It
all came back to too much water. As I lay in my sleeping bag, half-asleep and
cozy against the elements, I knew I would be getting up soon. I sneak a peak at
my watch, the Indiglo bright searing my squinting eyes just long enough to see
it was 2:58. I rolled over again and tried to will my bladder and my brain back
to sleep.
As
my I continued to awaken, despite my best attempts to the contrary, I thought
of all the reasons not to get up.
- It’s cold out there.
- The zippers of my tent might wake everyone up.
- I will have to find my clothes in the dark or turn on my
headlamp.
- There might be scorpions in my boots.
Scorpions!
For as long as I could remember, I had heard about shaking out boots in
scorpion country so the little critters would not sting the five-headed monster
of a foot entering the new cave they had claimed. Well Goblin Valley State Park
in Utah is the desert and scorpions do live here. Had I even remembered to tell
my students about shaking their boots out? An old Far Side cartoon flashes into my brain.
I
don’t even know what my middle-of-the-night reaction would be to a scorpion in
my boot at 2:58 in the morning. Would I scream? Would I be a “good” enough
person not to smash it with the boot, honoring Nature’s creatures and all that?
Or are those sentiments only reserved for daylight hours?
Too
Much Water! That was the problem. Not enough and then definitely too much. With
the business of managing twenty-two 10-13 year-olds during the day I had not
taken care of myself by drinking copious amounts of water. Then, to relieve the
“you’re getting dehydrated” headache after dinner, I had drunk two liters
during the last two hours I was awake. I even knew at the time I was going to
be getting up in the middle of the night. Heck, at this point in my life, I
usually get up at least once anyway, why even worry about how much water I
drank?
Another
green flash from my watch. 3:04! Not even ten minutes have passed? I was secretly
hoped this inner monologue had happened around some dreams and it would be
closer to 6:00.
Fine!
I’m getting up! Long-sleeve shirt and jacket first, followed by a blast of cold
air as I unzip my bag and hurry into pants and synthetic wool socks. I try to
quietly unzip my tent, slowly and quietly but my body is telling me now is the
time to move a little quicker.
The
moment of truth is upon me. I fumble for my headlamp, place it on my head, and
squint while my eyes try to mange the bazillion-watt halogen brightness filling
my vision. Once I no longer see pure white, I grasp each hiking boot by the toe
and vigorously tap the heels against the ground. Carefully I hold them
upside down expecting nothing to fall out in reality, but ready just in case
because reality doesn’t always matter when it’s dark.
Nothing.
I slip into my boots and loosely tie up the laces. As I trudge towards the
bathroom in the campground, my headlamp lights up the inches of drying mud
everywhere. While it's wet enough that my feet sink an inch or
two, it dry enough that it does not squish or splash. However, the low areas where the water
collects are quagmires that have already claimed five shoes from my students,
who tend not to lace their shoes anyway. I hop across several strategically
placed rocks and reach the pavement and begin my walk to the bathroom.
Too
much water is the issue. Not only for me but also for this trip. Two days ago,
thunderstorms had brought over an inch of rain to this valley that only
receives eight inches of rain a year. Yesterday brought a little more and the
dry forecast from last week was obviously being revised. Flash flooding had closed
roads and made us change our plans on the fly. Instead of climbing through slot
canyons, we had gone to Capitol Reef National Park, because a slot canyon, downstream
of a thunderstorm, is a very bad place to be. The kids had been great with the
changes, the rain and the mud and we had some opportunities to talk about how
desert life adapts to life with almost no water and then too much water.
I
reach the bathrooms and step inside…SPLASH! The motion-sensing light switch
activates and as the fluorescent bulbs blink on. I hear water splashing and am
glad that my boots are waterproof as I find myself standing in over and inch of
water. Too Much Water! The urinal is running non-stop and overflowing and the
drain is in the highest part of the floor and only just starting to capture a
trickle of the flood.
First
things first. I wade through to the stall and take care of business for myself.
Then I start jimmying the urinal handle, hoping that will cease the deluge. No
luck. I walk outside and try the service door, knowing it will be locked but
imagining that I could turn off the water valve from inside. Locked. Splash
back into the bathroom and flip the lever up and down some more in helpless
desperation. Nothing. Outside is a signboard about the campground and I hope to
find a map to the campground host or a phone number to call. Nothing but a
couple of old announcements and a flyer about a few of the animals in the park,
including a picture of the desert scorpion. No warning about checking boots
though and I wonder briefly if that is negligent of them or if scorpions are
just not an issue in the campground.
I’m
about to give up and I feel like a not-perfect person for being ready to just
go back to my tent and going back to sleep. I’m usually a pretty good
problem solver but this seems beyond my abilities and resources for this time
of night.
I
go back to the bathroom and it’s clear something is different. No running water
noise. My boots send ripples across the bathroom and I see that the urinal has
stopped. I also notice another drain in the floor, slowly gulping down the
water.
Having
no idea what I did, or if I actually did anything, I give myself an imaginary
pat on the back anyway and head back to the campsite, feeling a bit like a
superhero. I feel that way about teaching sometimes time too. Due to unexpected
reasons, I’m in the right place at the right time, doing my best but sometimes
just flailing away, not really knowing if I’m making a difference. Then after
stepping away, I come back and a student has taken their next step, is no longer
“drowning” and the sun emerges.
For
me though, it’s only 3:16am. Time to catch a few more Z’s and hope the sun does
come out in the morning.
 |
| The school bus and a very muddy campground as the sun works its magic on the clouds |
