A Wake Up Call?
Just a few minutes into the hike, I knew I’d regret it. We’d only just started the descent when I thought to myself, “I shouldn’t have done this.” But there was no going back.
I was climbing down to the Seven Sisters Falls in the middle of the rainforest in Grenada a week ago. It was the third of four days I was spending in Grenada with a group of about eight people, guests of the Grenada Tourist Board.
Trip started off pretty well. They put us up in an exclusive place, the Spice Island Beach Resort, and we did some cool things like mingling with the locals on Friday night at a fish fry and a surreal snorkelling trip on Saturday.
Our itinerary for Sunday included a one hour drive into the rainforest and then a “gentle” hike down to the Seven Sisters Waterfalls. I wasn’t too concerned about it. I was a bit worried about my lower back which had been giving me issues for several weeks, or months even, although that morning when I woke up it wasn’t bothering me at all. I knew that we would be going down, deep into a valley, but I pictured us walking, calmly, down a winding path.
We got to the starting off point and got off our van. We were handed crude walking sticks. We met our guide Telfour Bedeau, a 72-year-old Grenadian, who claims to have walked over a million miles. He told us the hike wasn’t tough, but gave us a few warnings. “Keep the stick in front of you, don’t step on rocks, cause they’ll slide out beneath you. If you have to go down on your bums; better muddy pants than a broken back.”
With that he started to lead us down a gravel path, pointing out the various flora and plants on both sides of us.
It was a hot, sunny day, temperature hovering around 30C. I had a backpack on my back with water, a heavy hotel towel and camera. The start of the hike was pleasant enough. It was a steep decline, but it was a civilized gravel path. I took pictures of the flora and various scenes, including a dilapidated farm house with threatening signs. “Keep Off. Head Off.”
Then we got to a fork in the road. A sign saying “Seven Sisters Falls” pointed to the left. But I thought it was a mistake. To our right, the gravel path continued, to our left I only saw a bushy, narrow path.
Telfour went left, and we, like sheep, followed him.
Deep in the rainforest now with green on all sides, the humidity really started to take its toll on us. Or on me anyways. The descent was no longer a calm walk. Although, thankfully, it wasn’t raining, it had rained the couple days before and the ground beneath us was muddy and slick. At first the path was partially turned into a makeshift stairway with some strategically placed bamboo sticks, but soon this disappeared and the hike became treacherous.
With gravity bearing its weight on us, we had to negotiate over steep, sharp boulders and maintain balance. It was at this point I started to regret this and wanted to turn back. But I wasn’t sure, then, if we would be coming back up the same way and didn’t want to separate from the group. “This is stupid,” I kept saying to myself. I wanted to close my eyes and be whisked forward in time, to the night, safe and sound in my $1000 a night hotel bed.
My luxury bed.
At this point it was my back I was worried about. I didn’t want to turn sharply, or fall, and pull a muscle. I held tight to some boulders, carefully treading, trying to find safe spots to put my feet on. At one point, I lost my balance, and instead of trying to straighten up, I decided to fall slowly on my behind, like Telfour told us to, and descended a few feet on my ass.
Standing up on a small patch of level ground, I found myself sweating from my nose and God knows where else. But, to be fair to me, I wasn’t the only one sweating. We were all drenched. I was just the only one having a hard go. I noticed that I was breathing in short, heavy breaths. Again, I thought, I should have stayed back at the hotel. Our guide told us we were almost there. “Five more minutes,” he said. Five endless minutes, it seemed.
I was so tired I couldn't keep my hands still to take a picture.
I continued descending like a girl. Careful. Slow. Holding on to everything I could. And to be fair to girls, there were five of them in our group, all of whom did better than I did.
We finally got to level ground and I could hear the splashing of the waterfalls. But there was one more obstacle. A narrow, boulder filled river that had to be crossed. At this point, completely out of strength and energy, I just waded into it, not caring about getting my shoes and socks wet. They were all muddy anyways. This was to be my Everest climb. My trek to Alaska.
A dip in the clear water of the falls would have been nice and refreshing. The water looked cool and inviting. But that would have required a slightly further descent over a rough path, and I didn’t see the point of that. There was a bamboo bench and I just plopped down, took my hat off and put my head in my hands.
I was tired. One of the girls asked me if I was dizzy. No, I said. Just tired.
The rest of the group continued down to the falls, while I regained composure. On my mind was the trek back up. Although our guide said, “the climb up is easier”, it would take a lot more energy. And I wasn’t sure I had that.
I drank my water, put my backpack back on, and we started the hike back up.
