Lost at the Lake

Lost at the Lake

“It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling and it was almost dark.” Hans Christian Andersen, The Little Match Girl.

Creed gazed at the frozen, pristine surface of Williams Lake as the wind whipped the snow in sheets. The lake sat at just over 11,000 feet. Surrounded by snow already nearly 7 feet deep. Above the timberline. In the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. At the base of Wheeler Peak. The highest point in New Mexico. At most, the temperature was 5 degrees above zero. He wasn’t in the right place. He’d told Esperanza and his friends back home that he was going to Lost Lake.

Esperanza…the Spanish word for “hope.” His mind called out to her. They were knit together with unbreakable cords. ”A rope made from three strands of cord is hard to break.” Ecclesiastes 4:12 CEV.

Maybe her spirit would feel him, hear him, find him. His own “espiritu” attempted to message her…far away in D.C. He prayed she’d have one of her “feelings.”

It was December 22. He meant to be home tomorrow. Her flight arrived late Christmas Eve. The prime rib would smell amazing. Table set. Flowers. Silver. China. Candlelight. There are no other lights in the house but the radiant tree. Smooth jazz Christmas music on the stereo. He’d hear the garage door come up. And meet her at the back door, naked, holding two glasses of champagne. He’d steer her to the bearskin rug in front of the roaring fire. Hold her fast against his chest. Kiss her deeply. Begin to slowly remove her clothes…

But instead…

He was alone in this tiny bivy, wrapped up in a -20 degree down sleeping bag. Creed wasn’t “snuggled in” for a “long winter’s nap.” He always slept naked. It felt so deliciously freeing against his skin and was warmer than sleeping in clothes. But nothing was delicious tonight. His right knee was puffy, swollen, as was his left ankle. The swelling of his left ankle was accompanied by an angry, bloody bruise. He was beginning to feel feverish. Shiver. He’d barely been able to set up his camp with two disabled legs. Eat some energy bars. Drink something warm. And now…the pain was beyond excruciating...he feared he’d pass out. Tears of pain dripped from his eyes. He imagined them freezing to his eyelashes.

He’d call Esperanza, but he had no cell service. He tried to distract himself from the pain by envisioning her sliding her long, naked, brown body into the sleeping bag beside him. She glowed with their first pregnancy. Her fetching bump was now showing. The ultra sounds confirmed a boy to be named “Aaron.” If it had been a girl, they would have named her “Fe”…Spanish for “faith.” But Esperanza was in D.C. on business. And they wouldn’t have endangered baby Aaron on a December hike in the snow. Since she was “here”, they could make “imaginary” love…and his dislocated kneecap and broken ankle would disappear…his lurking infection from the compound fracture wouldn’t happen.

***

Esperanza banged clumsily into his table in the college library. His books clattered to the floor as everybody in the reading room glared.

“Oh fuck! I’m so sorry!!!” More glaring and a few “shushes!”

“Keep it down,” he whispered to the goddess who knocked off his books. Sitting there in shorts, tee shirt and flip flops, he could barely even manage that whisper. Never had he seen such a beautiful woman. Nearly 6 feet tall. Skin the color of burnt sienna. Mesmerizing liquid green eyes. Long, lithe, athletic legs. Perky, sporty breasts. And a smile that ignited the room. His eyes began undressing her.

She returned his fixated gaze with a look that said, I’d like to see you without your shirt. “You really do have nice legs. Maybe I could buy you a coffee downstairs in Starbucks to apologize.” She walked enticingly towards the reading room’s exit door. Creed gathered his books and walked far enough behind her to admire the exquisite swish of her bottom.

After Starbucks…they’d end up in bed…and then forget each other…except that things didn’t “work” as “expected.” She was driven. Focused. And yet also…Esperanza was a “party” without being a “partier” and could switch rapidly from a serious subject to a frivolous one and then back. Seamlessly. Effortlessly. She fiercely loved her family…home…dog…their college…her friends.

