Went into Icebox Canyon this weekend, over in Red Rock territory. Haven't been out hiking in so long, so this was just glorious - slightly overcast day, chill breeze, sun beginning to yellow in the east - finally moving the body that hasn't been doing much but sitting, sitting, sitting. Icebox Canyon is one of those rewarding walks that has something at the end. It's not too long of a hike but a lot of loose rocks, a bit of overgrowth and truly minimal scrambling. It starts out with a clear trail where some maintenance has been done, so there are carved steps shaped with stones into the dirt, after the clarity, the paths then meander all over the place, but all eventually lead up to the same place. Some parts of the path (simply because trees and shrub block the path) force you out into the small gorge where, I suppose water would pass if we ever did get that kind of rain fall or snow fall in Las Vegas. Our dog Marley loves these walks and can't help but lead, as if he knew the way, but really, it's just the millions of scents he picks up that pushes him on, forward and into the wild as the smells intensify and pull him as if with an invisible leash. Was trying out new Scarpas and tested them out climbing mini rock faces and they were pretty rubbery and smeared nicely against the walls although my fear of heights was overpowering the shoes' performance. It's quite a thing when your body decides to freeze in motion as you think what your next move will be when you've got a bunch of jutting rocks to fall on if you happen to loose your hand grip, or if your shoes fail to stick to the rock wall. In that kind of moment you either scream for your husband to come pull you up, or you try to kill the moment with speed and try to climb the rock as fast as humanly possible. Of course, the fall wouldn't have killed me or even broken any bones. It would have simply hurt and mangle my skin just a bit, but fear is fear.
Had just watched Ravenous the night before and was thinking of eating human beings, blood and gore, when i suddenly noticed red blotches on the stones I was walking over. It was drying blood, and I figured it was recent as it still had the brightness of newly spilled blood. Walking on ahead, the bloody spots became more frequent until it became the trail I was following (husband is oblivious until I loudly point out "there's blood everywhere!!!" to which he answers, "they must have hurt themselves, and despite it, labored on"). The stains were not of dripping blood, more like smears and splashes from a bleeding body part not being held too far above the rocks. In some parts, the blood stains were larger than others. Then there was a rock that acted as a step going up onto a big boulder where a lot of blood seemed to have splashed and smeared around, as if something bloody had fallen on that rock. Images of carnage and of Robert Carlyle carrying around body parts while munching on them as he walked through Icebox Canyon filled my head. I had seen some cave-like parts of the rock wall along the way, also happened upon very warm areas of the gorge that seemed to emanate unnatural heat (it was an overcast chill day after all). Then I thought, who would know we were even in this canyon. Who would know if we got killed and eaten up in this canyon. Your scream wouldn't even rise up and out of the canyon. No one would find your body or what would remain of it after Carlyle had gorged on it for lunch. It was very quiet and more blood and gore quickly blocked out my view when we suddenly stopped.
At the end of the path, literally a dead end, was a cove of rock - a conical part of a room where the narrow opening up at the top is where the water would gush down (if we ever did get that kind of rain fall or snow fall in Las Vegas) into the small pool below, then trickle down into the smaller pool about 6 feet below. At the moment, there was a steady drip of water coming from the top, which ran into a thin trickle into the first pool, then gradually trickled down to the second pool below. Marley found it impossible to climb the slick rock faces and slowly, helplessly as a dog only can, descended into the smaller pool with a splash and couldn't for the life of him get out of it - the edges were inclined steeply and were covered with slippery moss. The poor dog looked like he was digging into the edge of the pool and going nowhere. He wanted to join us, as we were already up at the second pool. There was an easier way out, meaning he would have to get out at the opposite end of the pool and go around, but dogs don't seem to think of things as easy or hard. Dino had to rescue him and the poor dog had four bleeding paws by the time he made it the higher pool. Some of his nails had broken off and as he stood wet and shivering on the edge of the higher pool, his paws trickled their own stream of thinned blood and water. But like most dogs, he was resillient and managed to play a game of fetch the water bottle in the pool. We snacked then I noticed Marley violently shivering from the ice cold water and decided we should head homeward. Marley led off, leaving his own trail of blood which I followed and managed to stain the seat of my pants and shoes with, and soon I forgot about ravenous human flesh appetites. We cleaned him up, got him home and the next day, he was ready for another adventure, bloody paws or not.
8:08 AM | |
