Over the mountain, part 7

This is part seven of how I ran away from home at 14, over a mountain. Be sure to read parts 1-6 if you haven't already.

Going down the other side of the mountain consisted of large areas of flat land that steadily went down to other areas of the same. That didn't make it a short walk by any means. Pathways came and went and I couldn't trust their directions. So I did a lot of cross country hiking without paths.

In one clearing I came across an abandoned van. Yes, a motor vehicle. Rust covered it, but it's windows were all intact and darkly tinted. I couldn't help but get a creepy sensation as I walked around it and passed it on by. I didn't want to so much as peek in a window. I didn't have to wonder how it got there for long as I found worn tracks of dirt like random narrow roads. I thought I could follow them, but they often became overgrown with weeds and bushes in places and I had to change course around spots.

I made my way through a strange shaped valley area that caused me to climb up a hill in order to make my way down any further. The hill was steep and I had to lean on the narrow tree trunks that filled the area in order to climb. I still had my stick and suitcase, so my hands were full. I stepped onto the top of that hill area and came face to face with a cow. I couldn't believe it. I stood only five feet away from it. Apparently the side of a mountain makes good natural containment for cows.

It regarded me for only a moment and went back to eating the tall grass it stood in. I carefully walked around it and kept on going. I made my way down another steep hill of narrow trees and found myself in a large clearing. I could see a few more cows standing in a group some distance away. A large cluster of brush oak stood in front of me and in the near center of this clearing, but closer to the trees I just came out of. I casually walked around and saw even more cows. Then I saw the bull.

What's worse, he also saw me. He stamped and snorted and I remembered that I had on a backpack that made me stick out like a neon sign. I backed up past the sight of the brush oak and thought fast. How could I escape a charging bull? He hadn't charged yet, but I needed a chance. The hill I just came down. I could walk up it halfway where the trees were no more than a foot or two apart. In the middle of them I would have fifteen or more trees between me and the bull from any direction.

He hadn't come around yet so I ran into those trees and followed the length of the hill. It brought me around the other side of that brush oak where I might see him again. He was gone. So were the cows. I couldn't see him anywhere, but he had to be on the other side of the brush oak. It's the only thing that made sense. Past where I saw that bull, I saw a wire fence. Even at the closest I could get by staying in the trees, it was a long distance to make. I moved up to the edge of the trees and looked all around. No sight of him. I had to move, I knew I couldn't stay there. I was hungry, thirsty and tired. I couldn't be on the mountain another night. I doubt the bull would have cared for that either.

Slowly I stepped out and I started walking for the fence line. Not too slowly, I didn't want to waste any time. As I felt more confident I quickened my pace. I had a fourth of the distance left when I heard the pounding sound behind me. I only needed one glance and I really shouldn't have taken it. The bull found me and charged. I ran for my life. I didn't look back again, only wanting to get past that fence to safety. I hoped it was safety anyway. Thoughts of the beast tearing right through the fencing to stay after me flashed in my mind. When I reached the fence I slid under it in the dirt like a pro baseball player. I scrambled to my feet, dropping my stick, and kept right on running. I landed on a another path made for some vehicle and followed it around a bend before I finally stopped. The bull had clearly stopped at the fence. I no longer heard it's hooves thundering on the ground for me.

I gasped for breath from my hard run and looked down at the path before me. Lying in the middle of the path, sunning itself, was another rattlesnake. It was much smaller than the first one. It also hadn't noticed me. I shook my head, thoroughly finished with my mountain encounter and just wanted to be anywhere but where I was. I will say I still didn't want to be home. I didn't consider that to be home anymore. I decided I would find roads, and stick to them on my journey instead.

I walked around the snake and continued on my way. Hours later, I found myself walking on a paved road in front of a few houses. I wanted some water so very badly that I marched right up to a door and knocked. The lady who answered was only too glad to give me a glass of water. She asked where I came from and when I told her, she gave me an expression of shock. She offered to make me a sandwich, but I declined. I didn't want to be there for long. She went inside as I finished my water. It wasn't long after I handed her the empty glass that a county Sheriff's car pulled up.

