Chapter 7 Caro #2
When Ash and Hope finish taking photos, they all carry on along down the creek. The canyon swells out and then narrows in around them. They’re moving at a good pace, but Caro can tell that her friends are taking it all in by the oohs and aahs she hears.
This is one of her favorite parts of the Underground—the miles where the hike follows the creek bed exactly, and the water-smoothed rocks roll and crash against your ankles as you make your way through the creek, which can be anywhere from ankle deep to hip high to over your head, depending on where you are and how rainy it’s been.
Back when she was growing up, before permits were required, she and her father had hiked this canyon every summer.
Some summers, her dad would hike the Underground several times.
With Caro, with his friends, with local church youth groups he was asked to lead because of his experience.
He and Caro’s mom had hiked it together often, before she died.
(Caro was always sad the three of them had never done it together—she’d been too young before her mom passed away.) But she’d gotten to bring Dan here about eight years ago, when they were first dating.
Caro smiles, remembering that trip—her and her father exchanging glances as they’d come around each turn, knowing what waited for Dan ahead, looking forward to his reactions.
Henry, Caro’s dad, always knew what to pack for any wilderness excursion.
His hiking gear was decidedly utilitarian rather than stylish.
Caro had teased him mercilessly about it—the khaki shorts, the button-up Patagonia shirt older than she was, the too-tall socks sticking out of his hiking boots—and about his knobby knees.
Her father’s hair had gone prematurely white in his late thirties, and he wore thick-rimmed black glasses that brought to mind his celebrity doppelg?nger, Steve Martin.
Whenever she went anywhere with her father, people called out to him.
“Dr. Stewart!” He’d been a family practitioner in town for decades, the hometown boy who went away to college and med school and returned to practice and serve in his community.
Before the dementia began to take hold, he’d been known for his memory.
“Now she gave me a scare when she was three,” he’d say, pointing to a tween walking through the grocery store, a pack of Oreos tucked under her arm, her ponytail bobbing with every step.
“Bailey Hammond. The youngest of Amy and Devon Hammond’s kids.
She came in with a fever of 107, and I ran across the parking lot from my office to the hospital with her in my arms.” He was also constantly bumping into current or former students.
Henry had taught an Introduction to Anatomy course at the small university in St. John for years, though his adjunct pay was pennies compared to what he made as a doctor.
He’d loved meeting the students; he’d loved writing their letters of recommendation to help them get into medical school; he’d loved it when they’d emailed him to let him know where they were and what they were doing now.
He’d loved his life, and now it had become so much smaller.
As she catches up with her friends, Caro hears other voices echoing up through the canyon. “Oh, yeah,” Ash says. “Other people. I’d almost forgotten anyone else existed.”
“Right?” Caro says.
Before long they begin catching glimpses of the group ahead of them.
They look to be college-age kids, about five in number.
Caro loves this about hiking, the way you come upon other groups and pass them, or they pass you, never to be seen again, or you do a sort of back and forth for the duration of the hike.
It’s like at Disneyland where you come to know people because of being in the lines.
Ah, there’s that family with the toddler and the surprisingly helpful preteen.
They’ve made it through eight Go-Gurts now and counting.
Oh look, the young couple that was arguing is hugging again, the guy wrapping his arms around the woman from behind, both of them laughing, their Mickey Mouse ears no longer looking ironic instead of sweet.
“You guys ready to swim?” Caro asks her friends.
They’ve come to the biggest pool yet, and it looks deep as well as long. The frost’s crystalline patterns are beautiful up close. Caro can smell the water. She can feel the scoop and sway of the stone.
“Absolutely.” Hope takes one of the bracelets from her wrist and uses it to pull her hair up into a topknot.
“Can’t wait,” Ash says drily, but she’s smiling.
“Great,” Caro says. “I’ll go in first. It’ll be chilly, you guys. Hope, do you mind bringing up the rear?”
“No problem.”
Caro laughs at the others’ reactions as they enter the water (Ash shrieks, Hope swears). The water is take-your-breath-away cold, and Caro shivers, feeling her body absorb the shock of it even through her wetsuit.
“We all good?” she calls back.