Immediately, my legs felt weak.Though the climb up was easier, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. No longer concerned about my back, (and going up I gave it quite a workout) I was now seriously concerned about a heart attack. I was breathing very heavily, and felt light headed. But I continued soldiering on. I was making it worse by taking long, heavy steps up. I also wasn’t resting. At this point, I just wanted to summit. I thought resting would make it worse. If I stopped, I felt, I didn’t think I would be able to restart. That my body would just give.
I had images of getting a heart attack, or of not being able to continue. There was no way, anybody could carry me up. I wasn’t sure what they would do. I briefly imagined Roger, our driver and guide, coming down and telling me in his West Indies English…”Look mon, we got a helicopter coming…but it might take a day or two. Here’s a sandwich and some water. Stay warm.”
So, I led the pack up. Ignoring my body’s protests I forced myself up without pausing, long strides, one after another. I kept looking up, but the summit never appeared closer. Finally, I thought I’d finished, but no, I was now back on the gravel path that forked. That pleasant, gradual hike down this path now seemed like a teasing, punishing, walk up.
But finally I reached the top where our van was. I threw myself on a little bamboo bench and caught my breath. I was the first up. Everybody else was at least five or ten minutes behind me. I certainly over exerted myself. But I had done it. And I had lived. Our guide, Telfour, meanwhile, didn’t look like he even broke a sweat. I’m glad I didn’t smoke anymore. I’m sure I would still be lying on the trek unable to move.
I was a sorry sight. Hot, dirty. The seat of my shorts were covered in mud, and I felt a bit bad that we were going right away to a posh place for lunch. Oh well! Walking about, my legs felt like jelly. I had regained composure and colour and wasn’t in any pain yet.
I knew I would wake up sore the next morning. That was to be expected. The next day we were doing a walking tour of the island. I probably, in hindsight, should have bowed out of this. It wasn’t a hard walk, it was actually nice. But I had a very hard time doing stairs. Both up and down.
This continued. On Tuesday we flew back and my upper thighs were screaming everytime I sat down or got up. We had to climb about 20 stairs to get on the plane and I wasn’t sure I could do it. I almost tripped. Walking, it felt like my legs were about to give at the knee.
Now, a week later, my left leg is probably about 90 per cent better, and my right about 80 per cent better.
Everybody keeps telling me the same thing: This is a Wake Up Call. And maybe they’re right. Maybe I need to get into some shape.
All I know is that my dream of climbing Everest has taken a back seat.
Joe Serge 1966-2009
"He was always a good boy," his mother said. "He'll do his duty till he's grown."
I was climbing down to the Seven Sisters Falls in the middle of the rainforest in Grenada a week ago. It was the third of four days I was spending in Grenada with a group of about eight people, guests of the Grenada Tourist Board.
Trip started off pretty well. They put us up in an exclusive place, the Spice Island Beach Resort, and we did some cool things like mingling with the locals on Friday night at a fish fry and a surreal snorkelling trip on Saturday.
Our itinerary for Sunday included a one hour drive into the rainforest and then a “gentle” hike down to the Seven Sisters Waterfalls. I wasn’t too concerned about it. I was a bit worried about my lower back which had been giving me issues for several weeks, or months even, although that morning when I woke up it wasn’t bothering me at all. I knew that we would be going down, deep into a valley, but I pictured us walking, calmly, down a winding path.
We got to the starting off point and got off our van. We were handed crude walking sticks. We met our guide Telfour Bedeau, a 72-year-old Grenadian, who claims to have walked over a million miles. He told us the hike wasn’t tough, but gave us a few warnings. “Keep the stick in front of you, don’t step on rocks, cause they’ll slide out beneath you. If you have to go down on your bums; better muddy pants than a broken back.”
With that he started to lead us down a gravel path, pointing out the various flora and plants on both sides of us.
It was a hot, sunny day, temperature hovering around 30C. I had a backpack on my back with water, a heavy hotel towel and camera. The start of the hike was pleasant enough. It was a steep decline, but it was a civilized gravel path. I took pictures of the flora and various scenes, including a dilapidated farm house with threatening signs. “Keep Off. Head Off.”
Then we got to a fork in the road. A sign saying “Seven Sisters Falls” pointed to the left. But I thought it was a mistake. To our right, the gravel path continued, to our left I only saw a bushy, narrow path.
Telfour went left, and we, like sheep, followed him.
Deep in the rainforest now with green on all sides, the humidity really started to take its toll on us. Or on me anyways. The descent was no longer a calm walk. Although, thankfully, it wasn’t raining, it had rained the couple days before and the ground beneath us was muddy and slick. At first the path was partially turned into a makeshift stairway with some strategically placed bamboo sticks, but soon this disappeared and the hike became treacherous.