And once she loved Creed…she loved him to the end.

For her faith, hope and love were unshakeable.

Esperanza liked to hike. Fish. Hunt. Backpack. Stunningly beautiful, but the antithesis of a “cheerleader.” And yet she was Creed’s biggest cheerleader. Whatever he wanted to do. Law school. Learning to ski. Running a marathon. Backpacking in New Mexico. Making clumsy attempts to say loving things to her in Spanish. She supported. Encouraged. Comforted. Held him when he cried. And helped him make it happen.

The wedding was rather tame compared to their meeting. But it was lighthearted, fun. They clowned around at the altar during the photos. French kissing as the photographer snapped away. Still one of their favorite photos, hanging over the fireplace.

***

The reverie of breathtakingly nude Esperanza sliding into his sleeping bag was replaced by a nightmare as Creed dreamed fitfully of a TV newscast in West Texas. A local attorney was found dead, frozen to death, naked in his sleeping bag. On the shore of a remote lake in Northern New Mexico…27-year-old Creed Dawson left behind his wife, Esperanza, and his infant son, Aaron…Funeral arrangements are pending…”

***

She encouraged him to come over here. When she unexpectedly had to spend the week before Christmas in Washington, he’d planned to get some chores done around the house and catch up on work at the office. The office was dead around the holidays. He worked so effortlessly in the quiet. And if he got bored at work, he’d imagine making love to her under the Christmas tree or in front of the fireplace.

But every time she called him, he cried. And when he didn’t cry, he whined. And when he didn’t cry, he bitched.

“Creed, Baby, you’d feel a lot better if you just went over to New Mexico and took that solo hike up to Lost Lake that you’ve been wanting to do. But promise to be careful. And only be gone one night. And call me a lot!”

“But my entire soul will miss you.” He sniffled.

“Damn it, Creed Dawson! Don’t you dare cry anymore! Once you start hiking, sweating, straining, climbing, you’ll only think about that. And at night, you can cuddle up naked in your sleeping bag. Remember how much I love your naked body. Think about me naked with you. Imagine my long fingers caressing you. Think about me kissing your nipples, fondling your pecs, and rubbing your six pack. You’ll drift off to sleep dreaming about how much you want me. In a few days…voila…we’ll both be home for Christmas.”

***

Maybe he should’ve taken his backpacking buddy and next-door neighbor, Jedediah Smith, with him. Creed and Esperanza loved Jed. Sometimes the three hiked together. Jedediah slept far enough away in a bivy that Creed and Esperanza could quietly make love in their tent. But what they really wanted was to find Jed his “own Esperanza.” Then, the four of them could really set the mountains on fire. In their separate tents…of course! Esperanza was doing her best. Setting Jed up frequently with her most outdoorsy friends.

Creed loaded his gear into his ancient, red Tacoma pickup. He headed West with Gordon Lightfoot on the stereo. The line in Canadian Railroad Trilogy evoking dreams of New Mexico: “Behind the blue Rockies, the sun is declining, the stars they come quickly at the close of the day…”

Esperanza came to him softly and tenderly. Massaged his calves and feet after a marathon training session. Lightfoot crooning, from Cotton Jenny: “Then she waits by the door; Oh, Cotton Jenny, I’m sore...”

He called or texted her nearly every hour.

He became “lost” in Lightfoot…Esperanza…the mountains…and ended up at the wrong trailhead. The last part of the road to the trailheads just outside Red River ended in a spaghetti bowl maze. He took the wrong “strand.” Didn’t even notice the sign that read, “Middle Fork Trailhead,” gave the distance to Middle Fork Lake. No signs anywhere said a word about “Lost Lake.”

He set off humming I’ll Be Home for Christmas. Imagining that Esperanza was hiking beside him. Stopping occasionally to pelt him with a snowball. Screaming with glee when he smacked her back with one.

