February at the Ranch IV – Saturday Afternoon Hike

Our afternoon hike to Purcell Well was designed to accommodate both Malinda’s desire to do some “off-roading” in the Suburban, and my desire to not climb up any mountains, that I might not die.

Now, in perfect conditions, this hike would be moderately difficult, based on the fact that while it is mostly flat, it does require climbing down a steep embankment to get into a wash, navigating through a thick span of salt cedars, crossing a wash and then climbing up out of it on the other side.  We did not anticipate that conditions would be less than perfect, however.  The recent rains made the clay super slippery, and I had my first fall of the hike coming down the bank into the wash when my feet slipped out from under me.  Landing neatly on my back-side, sliding a smidge, and coming to a stop with my left elbow in the mud, I exulted in my own cleverness at keeping a death-grip on the camera (which I was holding in my left hand) and saving it from a muddy end.

Once down into the wash, the kids had no trouble whatsoever deftly avoiding the cow-pies while sidestepping the plentiful and pokey sage bushes, and creeping underneath the low-hanging salt cedars.  In fact, from years of observation, I’d say it’s pretty much what they live for on ranch hikes.  Paul, who is equally dextrous, happily scouted ahead for me to find the path of least resistance, and gallantly held back branches for me to safely duck beneath.

Finally we made it to the wash, where there was still ice and snow in the shady areas, but discovered that there was also a stream running down the sand at the bottom that would have to be crossed.  After looking up and down the wash, we realized there was no good way to climb up the other side in that area, so we had to go back the way we came, hike down the wash on the top a quarter mile or so, and then climb down AGAIN.

Oh, Joy.  It was with the deepest gratitude that, after hauling myself up over the edge, I accepted my chivalrous sweetie’s offer to drive me over to the climb-down spot.  And this time I managed to avoid falling down, yay me!  Down we went, across the stream, and up the other side, with a great deal of hilarity over the heavy muddy shoes as we went.

Up on the other side we were finally able to meander back toward Purcell Well.  We stopped to admire the cows across the fence, and noted one who was especially great with calf.  After we left the cows and turned toward the well, I was on my way over to see a rather picturesque wooden trough that Paul had found lying in the weeds, when I had my second fall of the day.  I stepped in a hole hidden beneath the dry waist-high grasses through which I was wading, twisting that ankle, and both knees, and wrenching my back as I went down — yet AGAIN utilizing my photographer’s instinct to save the camera above all bodily injury.  Without my sweetie to help me up, I suspect I’d still be sitting there. 🙂  But I did get up, and walked it off, got my pics of the very picturesque trough, and on we went to the well, where Malinda and Geneva decided to make some percussive music on the windmill blades, much to the consternation of the nearby herd.

Along the way, The Boy, as usual, was often walking along apart from the group, in his own little world.  He found a ditch to jump over… he found a staff and playacted villainous characters, providing anyone nearby with a constant stream of narrative sprouting from his endlessly creative mind.

The sun was moving westward, so we said goodbye to the cows and headed back across the wash to the truck.  I had just ducked my way through the salt cedars and gotten stabbed in the head by a branch I failed to see, gotten stuck in a thicket of sage, and stepped in a pile of cow poo, when Laurent came bounding up behind me, exclaiming in youthful exuberance, “Mom!  Mom!  You have to come see!!  Come back to the stream –”

I turned around and glared at her in disbelief.  Pouring all of my frustrations of the afternoon into an over-the-top melodramatic reply, I put my hands on my hips and interrupted her with all the volume I could muster:

“LOOK me in the eye –“

“But mom, you have to come to the stream –”

“And TELL me –“

“And take pictures –”

“If I LOOK –“

“Of us splashing through the water –”

“Like I want to go BACK TO THE STREAM through ALL THESE STINKING TREES and SLIDING in the STINKING MUD –“

“Because the water droplets –”

“And getting STABBED IN THE HEAD –“

“…are so pretty –”

“To take PICTURES of WATER DROPLETS!!!”

“…in the sun!”

By this time we were all about falling over with laughter, and I felt MUCH better.  But I did NOT go back to the stream and take pictures of children splashing and water droplets shining in the sun.  There’s a limit to what I will sacrifice in one day for art.