"COFFEE!"Elk yelled the morning wake-up call across the camp. I trundled down to get my coffee, dragging along my luggage to load onto the raft for the last mile's float downstream to Whitmore Wash. We'd fly out four people at a time on a small helicopter, being lifted up to Bar 10 Ranch on the rim where hot showers and cold drinks awaited us before our flight back to Vegas.
My shoes were broken. My clothes were filthy. I had an itchy rash on the back of both arms, my heels were cracking, my shins were scratched with sand where I'd rubbed on gritty sunscreen, and my hair felt like straw. I'd broken the zipper on my duffel bag and my face was taut, the skin flaking off in small patches. Yesterday, I'd been cold in the rapids and actually thought "ENOUGH."
But I felt confident and strong, barely thinking about the problems at home that had sent me scrambling for a quick perspective fix. For the moment, my soul was healed.
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