Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath.
-Theodore Roethke
The Mukutan Gorge looks like another country unto itself. From the low scrub and bush rises a splendid place of converging canyons, steep mountains, and tropical jungle-like vegetation surrounding crystalline waterfalls, pools and streams. Getting there is not easy, nor for the faint of heart. But Paradise should take a bit of getting to.
Trekking through high grass and down into riverine banks darkened by tropical plants and trees, the light changes once again as filtered sun cuts through dense foliage, playing hide and seek in the cool shadows. Across moss-covered rocks and running water, through walls of dripping palm fronds and branches heavy with lichen, the hike continues through this moist and fertile world, offering no easy footpath or break in trees.
Today, I am hiking the gorge with Douglas and Jeffrey, Philip, two armed guards, and two young women, one American, one German, who are volunteering at the research center. Finally, coupled with relief and exhilaration, we reach one of the jewels of the Mukutan Gorge, the "Big Waterfall." On this mountaintop, high above the Great Rift Valley and surrounded by the convergence of teal canyons and silver cliffs, the immense waterway spills with a powerful life force into the raging river below. This glorious waterfall rushes a torrent of water into the lower canyon, a hundred, perhaps two hundred feet below us, and where a family of baboons hunkers below enjoying the cool, refreshing spray. We've been hiking for a few hours now and this spot is the perfect place to rest and marvel at nature's pristine beauty.
We rest for awhile but are mindful of the remaining daylight and the ground that must still be covered. It's not until I stand that I am aware of my exhaustion and the little water the canteen has provided. My legs are incredibly weak, my boots feeling like tonnage. While we rested, I removed my boots and found my feet bleeding. Many blisters had formed and the roominess of the boots created an atmosphere for my feet to move enough to scratch, cut and bleed with every uneasy step onto cliff or across rocks. Pulling the unnatural weight around my ankles, too, has made my legs weaker than they should be, and knowing that many hours of hiking lay ahead, I can only hope for the best. After a few hours of extreme exertion beneath a raging sun and with little water, I am not feeling as strong as I need to be.
Heading back is nearly unbearable. I say little, reserving my energy, as are the others, taking it slowly as the midday sun continues to weigh heavily upon us. We have managed to retrace our steps and are hiking through a vast area of thick, waist high grass, a spot that is known to harbor many species from big cats to elephant and buffalo. It is imperative that we remain silent, a place where only days ago, an employee was killed by an elephant.
Just as I am seeing the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, the head guide veers from the grass plain and into low, thick vegetation heading into the incline of a mountainside. I have forgotten that the guides promised to take us to the see the drawings - the prehistoric cave drawings and straight up the side of a mountain. The cave, now, is home to nesting birds of prey, but evidently, while they hunt and scavenge, the cave remains safe for the viewing.
All of this is beside the point. I know my limitations and by now, I have surpassed them. I am dehydrated and exhausted, but at this moment, in this spot, there is nothing to do but go on. We are in the middle of nowhere, literally, and moving forward is the only way out. The problem is we are moving sideways, up the steep mountain slope. The vegetation is dense but low, offering no sturdy tree trunks or limbs to hold onto while traversing the mountainside. One by one, we slowly make our way up, stepping through and over a thick tangle of jungle foliage. My breathing has become labored and I feel as though I'm moving in slow motion.
Many times, each one of us loses footing on the mountainside and slips down -- gripping onto anything - branch or bush that will break our fall down the steep decline. We are just feet away from the crest of the mountain where the darkened cave lies, but I cannot make it. The others have somehow lifted their worn bodies up the precipice and scrambled over the ledge and into the cave opening. They coax me along, saying I can make it -- it is only a few more feet -- but I cannot move another inch. I have never been so physically challenged in my life, and while in good shape, I'm a good 15 years older than my twenty and thirty year old companions. I've pushed my limits of exercise and exertion for miles in the relentless African sun.
A few feet from the top, I clench anything that will hold me and keep me anchored enough so as not to fall or slide down the mountain. I am holding on with my last bit of strength, damp earth and vegetation seemingly moving all about me. "Please be careful of safari ants," I hear someone say, as I grasp the soil, roots, anything offering solidity. But safari ants, snakes, scorpions, spiders, suddenly become of little or no consequence. For the first time in my life, I have reached a point where I truly do not care what happens next. It is surprisingly peaceful. I think about John, about dying. I think about my own mortality and how fortunate I am to have come back to Africa, alone to heal, in a place that has always felt like home. If this was to be the place where I should go, from heatstroke, tumbling down a mountainside, snake bite, whatever, it was simply meant to be. It is an amazing moment, letting go. I sit, my scratched hands and arms grasping anything and everything, feet and legs, caked with dirt and mud planted firmly into the slope, bracing my weight. I hear everyone talking from inside the darkened cave, echoing voices across ancient stone, amazement at the prehistoric drawings painstakingly carved into cave walls.
My breathing has slowed, my heartbeat calmed. I am warm and tired. I watch insects move in and out of the soil around me. Through the watery sunlight, I see the magnificent birds of prey circling overhead in a sky so bright it hurts my eyes. I smell the life force of the earth, hear the breath of the leaves. I gaze at the majestic mountain opposite me, and across the canyon below, at the ethereal scenery that has breathed me into its lungs and swallowed me whole, and cannot believe how beautiful it all is. In resignation, hanging onto a mountain, I am part of a single moment in time. I am part of it all, past, present, and future, all one. This must be Heaven.
Editor's note: Updated information on this story is here.
Copyright 2004.
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