Fuck. He’d forgotten his trail map. Oh well. He knew these mountains like his own backyard. He mentally checked everything else off his list. Flashlight. Emergency flares. Stove. Fuel. Matches. Bivy. Sleeping bag. He wished he had an ice axe in case he fell.

***

The hike up was stunning. A crystal clear, azure New Mexico day. It was almost warm for December. Sparkling snow. Soaring peaks. The trail snow-packed but easily followed. He came to the lake too quickly. Lost Lake was 5 miles from the trailhead. Maybe this was Middle Fork Lake? There was a cutoff trail just a few miles beyond Middle Fork. He’d just keep hiking and then cross over to Lost Lake.

Every time he saw a cute bunny or squirrel, he missed Esperanza. Thought of her stomping her foot as he said, “Those things are just rats with fluffy tails.”

Hours passed. The trail kept going up. It was a long hike but seemed short with Esperanza “beside” him. He never “found” Lost Lake. He missed Horseshoe Lake at timberline as well. High above the trees, he stopped on a ridge with Wheeler Peak behind him. A beautiful glacial lake below him. He’d spend the night down there. New Mexico had the most beautiful skies in the West. But now they were dark, angry. A cold wind whipped down off Wheeler. Lightning cracked on Baldy Peak off in the distance. Only in New Mexico and West Texas had he ever seen a thunderstorm with snow! The coyotes howled. Warning each other of the changing weather.

He took the first decisive step towards what was Williams Lake. It was relatively far away from any of the other little lakes he should have reached first. A crack of thunder startled him. He slipped. And slid. And careened. He didn’t have an ice axe. He couldn’t stop.

He would never see Esperanza again. Never laugh with her. Cry together. Make love on the sofa. Drop Aaron off at college. He’d never again hear her call him a “Stupid bastard.” One of her favorite nicknames for him which always made him smile.

His right knee twisted at a grotesque angle. Creed felt a pop. He kept sliding until he came to rest forcefully against a large boulder about 50 yards from the lake. He heard the bones in his left ankle cracking. Screamed in pain and shock.

***

And that’s how Creed had ended up naked, hurting, lonely, discouraged, almost hopeless, in his bivy. He didn’t think he could walk or even crawl out of here. As the snow and sleet began to pelt the bivy, he knew his best chance was to shoot his flares as soon as it got dark enough so they’d show up. He prayed the storm would pass quickly so he could shoot them into the star-filled New Mexico night.

By 10:00 p.m. the storm had moved out into the plains and was pounding Cimarron. The skies cleared. The moon light softly bathed the Land of Enchantment. The sky filled with the electricity of a starry firmament. Where are you Esperanza? Are you watching me, God?

He shot the first flare. Maybe an ice fisherman or solo hiker would see it. Go for help.

He was burning up. His ankle and knee throbbed. Maybe he was dying. Never to see Esperanza again. Never even hold Aaron.

The still, cold air sank into his bones. It had to be ten degrees below zero. He’d shoot another flare in a little while. Maybe a passing jet would see it. He willed himself to stay awake. But succumbing to the pain, he fainted.

***

The sharp ring of the cell phone shattered Jed’s peace. It was 11:39 p.m. 12:39 a.m. in D.C. He’d just slid into bed from a hopeful date with one of Esperanza’s coworkers.

Quiet, determined crying came from the other end of the line. “He should be home tomorrow. But I know something is wrong. He was only going to be out one night. I’m worried, Jed…Creed…well…he’s everything to me…”

Nothing Jed said convinced her to wait until the next afternoon and see if Creed came home. You couldn’t dissuade Esperanza when she had a feeling.

“Find him. Take care of him. Bring him back to me. Beneath those muscles and that swagger, he’s just a baby. But he’s my Baby.”

***

Jed needed extra gas for his Coleman stove. Thank God, he borrowed it from Creed. Each had keys to the other’s house. And thank Jesus he decided to get some coffee for the road. There was Creed’s map of the Wheeler Peak Wilderness Area. Left behind by the Keurig.

