Carne Mountain to High Pass (page 23)

As I lay there, anger began to steal over me. I was furious that I had been so bloody damned stupid! Here I was, in one of the most beautiful areas I had ever seen, on the hiking adventure of a lifetime, and now I was going to have to cut it short because I'd gone and cut up my ankle. So close to the finish of the trip, the final leg down the fabled Napeequa Valley, and I'd screwed it all up good. As I lay there castigating myself, I heard voices. The mysterious neighbors had returned.

Greg and Bill

I crawled out of the tent, straightened my clothes and ran my fingers through my greasy hair. I wanted to look as presentable as possible; it seemed important somehow not to appear too desperate. I walked slowly towards the neighboring tent site and caught sight of two large men moving about the now familiar blue tent. I thought my opening line was so cool and calm at the time, but now it seems pretty silly. "Pardon me," I said. "Would one of you happen to be a doctor?"

They both looked at me in surprise, then the older gentleman said slowly, "No. Are you having some sort of problem?"

It turned out that Bill and Greg were the next best thing to a doctor – an Eagle Scoutmaster and his son! Bless their souls, they got out a first-aid kit that contained the biggest tube of disinfectant cream you ever saw, along with some butterfly band-aids. Bill turned a little greenish as he looked at the puncture. Greg, his son, confided that his dad didn't do well at the sight of blood but was trained in first-aid and wasn't I lucky that they had stayed over a day longer than they had originally planned?

Yes, yes, YES! I was truly grateful and fervently told them both so several times. As we talked, Bill took a teaspoonful of that first-aid cream and squished it into the bloody hole, then closed it up with several butterfly band-aids. I swear, he was more ashen-face about it than I was – and he hadn't seen it when it really looked bad.

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