As the big brother, by a few months, I kinda expect to take the lead when my younger sibling Doug and I are out on an adventure. But, Doug somehow always manages to be out in front.
Can You Say Shrinkage?
I can think of two occasions where I was still thinking about whether to attempt a daring feat only to see that Doug had already completed it and was waiting patiently for me. One time was when we were camping at Guadalupe River State Park in the dead of winter. The land across the river had caught our attention because it belonged to the state parks department, but was not open to the public. We could see an old homestead and other items of interest over there, but it was all on the other side of a wide, deep, frigid river. The way to do it, we decided, would be to take off all our clothes and swim across, with our clothing held over our heads in a plastic bag. That way we could put on dry clothes, and shoes, on the other side. It was one of those things that was so outrageous that I wasn’t afraid to talk about it because I thought there was no way we were actually gonna do it. Only Doug did it. Of course. While I was still thinking about it, Doug undressed, put his clothes in a bag and swam across. That water was heart-stoppingly cold and I did not want to get in it. But Doug was already across, damn him. So, after much protestation, procrastination and profanity, I followed. The return trip was no less painful, but I spent less time considering it because there really was no option about that.
Out on a Ledge
The second time was when we hiked seven miles into Boot Springs in Big Bend National Park. After a brief rest at our base camp, we proceeded to climb a small mountain we later dubbed Wind Lizard Peak. (It was windy and we found a lizard at the peak.) On the way down we somehow took a different path and ended up at a point where we needed to shimmy across a shear cliff. It wasn’t that difficult. In fact, if it had been three feet off the ground, I would have zipped right across it. But it wasn’t. It was at a height that a slip and fall would likely result in death. I was still considering climbing back up the mountain to find the other path when Doug slid on over to the other side of the cliff, and beckoned me to join him. Now the ledge was about as wide as a curb, though it was much more irregular and there was slippery gravel and all that. And it was about 20-30 feet across. I sat there and talked to Doug until I finally decided the only thing to do was do it.
A Toast in the Desert
I can’t tell the Wind Lizard Peak story without telling the other part of it, in which Doug is the hero. We were part of a foursome on that outing. The other two were very experienced outdoorsmen. One, in fact, was a former forest ranger. They were knowledgeable to the point of arrogance. On our return trip, they deliberately lost us, which is not a responsible thing to do, regardless of circumstances. They had the map and, they thought more expertise … and I guess they thought it would be funny to leave us wandering in the wilderness for awhile. But, what they had not taken into account is that Doug is a former marine, and he had been taking coordinates with his compass as we hiked out. So, he guided us straight back to the car, and our awaiting ice chest of cold beer. Our smart-ass comrades errantly took a more southerly route and joined us about an hour and a half later … very tired and unamused.
Can You Say Shrinkage?
I can think of two occasions where I was still thinking about whether to attempt a daring feat only to see that Doug had already completed it and was waiting patiently for me. One time was when we were camping at Guadalupe River State Park in the dead of winter. The land across the river had caught our attention because it belonged to the state parks department, but was not open to the public. We could see an old homestead and other items of interest over there, but it was all on the other side of a wide, deep, frigid river. The way to do it, we decided, would be to take off all our clothes and swim across, with our clothing held over our heads in a plastic bag. That way we could put on dry clothes, and shoes, on the other side. It was one of those things that was so outrageous that I wasn’t afraid to talk about it because I thought there was no way we were actually gonna do it. Only Doug did it. Of course. While I was still thinking about it, Doug undressed, put his clothes in a bag and swam across. That water was heart-stoppingly cold and I did not want to get in it. But Doug was already across, damn him. So, after much protestation, procrastination and profanity, I followed. The return trip was no less painful, but I spent less time considering it because there really was no option about that.
Out on a Ledge
The second time was when we hiked seven miles into Boot Springs in Big Bend National Park. After a brief rest at our base camp, we proceeded to climb a small mountain we later dubbed Wind Lizard Peak. (It was windy and we found a lizard at the peak.) On the way down we somehow took a different path and ended up at a point where we needed to shimmy across a shear cliff. It wasn’t that difficult. In fact, if it had been three feet off the ground, I would have zipped right across it. But it wasn’t. It was at a height that a slip and fall would likely result in death. I was still considering climbing back up the mountain to find the other path when Doug slid on over to the other side of the cliff, and beckoned me to join him. Now the ledge was about as wide as a curb, though it was much more irregular and there was slippery gravel and all that. And it was about 20-30 feet across. I sat there and talked to Doug until I finally decided the only thing to do was do it.
A Toast in the Desert
I can’t tell the Wind Lizard Peak story without telling the other part of it, in which Doug is the hero. We were part of a foursome on that outing. The other two were very experienced outdoorsmen. One, in fact, was a former forest ranger. They were knowledgeable to the point of arrogance. On our return trip, they deliberately lost us, which is not a responsible thing to do, regardless of circumstances. They had the map and, they thought more expertise … and I guess they thought it would be funny to leave us wandering in the wilderness for awhile. But, what they had not taken into account is that Doug is a former marine, and he had been taking coordinates with his compass as we hiked out. So, he guided us straight back to the car, and our awaiting ice chest of cold beer. Our smart-ass comrades errantly took a more southerly route and joined us about an hour and a half later … very tired and unamused.