I was taken to a youth detention center in Morgan, Utah; ten miles from where I started. It wasn't against the law to run away from home in Utah, but there were reports about me across the state. My father came and picked me up. We had a long, long talk about why I ran away. He tried to help me, to negotiate things in the house for me. But in the end, I still wound up leaving. Still, this is my story of my mountain journey. You might wonder how I survived it. Was it dumb luck or a guardian angel? I personally believe the latter.

Over the mountain, part six

By now, if you've been following, you know this is about my running away at age 14. If not, please see parts 1-5.

The air chilled and darkness covered the mountain. I shivered, balled up tight in the logs I found. I closed my eyes even tighter and prayed. It didn't get dangerously cold, lucky for me, but enough to be very uncomfortable.

I dozed off at some point but awoke to something scraping against my backpack. Something scratched and even tugged. An animal, and I froze. I didn't turn to see what it was. I didn't move at all. I hoped, since it went for my backpack, and not me, that I would be okay by being absolutely still. Even so, as a a child totally inexperienced in what I was doing, the event was horrifying. I don't think I could have moved if I wanted to.

The scratching stopped and it sounded like the animal moved away toward the water. I still didn't move. I dozed off and woke up with feelings of terror through the night. I cursed myself for what I got myself into and wondered if I would see the sun rise. And if I did get up and run, where would I go? I couldn't see a thing. I could run right off the edge of some other cliff and that wouldn't do at all.

Finally, I opened my eyes to the first rays of morning sun. I made it. Still cold and stiff from laying on the ground, I stretched out and started to move. I lifted up and immediately dodged back down again. On the other side of the log, where I lay my head, about three feet of snake emerged. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who thought it a good place to hide for the night. I slowly inched away from the log and stood up so I could see it from a distance.

The snake moved sluggishly, thanks to the chill in the morning air. I watched it slowly make it's way all the way out, from its angular head to the set of rattles at the end of it's tail. Yes, I spent the night with a rattlesnake. If it weren't for the cold, I could have been in real trouble. Being on the other side of the log helped too, I'm certain. Perhaps that kept it from seeking the warmth of my body.

I caught my breath and looked around at the ground, remembering my visitor from the night. Tracks in the shape of tiny hands by the water told me a raccoon was what came to see me. But why was it so interested in my backpack? Couldn't have been the bright hunter orange color of it. I put some good distance between myself and the snake so I could check my backpack. I felt hungry and then remembered I had put some food in the pack. No holes, so the raccoon didn't get in.

When I opened up my pack I got a nasty surprise all the same. The mason jars of fruit were broken. Probably from my long fall earlier. Smashed fruit and broken glass were everywhere. I had to dump out my clothes and the glass, everything. Then I had to shake out my clothes and the pack to get as much out as possible.

The pit of my stomach ached as I repacked. I was seriously hungry and had to make my way down the mountain. (part 7 coming soon)

Over the mountain, part five

Please note this is part five, if you've missed anything you'll want to backtrack to 1-4.

So I stood on top of that mountain, part of the Wasatch front, and surveyed what I conquered. Then, I looked down the other side. There was still daylight, why not head down the other side and see how far I got? I walked down a steep slope several yards. I came to where the slope glistened in snow. It stretched out downward so far I couldn't be sure of where it ended. I found a ledge to my right and walked out onto it for a better look.

It was easily as steep down as the rock slide I climbed, only much further down. Maybe even twice the distance. On either side, jagged rocks defied me to find any other path to take. Across the mouth of that steep drop I saw another ledge. It's then I'm sure my eyes began to play tricks on me in the growing shadows of the evening. With the sun setting in the West, the East side of the mountain began to grow dark. Out on that opposite ledge, I thought I saw bones, partially unearthed with some kind of skull. Was it human? I don't know. I had to try and go across to look. That meant stepping across that snow pack.

I thought, if I used my stick and dug my feet in like before, it would be easy to cross over and check out the mystery on the other side. The first stamp of my foot whipped both out from under me. I flew down the snow pack like a human rocket. I couldn't stop myself no matter what I tried. I couldn't get my heels to stop me or the stick. I'm sure if I could be heard up there my long sound off of YAAAAAAAA would have turned every head in town.

