Six.

That is the number of times I’ve hiked out of a slot canyon early because it started to rain. Once when I was leading a well-advertised Sierra Club to promote Wilderness.  We had hiked in four miles to the start of the narrows, set up camp, it started to rain, and I hiked everyone back out.  Flack?  Just a bit.

I also turn around a half hour from the summit if there is lightning in the distance.  This earns me great distain from those who soldier on and return to share their selfies with their hair standing on end and sparks dancing along their pack frames.

         Oh, yeah, they get away with it.  Usually.  They go in -- and out -- of the slot canyon in the rain.  They climb in the lightning.  It works.  Except when it doesn’t.

Sometimes the flood does come.  Sometimes the lightning does strike.  Then it is said, “they were doing what they loved”.  I am not sure the last thing that would go through my mind; “well it was fun until now”. 

         In point of fact, I have been in situations where I really, truly thought I might not make it.  Did I think, “Oh, I am in the Grand Canyon, in a blizzard, the trail is under three feet of snow, I have lost feeling in my feet, but this is where I totally want to be”?  No, I was pretty much thinking “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home” and clicking my heels together. 

         I read a lot of mountaineering books, because summiting an 8,000 meter peak is right up there on my never-going-to-happen list.  When Things Go Terribly Wrong the survivors who write the memoirs do not wax poetic about how wonderful it is to freeze to death. They write, “Stay awake, keep moving the toes, why the hell didn’t I turn around at 1:00 like I said I would?” 

         Usually if one is in extreme circumstances, it is not pleasant.  Climbers trapped on K2 in the Death Zone.  Canyoneers being flushed by a six-foot wall of water.  XC skiers shivering the night away at 10,000 feet around a piddley survival fire (been there).  Not fun. 

         That said, I rarely pass on a trip because the weather is not forecast to be perfect.  I have had a wonderful time crouched under an overhang watching a flood sweep by, safely below me, while rockslides crash down on either side.  I have gloried in a rainbow during a brief break in the clouds.  I have felt empowered and capable when I forged my way through fresh fallen snow on an unmarked route that no one else could find.  I have also sat inside, watching a goose-drownder of a storm wipe out the back yard thinking, “I’m glad I’m not leading a tour today”.  Then I fix another cup of cocoa and bake cookies.

         I recently had The Talk with my son about end-of-life decisions.  I told him when the time comes, he does not have to spend a death vigil at my bedside in the hospice.  His answer: “I’m not worried about that.  You’re going to clock out on the trail.” 

         And when that happens I may, indeed, be thinking, “well, I’d rather be here than anyplace else.”