With gravity bearing its weight on us, we had to negotiate over steep, sharp boulders and maintain balance. It was at this point I started to regret this and wanted to turn back. But I wasn’t sure, then, if we would be coming back up the same way and didn’t want to separate from the group. “This is stupid,” I kept saying to myself. I wanted to close my eyes and be whisked forward in time, to the night, safe and sound in my $1000 a night hotel bed.
My luxury bed.
At this point it was my back I was worried about. I didn’t want to turn sharply, or fall, and pull a muscle. I held tight to some boulders, carefully treading, trying to find safe spots to put my feet on. At one point, I lost my balance, and instead of trying to straighten up, I decided to fall slowly on my behind, like Telfour told us to, and descended a few feet on my ass.
Standing up on a small patch of level ground, I found myself sweating from my nose and God knows where else. But, to be fair to me, I wasn’t the only one sweating. We were all drenched. I was just the only one having a hard go. I noticed that I was breathing in short, heavy breaths. Again, I thought, I should have stayed back at the hotel. Our guide told us we were almost there. “Five more minutes,” he said. Five endless minutes, it seemed.
I was so tired I couldn't keep my hands still to take a picture.
I continued descending like a girl. Careful. Slow. Holding on to everything I could. And to be fair to girls, there were five of them in our group, all of whom did better than I did.
We finally got to level ground and I could hear the splashing of the waterfalls. But there was one more obstacle. A narrow, boulder filled river that had to be crossed. At this point, completely out of strength and energy, I just waded into it, not caring about getting my shoes and socks wet. They were all muddy anyways. This was to be my Everest climb. My trek to Alaska.
A dip in the clear water of the falls would have been nice and refreshing. The water looked cool and inviting. But that would have required a slightly further descent over a rough path, and I didn’t see the point of that. There was a bamboo bench and I just plopped down, took my hat off and put my head in my hands.
I was tired. One of the girls asked me if I was dizzy. No, I said. Just tired.
The rest of the group continued down to the falls, while I regained composure. On my mind was the trek back up. Although our guide said, “the climb up is easier”, it would take a lot more energy. And I wasn’t sure I had that.
I drank my water, put my backpack back on, and we started the hike back up.
Immediately, my legs felt weak.Though the climb up was easier, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. No longer concerned about my back, (and going up I gave it quite a workout) I was now seriously concerned about a heart attack. I was breathing very heavily, and felt light headed. But I continued soldiering on. I was making it worse by taking long, heavy steps up. I also wasn’t resting. At this point, I just wanted to summit. I thought resting would make it worse. If I stopped, I felt, I didn’t think I would be able to restart. That my body would just give.
I had images of getting a heart attack, or of not being able to continue. There was no way, anybody could carry me up. I wasn’t sure what they would do. I briefly imagined Roger, our driver and guide, coming down and telling me in his West Indies English…”Look mon, we got a helicopter coming…but it might take a day or two. Here’s a sandwich and some water. Stay warm.”
So, I led the pack up. Ignoring my body’s protests I forced myself up without pausing, long strides, one after another. I kept looking up, but the summit never appeared closer. Finally, I thought I’d finished, but no, I was now back on the gravel path that forked. That pleasant, gradual hike down this path now seemed like a teasing, punishing, walk up.
But finally I reached the top where our van was. I threw myself on a little bamboo bench and caught my breath. I was the first up. Everybody else was at least five or ten minutes behind me. I certainly over exerted myself. But I had done it. And I had lived. Our guide, Telfour, meanwhile, didn’t look like he even broke a sweat. I’m glad I didn’t smoke anymore. I’m sure I would still be lying on the trek unable to move.
I was a sorry sight. Hot, dirty. The seat of my shorts were covered in mud, and I felt a bit bad that we were going right away to a posh place for lunch. Oh well! Walking about, my legs felt like jelly. I had regained composure and colour and wasn’t in any pain yet.
I knew I would wake up sore the next morning. That was to be expected. The next day we were doing a walking tour of the island. I probably, in hindsight, should have bowed out of this. It wasn’t a hard walk, it was actually nice. But I had a very hard time doing stairs. Both up and down.
This continued. On Tuesday we flew back and my upper thighs were screaming everytime I sat down or got up. We had to climb about 20 stairs to get on the plane and I wasn’t sure I could do it. I almost tripped. Walking, it felt like my legs were about to give at the knee.
Now, a week later, my left leg is probably about 90 per cent better, and my right about 80 per cent better.
Everybody keeps telling me the same thing: This is a Wake Up Call. And maybe they’re right. Maybe I need to get into some shape.
All I know is that my dream of climbing Everest has taken a back seat.
Joe Serge 1966-2009
"He was always a good boy," his mother said. "He'll do his duty till he's grown."