***

Jedediah roared out of his garage at 80 miles an hour. Out in the country, he was soon doing 120. Thankful for the lack of Texas State Troopers. And that he’d bought the F150 with the biggest engine. It was having no trouble hauling his two snow machines…even at these speeds. Something wasn’t right. It was now early morning of December 23. If Creed had gone to Lost Lake…an easy hike…he would be back today. Safely in his bed tonight. Smooching Esperanza over the phone. Maybe something was dreadfully wrong…where would he have gone? And he didn’t go there on purpose. Where would Creed have gone accidentally?

Jed and Esperanza shared the same gift of prescient, perspicacious feelings. Except hers were more sharp and sudden. Jed’s “feelings” had to percolate and stew before bubbling to the surface.

By the time Jed reached Highway 56—a lonely 90 mile stretch of road between Clayton and Springer—the F150’s speedometer read “135.”

Nagging doubts haunted him. Would he make it in time? How badly injured was Creed? Relieved, he saw the lights of the New Mexico State Police. Pulled over. Handed his license to the officer.

“Man, you are 65 miles an hour over the speed limit. And Texas plates. You’ll spend the rest of the night in jail. Post bond in the morning. Merry Christmas!”

“I don’t mean to make excuses. But my friend’s in real trouble, Officer Martinez...I’m afraid I won’t get there in time…”

Jed fudged the timing a “bit” so Martinez would think Creed had been missing for days. If Creed was okay, he had likely just committed a felony. Especially if an expensive mountain rescue was initiated. Creed surely knew some good criminal lawyers in Santa Fe…

They roared back onto the road with Martinez in the lead. Now doing 140 in one of the loneliest parts of Colfax County. As they sped down the highway, the trooper, acting on Jed’s information, radioed a mobile search and rescue unit.

***

The chopper was airborne at 2:30 a.m. Mountain Time. What was that red “tracer” that just flew over Williams Lake?

***

He was so fucking cold. Weak. Disoriented. Creed had barely gotten it together enough to shoot the flare. He saw himself holding Aaron. Tiny and helpless. But fearless and handsome. With Esperanza’s skin and sparkling eyes. And his legs and chest. Creed was so overwhelmed that he totally flubbed telling the little guy in Spanish how much he loved him. He took a deep breath. Remembered that her name meant “hope” and tried to summon even a “mustard seed of hope” that he’d ever see her again. He vainly tried to stay awake to shoot another flare in an hour or so. Kissed little Aaron. And once again passed out.

***

Christmas Eve. He was in and out of a fog. Creed tried to clear his head. What were all these tubes and wires? Where the hell was he?

“Merry Christmas, Baby. You’re in the trauma unit at the University of New Mexico Hospital in Albuquerque. You’ll live. Walk. Hike and run marathons. Chase your son. But you’re retired from backpacking without me or Jed.”

“Esperanza…you look like an angel. Your belly has gotten even bigger since I last saw you. But its’ soooo cute. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Creed. But you’re an absent-minded bastard. I’m going to have to spank you for forgetting your map. And parking at the wrong trailhead.” His mind wandered to a time when they were naked, intertwined by the door to their bedroom. Esperanza spanked him while singing “Happy Birthday” in Spanish.

She whispered something to the young doctor.

“Not now. But he’ll be up for that in a few hours. Ask them to unhook the monitors and IVs for a bit. Just tell everyone when you want them to leave. He needs to start to move around anyway. Let him limp over to the bathroom door. Lean him up against the wall. And smack away!”

And so it came to pass that it wasn’t anywhere near time yet for Aaron to be delivered. And the setting was not at all romantic. No fire or tree. Neither candlelight nor juicy prime rib. No smooth jazz music. A bearskin rug nowhere to be found. But naked Esperanza gave naked Creed a Christmas spanking as snow began softly falling outside the window. Faith was renewed as a “mustard seed of hope” sprouted.