It's important to enjoy life and stay safe. Hiking is my passion. Pushing yourself beyond your comfort level builds confidence.

Crossing Chatter Creek with Huge Spring Runoff

During our four-year drought, hiking Chatter Creek was easy, albeit extremely steep. Multiple creek crossings were low or completely dried up. In 2016 after heavy winter snow, Spring runoff was huge.

On May 24 I hiked up Chatter Creek trail with Karen and Gro. When we go to the biggest creek crossing, I froze. Chatter Creek was huge, fast and crashing over waterfalls, wet, slippery boulders, logs and rocks. To cross, I would have to climb up a giant vertical boulder, negotiate slippery rocks and logs, and walk up a sharply tilted, nearly vertical tree trunk that had fallen across the creek, jamming against the boulder.

“No way,” I thought and dropped downhill, scouting for an easier crossing. I managed to cross a waterfall to a little island in the creek, but there was no way to get to the other bank.

Discouraged, I returned to the original crossing. Karen and Gro were (magically) on the far bank of Chatter Creek. Karen, 68, nimbly scrambled back, asking, “Are you afraid?” “Terrified,” I admitted.

“Hand me your pack and hiking pole,” Karen said. I collapsed the pole, strapping it to my pack. Karen scrambled halfway across, tossing my day pack to Gro. “Wow, your pack is heavy!” Gro exclaimed when she caught it. “What have you got in there, the kitchen sink?”

“Kathleen, we are going to use rock climbing skills,” Karen explained. “Always keep three limbs anchored; only move one hand or one foot at a time. I will go slowly. Follow me and put your hands and feet exactly where I put mine.”

“Put your left foot here. Now boost yourself up and grab this edge with your right hand. Brace yourself with your left foot and right hand.” Together we scrambled up the vertical boulder like spiders.

Negotiated slippery rocks and logs. Next was the sharply tilted log. Walking up the log was impossible.

“Now straddle the log like riding a horse, letting your legs dangle down the side,” Karen said. “Use your hands to scoot yourself forward up the log.” We edged around protruding branches.

Descending, that scary creek crossing was much easier. I had mentally rehearsed and knew I could do it. As a small woman, it is often easier to sit down and slide off boulders, landing downhill on my feet. On the far side, Karen reached out and helped Gro and me jump across the water to the slippery, steep bank.

Hiking builds self-confidence when we face challenges and surmount them.

I just had a conversation with a friend this weekend about something similar to some degree. We were driving behind a flat bed truck hauling a car. She asked if I ever worried that a car was going to fall off the bed. My answer in a nutshell was that I often over analyze most things, but that I've trained myself to also account for the probability. It's wise to leave a little extra room behind anyone hauling anything, and in general is good to have an exit strategy on the road, knowing what the flow of traffic is doing around you in case you need to swerve on a moment's notice, but not to the degree that it becomes an all consuming worry.

The problem isn't caution, it is the level and appropriateness of the caution. I look both ways when crossing the street, but I don't cower at the curb until there are no cars in sight all the way to the horizon in both directions, either.

Caution is life-preserving. You will live more.

And I don't mean just in the broad, you-won't-get-hit-by-a-car-crossing-the-street sense, either. I mean in the aggregate of all those little moments you saved for yourself because you weren't hasty, sloppy, etc. You'll save yourself time, energy, emotional energy, etc.--which has the potential to make the whole of life that much smoother.

And that, incidentally, puts you in a far better position, when the time comes, to throw caution to the wind.

I don't let anyone shame me for being cautious or prepared.

Nothing wrong with a little caution, IMO.