Another edition of On the Road with the Redheads
There were so many “Oh Shit” moments on our trip that I’ve broken them up into two posts! If you haven’t yet read Part 1, you can find it here.
As a refresher, “Oh Shit” moments are moments when – as a single parent – I’ve made a choice to take my kids somewhere that becomes, or appears to become, dangerous, and the particular guilt that I feel for doing this without the knowledge of my coparent.
“Oh Shit” Moment #3
I love a good adventure. So much so that I’ve been known to get involved in one, only to realize that it’s riskier than I thought.
Capitol Reef National Park gets passed up by a lot of explorers. (See aforementioned “Oh Shit” moment for one reason). “Quaint” is a word that comes to mind, though that word belittles its dangers. A mountain lion had recently been spotted in the apricot orchard. When we reached our trailhead, a sign reminded us that “Heat Kills.”
Still, the scenic drive along the wrinkle in the earth called the “Waterpocket Fold” Is absolutely breathtaking, and easy to take in as the driver – no dangerous drop-offs or cliffs. (The road would be quite treacherous during a flash flood warning, but thankfully that danger had passed by the time we visited).
We reached the end of the road and a sign pointed toward the Capitol Gorge trail. I had read that petroglyphs were visible on the trail, along with a pioneer register from the late 1800s and early 1900s. Plus, if we felt ambitious we could climb up a steep rock cliff to find the “Tanks,” small pools in the rock that maintain their own ecosystems.
“It must be this way,” I said to the kids, and pretty soon our rental car was bumping along a gravel road straight at a rock face that rose hundreds of feet into the air. We took a sharp right turn and a desert bush scraped against the side of the car. “Were we supposed to walk this?” I asked out loud. But pretty quickly – as a car came driving straight toward me – I realized it was in fact a road. We drove between the sheer rock faces on a path that was occasionally only wide enough for just one car. At every turn I held my breath and crept forward, willing us not to get a flat tire, or to have a rock kicked up through the windshield, or to slam headfirst into a camper van.
It was thrilling, but not without risk. And I found myself wondering what Darth would say. As part of our coparenting routine, we regularly tell one another when we take the girls out of our state or when they spend the night somewhere other than our houses. And now I had them down a gravel road in the heat of the day in a gorge with no cell service and a sign that read “Heat Kills.”
But when we got to the trail we were very much not alone. We hiked alongside a few other groups. Groups that had kids. Groups led by dads. Why is it that the presence of a dad is so comforting? I found myself veering toward them, sometimes following their lead, trusting that if they were near, things would be ok.
I noticed that it was often the dads that went off on riskier side hikes with kids, who seemed to explore with fun and without fear. Things that I wanted to be able to do.
I think that I definitely did feel safer when there was a dad around. But I don’t think this is only about codependence. I think it’s also about my identity as a single mom. I think I was also looking to the dads for the reassurance that what I was doing was not too risky, not too stupid. I was trying to embody both mom energy (safety, security, compassion) and dad energy (fun, adventurous, active) at the same time. And I’m not sure that’s possible to do without tension. Tension that often showed up in my body in the form of physical shakiness or mental irritation.
We loved the hike. I was awed by petroglyphs close enough to touch. The girls enjoyed freeclimbing a rock face and searching for the “tanks.” (We didn’t find any though. I suspect they had all dried up in the heat). And when I felt like they’d gone up too far, we all climbed down and found our way back to the gravel road with nothing more than slightly sunburt shoulders.
The homemade chocolate ice cream from the Gifford House near the entry to the park was a delicious and welcome reward.
“Oh Shit” Moment #4
On the morning of our fourth day of hiking and national park exploring in a row, I found myself Googling “Hiking Delicate Arch with kids.” It turned up quite a few blog posts, most of which said that hiking the trail with kids was absolutely possible, and turned out great.
I really wanted to do the “march to the arch” that I had read about, so when we entered Arches National Park we bypassed the Visitor’s Center and drove straight there, arriving mid-morning. It was hot, in the 80s, but there was a cool breeze that made the temperature more than bearable.
I was most scared about the heat and the elevation – based on what I’d read, these were the most dangerous factors. But surprisingly, shade was possible to come by, and the walk across the slickrock (smooth rock face at a slight incline) was beautiful and the footing was sure. I overheard someone say, “It was really windy at the top though.” But the wind where we were was pleasant, not scary.
However. The final quarter of the hike wound around the top of the rock on a narrow trail with a rock wall on one side and a sheer drop off on the other. (No guardrail). I had read that other parents told their kids to keep a hand on the wall, and I did the same with mine. As they crept along the path-for-one, I saw Belle and Bugg’s lives flashing before my eyes.
To reach the plateau at the top of the rock where Delicate Arch sits (on the side of a cliff) you turn a blind corner on one of these sheer bits of trail. It’s not immediately apparent when you are almost there. As we walked it, not knowing just how close we were, a woman coming back the other way said, “I would take off your hats.” Belle and I took ours off. Bugg wasn’t wearing one.
Boy am I glad we did. When we emerged from the trail onto the plateau, the wind was so strong that we stayed low to the ground and were constantly scared of being blown over the edge of the cliff. There were definitely people going up to the arch to take photos, but we didn’t get nearly that close. The wind whipped at us constantly, and more powerfully than maybe I’d ever felt. It seemed like one strong gust might send us flying.
We probably stayed at the top all of five minutes. For a few of those minutes I admit being a bit paralyzed – I didn’t want to stay, but was afraid to leave. I took photos but couldn’t really see what I was photographing. I was afraid of my phone slipping out of my hands and going over the cliff.
Finally we carefully stood up and crept back to the narrow cliffside path. In the shelter and shade of the rock, we took a moment to gather ourselves, take deep breaths, and steady our legs.
Did I take it too far? There were dozens of families at the top of the rock, some cowering from the wind like us, others climbing across it to get closer to the arch. How risky is too risky? It’s a question I asked myself over and over on this trip, as we hiked sometimes slippery trails with steep drop-offs, were constantly threatened by severe weather events, and drove for miles out of view of another human, shade, or a rest stop.
Anything could have happened, and at the end of the day we were okay. We had an amazing adventure where I learned new things about myself and both of my kids. Would Darth have approved of every hike, every drive, every climb? Probably not. But sometimes I am the one solely responsible for the kids’ safety. I may not have had another parent or another adult to share the worry, the decisions, and the energy. But I learned what’s possible as a single mom. And I hope my kids learned that they are capable of more than they’d ever imagined.