Lost down the Trail

I was reading the new this morning about the man, Eric Robinson. He’s currently 64 years old, 5’7″, and lost in the Uintah mountains, being now 6 days overdue.. Here’s the article, KSL.com. His wife comes on the video and seems somewhat calm about this all, probably because Eric hikes all over the world. That’s a pretty good life: walking down trails, finding the way, seeing the earth as an explorer would. He always comes back.

The Uintah range foothills are right out my back door. He’s out in the area of Kings peak from what I understand. It’s a big range. It’s not like the Eastern Sierra’s of California, but it big enough. It’s a place that is shrouded in old mysteries and Native Folklore. And, as sad as it seems, he may be gone for good. At some point men decide it is their time to move on. And a man like this, well, why would he let himself pass on to the next life whilst idle in an arm chair?

Edward Abbey once wrote about finding a dead man out in the Canyonlands park. He wrote romantically about the man and said that if there was a way to go out, why not just find a good rock and wait there to die? Sounds good to me. I feel for his wife. I wish the little lady the best in this search. If I had time I’d go out there to look with everyone else. But some of us are stuck in the distance and some of us know, also, that the place is big and should a man decide it’s his time, then maybe it is.

Bon Courage, Eric!!

empty mountain

What a beautiful mountain. A true sight to behold. A wonderful place to walk. A better place to die. Many come from the local towns and take a walk up its side to its top where the air is thin. At this point they are all standing upon her breast, feeding as it were on the majestic view of her eternal resting place and the silence of the clamor below on the city streets. There they stand and look at their own world from that of Timpanogos. They, of course, never realize that that is what they are doing. They are visitors. It is her home.

A man will sit there, way up there on the top of a slope where Timpanogos’s hands are folded, in this next season of warmth. He will ponder his life. He will look not at the grand view of his vantage point, but at the small chards of broken rock that lie around his seat. He will wonder why he has led a life that took him away from the natural places that made him feel so alive. And this he will ask himself time and time again. Each time he will have a different answer. And each answer will be just as useful as another rock under his feet.

And then he will be gone. The other people will also disappear. The sun will still shine. The clouds will still fly over head. Timpanogos will not move, nor has she shaken. But the men will come no more. And there in the sky, Timpanogos will have her peace and she shall be alone. Her trails will fill with plants. The snows will come and they will no longer claim the lives of men, nor their tracks.

Heber will no longer move, except it be the shadows that fall from the sailing clouds. No one will drive anymore. The roads that go off into the distance in all directions will no longer be traveled. No more will men behold the mountain from where I stand.

But why? Where have the people gone? Why?

The world ran out of oil. People moved to the cities. Men no longer move freely about in their automobiles. Men will have forgotten Timpanogos by then.