A pointed black rock grew in front of me and I soon realized I needed to steer. I put my feet out for it and when I hit that rock, it acted like a ramp and tossed me into the air. I came down hard, knocking the wind out of me. More snow and still sliding. Mercifully, I crashed into a thicket of brush oak. I gasped for air and turned over on my side. I hardly felt the cold of the snow for sake of adrenalin.

My little blue suitcase and stick were still with me. Slowly I pushed myself up from the ground. I stood, perhaps in a bit of shock, staring at the way ahead. I landed all the way at the bottom of the slope of snow. What seemed like a valley area opened up in front of me. Tall trees loomed all around. I looked up to the ridge. No way was I getting back up there. The bone mystery would have to sit for someone else. As I stared, I thought I saw someone on the ridge. I thought I saw someone making their way down toward the snow.

It was more than likely my imagination, but it snapped me out of my stupor. I grabbed up my things and made way into the trees. I walked until I couldn't look back up at the ridge anymore. But I couldn't see a lot of things, darkness grew.

I found a new little stream to follow, this time without any hindrances on either side. But I knew I needed to find a place to hide out for the night. That's when I found the little island where the stream separated and went around either side. On that little island was an arrangement of logs. I lay down and curled up in the corner of those logs, praying that they would hide me for the night.

In that, more than the rock slide, more than the snowy pitfall, I would know real terror. (coming in part six)

Over the mountain, part four

This is the story of my journey over a mountain when I ran away from home at 14 years old. If you are just hopping into this, you might want to read parts 1-3 to catch up.

I paused in the trees above the rock slide to empty my shoes. Sharp rocks got into them during my excruciating climb. Once I did that I surveyed the grounds ahead of me. No path to be seen, so cross country I would go. I had to squeeze between some of the little trees because the cluster of them grew too close together. In ten or twenty feet, I came out of them and could see an array of hills going upward. Huge rocks and brush oak dotted the mountainside.

Brush oak, what is that anyway? It's a twisted and gnarled tree-like bush. It grows kind of like a giant bonsai tree. Ahead of me lay a literal forest of them. They weren't thorny or sharp or dangerous. But they were interesting to look at.

I started my climbing hike. I picked out large rocks or formations above me as stopping points and didn't stop until I made it to each one. At each point I paused and gazed down the mountain. I marveled at the incredible view. At one such stopping point, with a long way to go yet, I looked down and saw the helicopter.

I later learned that it might have been patrolling for me. Everyone below was in a tizzy. My little half sister found my note and took it to my stepmother who called Dad. The helicopter didn't climb up toward me, but stayed at one level down by the base of the mountain. As I looked down at it, I couldn't be sure of its purpose, but I had no intention of being found.

By this time, I should mention, my pants were mostly dried out. That's a good thing, because the mountain still had plenty of snow at the top. I started coming across it in wide patches. In that, I finally found a trail. The fact that I no longer had the stream to drink from also started to catch up with me. So what did I do for water next? I ate snow. I didn't even think about the dangers of dehydration. I was just lucky enough to think of eating snow because I was thirsty. I got hungry too, but wanted to save my food.

You might be wondering if I at least used the smarts to take a jacket with me. I did. I put my feet on the top of the mountain without any more perils. I looked down and raised my hands up over my head and yelled. From the peak I stood on, the weather station crested another peak far across. I thought about going over to look at it, but decided against it for chance of being caught.

I know I told you I would let you know in this part if I got into more trouble. I did indeed. You see, I made to the top of the mountain at this point, unscathed. I still had to travel down the other side.

Over the mountain, part 3

So far, I've told you about two small obstacles I overcame when I ran away from home over a mountain at age 14. If you missed those, go back and check out parts one and two.

Making it over that waterfall had me no closer to climbing out of the ravine the creek ran down the mountain in. For that matter, the path couldn't be seen anymore above me. It had wound off another direction. So I followed the water even further in a steady rise. There were two more small water falls I had to climb over, but they were a snap compared to the first. It was warming up now but I had no idea what time it was. I didn't have a watch on. I managed to leave that behind. Always have to forget something right?

