Then we saw the shadow of his white shirt. It was a quiet, subdued Dad who almost whispered, “We’re lost, girls. We’re going to have to stay here tonight.” He saw us shivering in our flimsy sunsuits and started breaking off the branches of pine trees. He made a bed out of the pine boughs and asked us to lie down as he covered us with more branches. He was gently reassuring us that we would be all right until he heard my sister praying. His voice broke as he pleaded, “Don’t cry now, or I might cry, too.”

Then we started hearing animal noises – at first a few and then a chorus of wild cries, punctuated by loud roars. Elizabeth and I sank down deeply into the branches, and Dad reacted by scooping up rocks into piles. He propped himself against a tree and started throwing rocks. We peeked out of our pine boughs to see the outline of our father stiff and braced, hurling rocks into a sea of ink. The methodical rhythm of the pelting rocks lulled us to sleep – but only briefly.

Hope rang out through Dad’s voice as he shouted, “See the chain of lights on the other mountain; they’re looking for us; it won’t take long.”

We started screaming, “Help, help; here we are; here we are.” We shouted until we were hoarse but to no avail. Our voices echoed and reechoed through out the valley in a distorted garbled ringing. We saw the chain of lights moving relentlessly up the mountain, undisturbed by our futile cries.

In the meantime, my mother and grandmother were following that search party and at every evidence of a fresh landslide would get down on their knees to probe the rocky soil for life. They didn’t know what mountain we had chosen to climb and so had directed the ranger to the closest one to our picnic site. It was near dawn when the ranger seeing their despair and their raw hands and bloody knees decided to take them into Colorado Springs to change clothes before resuming the search.

The light came – slowly at first and then in a rosy glow as the sun climbed over the mountain tops. The dawn on Mount Cutler was like a rebirth as my sister and I emerged shivering from our pine beds and shook the needles from our curls. My dad, frozen and stiff from his all-night vigil, seemed energized and liberated as he viewed the scene and exclaimed, “We’re right on the trail, girls; you were sleeping right on the trail.” With a joy in our voices, at times almost laughter, we descended the mountain, nearly running as we felt the urgency to let mother and grandmother know we were all right. We could feel their torment in the midst of our happiness.

Rushing down the mountain, we could hear voices, and as if orchestrated, we met the search party at the base, preparing to make their next climb. We ran into the arms of our mother and grandmother who were laughing and crying at the same time. Few questions were asked; it was enough that we were together.

The rescue team silently watched our rejoicing as if they were viewing the happy ending to a play. But then came a rather awkward silence, and the mountain ranger asked in a deliberate voice, “And what happened, Mr. Smith?”

“Well, we were hiking, and it got dark very suddenly.”

“Yes, that happens in these mountain.”

“When dawn broke, we were right on the trail.”

“Well, that was fortunate.”

“We saw your search lights on another mountain and tried to alert you.”

“It was impossible for us to hear any shouts – the reverberation, you know.”

“Yes, yes, I understand. But what about all your wild animals in these mountains? We heard cries all night long, and I had to throw rocks to protect the girls and me.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“I said I heard screams and roars and threw rocks to scare the mountain lions away.”

“Well sir, you were on Mount Cutler. The Rocky Mountain Zoo is right at its base. You were probably throwing those rocks at the cries from the zoo.”