BODY & MIND
Queer in the Canyon
Photo Credit: Clark Harding
Zion National Park allows only thirty people into Pine Creek Canyon a day. The $30 permit obtained at Park Headquarters certifies this. They also suggest that you never travel in a group larger than six. Therefore, rarely do you see anyone along the 1.4 miles of slot. There is a spiritual, quiet connectivity that happens in the bowels of a canyon when you're alone. If anything, you feel like you're in a space suit exploring a strange planet. No wonder numerous "Star Trek" episodes were filmed here. However, the terrain is not so much alien as it is internal. As if we were on a journey inside the body, the walls ebbed and curved like the convolutions of a brain. Although we happily chatted our way through the trail, sometimes we operated in silence. There was no need to speak and sometimes I swore I heard the thoughts of my friends. This atmospheric heightened awareness is not unheard of, especially in the wilderness. Climbers of Mt. Everest refer to the Mountain as a god-like judge. Ernest Shakelton, when writing about his harrowing journey across Antarctica, described a "fourth presence." In the '50s, William S. Burroughs took copious amounts of Central American hallucinogens. He later explained at the end of his book "Junky" that the environment becomes an individual character or "divine companion." The boys and I were high on life and oddly in tune with each other. Regardless, I could have used some divine intervention at Pine Creek's only exit. Having ADD, I failed to read the last section of the guide that read "110 foot drop."
This had been great "rugged therapy" and all, but dangling in the middle of the longest free repel in Zion National Park, I wanted out. I swayed for a while, contemplating my predicament, the bruise on my thigh reminding me what 10 feet times 10 feet might feel like on impact. My friends sensed my fear. "Did you remember to attach your safety lock?" Japhy questioned, playing Evan.
"Um, yeah." I almost barfed.
"OK, are all your carabiners locked?" Asked Eliel.
"Yup." There was a long silence. Eliel and Japhy looked at each other, and then back up at me.
"I know, " I said. "I'm committed."
This had been great "rugged therapy" and all, but dangling in the middle of the longest free repel in Zion National Park, I wanted out. I swayed for a while, contemplating my predicament, the bruise on my thigh reminding me what 10 feet times 10 feet might feel like on impact. My friends sensed my fear. "Did you remember to attach your safety lock?" Japhy questioned, playing Evan.
"Um, yeah." I almost barfed.
"OK, are all your carabiners locked?" Asked Eliel.
"Yup." There was a long silence. Eliel and Japhy looked at each other, and then back up at me.
"I know, " I said. "I'm committed."