So I can only tell you that I followed that creek for long time. When I finally had to stop, the creek ended abruptly and high above me, into the mountain itself. As if that weren't bad enough, to my right stood a high vertical wall of earth, taller than a two story house. To my left and up to the point the creek vanished, an even taller slope of broken rocks and gravel. It made the slope I slid down earlier seem puny though every bit as steep. I wondered if I was trapped, right then and there, but knew I couldn't just sit there.

I climbed up a short embankment to get onto the slide of rocks. I found that, if I kicked my feet in hard and jammed the stick into the ground the same, I could slowly climb up. The rocks were all shapes and sizes, from gravel tiny to fist sized. As I slowly lumbered upward, any I jarred loose, tumbled down into the creek behind me. Every foot upward took painstaking measure and sharp rocks got into my shoes. Three fourths of the way up I could see a boulder, bigger than two of me, wedged into the slide. I set that as a goal, a place I could rest before making it the rest of the way up. I struggled and sweat dripped into my eyes, but I kept going until I reached that boulder. I sat on it with a sigh of relief and looked down.

The creek looked so small and far away and I didn't fully realize just how steep this thing really was. As I pondered that the rock I sat on moved. Apparently, my extra weight served enough to loosen it from the slide. It threatened to roll right over top of me. With quick wits I didn't know I had I jumped to my left and jammed my hands hard into the dust and rocks in a desperate bid to stay put. I looked over my shoulder and watched the huge rock pound its way downward. It sent smaller rocks flying high into the air and created a wide cloud of tan dust. It hit the bottom with an echoing crash.

My heart pounded in my throat and I surveyed myself for damage and losses. Amazingly, my little blue suitcase and hiking stick were up against my knees. I pulled out one of my hands to grab the stick. In that sharp gravel I expected to pull out cut and bleeding hands. To my surprise, not one cut adorned my fingers. I was completely unharmed. I grabbed up suitcase and stick and went back to my method of climbing until I reached the top.

At the top, a new bank of earth stretched out in an overhang with small trees growing from it. I had to reach up and over with my little suitcase and put it past one of the small trees. Next I reached to pull myself up and over. I did this, by putting my stick behind and across a pair of the trees like a pullup bar. Finally, with great effort, I pulled myself out of the ravine onto the side of the mountain more formal. Landscape like a friendly hillside stretched out before me. I took one last look down the slide of rocks and knew I barely escaped with life and limb.

You might think such a realization would make me find a way to get back down that mountain and give up this mad idea. But the terrain ahead looked so much friendlier. I couldn't get into any more trouble like that could I? I'll tell you in part four.

Over the mountain, part two

Be sure to see part one, prior to this very post. As stated there, at 14 years old, on the first day of summer vacation, I ran away from home in Kaysville, Utah. Rather than run away in any standard form, I decided to hike over the Wasatch mountain front.

I left off as a pathway fell away under my feet and took me with it some several feet to the creek running below. I couldn't help but cry out in surprise as I slid in a cloud of dust and dirt. I stopped abruptly as my feet found the large stones lining the sides of the little creek and I paused to catch my breath. I craned my neck to look up the steep bank to the rest of the path high above my head. I looked down at the creek, then back up again. I wanted to be back on the path, so I flipped over and tried to climb back up. No dice. The dirt was far too loose. I had no choice but to follow the creek up to find another place to climb out. The banks were steep and stretched high on both sides. There were large stones around the creek sides and it only sat four feet wide at it's largest points. It wasn't deep either, but frigid cold. I had no wish to be wet.

In part one, I neglected to mention I actually had a target point to cross over the mountain. At the top of the mountain sat a weather station, a white domed building big enough to see from far below. It made sense to me that a man made structure had to have some way up to it. Too bad I had no idea how to find that.

So I started following the cold creek upward. Downward wasn't an option to me. It meant losing time in climbing and it was a matter of time before it was noted that I was gone. I left a note behind, yes a note. And in it I stated that I couldn't handle the fighting anymore, that I was leaving and didn't want anyone to come looking for me. I even said I would kill myself if they tried. Yes, I was a very depressed and hurting kid. I truly didn't feel I had anywhere safe to turn between my stepmother and a year of bullying in school. Studies now show that our autistic kids (and other special needs) are bullying magnets. I know this to be true from experience.