“So good,” Ash yells, and Caro grins, because she knows what Ash’s likely experiencing. Once you’re actually in the water, you feel great. You feel beyond alive. Caro is trembling and shaky and new and strong, like a baby deer or some other animal that has only recently come into the world.
They hold their packs over their heads and make their way carefully through the pool, trying not to slip on the stones beneath or crash into any of the large boulders submerged in the water. In spots, the creek is so deep that it comes up to Caro’s armpits, but they don’t have to actually swim.
Once they’re all out of the water, they realize that they’ve nearly caught up with the group ahead of them.
As they get closer, Caro can see that they’ve come to a steep drop, the first place that they’ll have to make a descent while in the canyon.
The water cascades over a rocky outcropping.
The college kids have a rope, but it’s not long enough for the rappel, and they’re stuck.
She groans inwardly. Like her dad, she hates it when people come into wild places unprepared.
Hope glances at her watch and then at Caro. They need to keep moving if they’re going to stay on schedule.
“I’ll get you guys down first,” Caro says to her friends. “Then I’ll help them out and catch up.” She can’t leave them stranded. Plus, the rope the kids have should be long enough for the rest of the drops. This first one is the biggest.
“They don’t have helmets,” Ash says. Though the creek is shallower than it’s been in other places, it’s particularly slippery here. Slick, green-black algae clings to the sandstone and grows in tangled strands patterned like shallow waves.
“Most groups actually don’t,” Caro says. “It’s not required. Only suggested.” She pats Ash on her helmeted head. “I’m abundance-of-cautioning for this trip.”
“I appreciate that,” Ash says.
The group of kids look up as the three women come closer.
There are five in total, two guys and three girls, and Caro can tell that at least some of them are thinking about jumping into the water instead of rappelling down.
“Hey,” Caro says. “We’ve got a rope. Mind if I belay my friends down first, and then you guys can use it, too, if you’d like? ”
One of the guys is walking along the edge. “I’m going to jump!” he calls out, confirming Caro’s hunch.
“Can we do that?” a girl with brown hair asks Caro.
“In theory, you can, but I wouldn’t recommend it,” Caro says.
“Rappelling is the safer route. The depth of the pools varies drastically, and you don’t know how deep it is.
” She swings her pack around to the front and begins readying her climbing rope.
There’s a bolt in the rock that they can use, right where she remembered. Perfect.
“It’s spring, though, right?” the other guy asks. “So we should be good. Lots of water.”
“A few years ago, someone died jumping here.” Caro can tell that the guys are feeling stupid for not having brought a long enough rope, so she hopes they’ll swallow their pride and use hers.
She’s trying to be extremely cool and nonchalant so that they won’t see her as a challenge to their manhood or their youth and they’ll accept her help. “Ash, you ready to clip in?”
“Yup.” As their eyes meet before Ash steps back down over the edge, Caro sees that Ash gets it, that she knows exactly what Caro’s doing. A few moments pass in silence as the others watch Ash go over. “I’m down!” she calls out, and Caro brings the rope back up so that Hope can clip in.
“That actually looks pretty fun,” the brown-haired girl says. She’s trying to convince the others, Caro can tell. The boys are edging closer along the rock.
“Oh, it is,” Hope says. Hope’s orange hat is pulled low and no one in the group gives her a second glance. Once Caro and Hope have checked that Hope’s clipped in properly, down she goes.
“She made it,” one of the guys reports, looking over the edge.
“I’m down!” Hope shouts.
“Head on out,” Caro calls. “I’ll catch up with you.”
“How will you get down if you help all of us?” the brown-haired girl asks.
“I’ve done this enough that I can belay myself,” Caro says.
“Did someone really die here?” asks a redheaded girl with a glint in her eye. “Or are you making that up to freak us out?”
“I didn’t make it up,” Caro says.
“This exact spot?” the first guy asks.
“No, farther down,” Caro says. “They jumped instead of using a rope.” She gestures to their gear. “And yours should be fine for the rest of the descents. It’s only this one where it won’t be long enough.”
“I don’t believe you,” the red-haired girl says. “About someone dying.”
“You don’t believe anything, Roz,” the brown-haired girl says. She looks at Caro. “If it’s okay, I’ll go down on your rope. Sorry. I know we’re slowing you up.”
“Not a big deal,” Caro says.