But, back to the story at hand, I followed the creek and for some time, I had very little trouble balancing on the rocks and even managed to hop across to easier sides a few times. I did great until I came to the waterfall. It wasn't severely high, head level to me for that matter. But there was no way around it. The banks were straight up and down walls of dirt at this point, easily twice my height. It was composed of giant boulders embedded in the earth and the waterfall part was about three feet wide. No choice at all. I searched for handholds and foot holds. I tried to grab on to the smoothed ledges and put my foot up on another below. I pushed myself and promptly slid and fell backwards. I barely caught myself before crashing to the rocks and water behind me.

I admit a feeling of panic at this overbearing obstacle, but I tried again. I managed to reach up to a flat spot that I could set my little suitcase. I pulled myself upward with some struggle and cold water flooded my pants. When I finally got a foot up on the top of the water fall and pulled myself up, I felt quite a sense of achievement, but also of wet and cold. I had reached a new plateau, but still couldn't climb out of the creek. I grabbed my little suitcase and started along the creek again. At this point I realized something. I was thirsty. Did I bring along a bottle of anykind for water? No.

You guessed it, I leaned down and drank that creek water from the snow runoff. It looked clear and it was very cold. Regardless of any risk I took, it was pretty refreshing. Then I spotted a long stick that looked just right for hiking. I grabbed it up and jammed it against the rocks and leaned on it a bit. My father used to carve walking sticks and taught me how to check for one that could bear my weight. I used to whittle on my fair share with my pocket knife. It bore my weight and a stought smack against the rocks, so it got the job. And off I went, little blue suitcase in one hand, stick in the other, and bright orange pack on my back. And, compared to so far, I hadn't faced anything yet.

Over the mountain, part one

I ran away from home when I was just 14. It was a very bipolar and yes somewhat Asperger's thing to do. Keep in mind that no one knew my conditions back then. And I didn't just run away once, but the first time was the most major and life threatening.

I didn't just pack a bag an run away to a friends house. I did decide I wanted to go to my mother's house in Fort Pierce, Florida. But I didn't hitch hike, no I felt that would be too dangerous. Instead I thought I could walk the days, hide out at night and go the entire 2400 mile trip that way. And I started off by hiking over the Wasatch mountain front.

The Wasatch mountain range stretches about 160 miles from Utah's north border southward. The hike took me two days and I made it ten miles, up over the mountian and into the town of Morgan on the other side.

I left to escape my stepmother and her abuse, yes I was rather desperate and severely depressed. I felt no safe haven, so I left. But this isn't to get into the details of her.

I thought I planned it pretty carefully. I would leave on the first day of summer vacation, very early before anyone got up in the morning. Well, I had to wait for Dad to leave for work, he would be up the earliest. I had this little blue flower pattern suitcase and a bright orange hunters backpack. I put some clothing and what I thought were essentials into them. I took my yearbook, a few comics, pencils and a notebook. I also packed in some home canned fruits into the backpack. I didn't stop to consider that going over a mountain with glass jars wasn't the brightest of ideas.

I had most of what I needed ready to go as I lay in my bed and listened to Dad go through his morning ritual. I even heard his old white pickup rumble out of the driveway. Then I went into action. I gathered up my things and headed out. I was so sure that the shortest way to anywhere was a straight line and thought it would be quite an adventure in the process.

Getting to the base of the mountain took longer than I anticipated. The mountains are so large they make themselves look closer than they really are. But I got to them inside of an hour. Then I found paths to lead up through the brush oak at the base. Now it really looked like it would be an easy trip, after all, there were hiking trails. Hiking trails are a good thing right?

Spring runoff was still in full run, meaning that snow up top melted and filled little streams running down the mountain. They then feed creeks and small rivers out to the Great Salt Lake.

I came across a campfire at a point in the path that spread out to a circular clearing. It still smouldered, telling me I wasn't alone on the mountain. The black dirt path led around a corner of sorts and started to follow one of those little streams up ward. The path became narrow and the dirt loose. About twenty feet below the creek bubbled away. I looked up the path and thought it didn't look too bad and started along it. I made it about ten steps before the path fell away from under me.