I recently fell into a ravine.
Let me explain:
My family was traveling in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Just a couple of trolls painting the town in yooper territory (if you understand that sentence you are either a true Michigander or have unwillingly attended one of my crash courses in Mitten terminology). It was here that the fateful incident took place. To paraphrase Mark Twain, the reports of my fall into a ravine have been greatly exaggerated. So, regardless of what you may have heard, moving forward the following is the official account.
The month was February and the snow was high. Why did we venture to the great white north in the heart of the coldest months you ask? Winter adventuring, of course! Because my family has what some would call a strange definition of a good time. Things like hiking miles through the snow-buried forrest to see Tahquamenon Falls, or climbing the frozen waves of Lake Superior, or a lantern-lit walk through the winter woods at night–these are our bread and butter.
So pack your parka and your gortex hiking boots, because we go dawn to dusk, no stopping for ice soaked pants or snow-ball-fight related injuries (physical or emotional). It may sound intense, but trust me, it’s worth braving the cold. There is something about the deep, cold blues of snow and ice that change well known vistas into otherworldly scenes of treacherous beauty.
It would be hard to pick a highlight of the trip. Watching an icebreaker ship sailing in and out of the pillars of the Mackinac Bridge as we drove over the vast fields of sunlit ice chunks is definitely up there.
Also the hike to see the frozen Munising Falls through fresh snow that created a breathtaking, Narnia-esque scene.
But I would have to say, if judging in terms of fascinating formations and memorable mishaps, the ice caves certainly take the cake.
At the advice of some locals we had stopped along the way to the caves to purchase “yaks” which are rubber straps lined with metal spirals that wrap around your shoes and are designed to give the wearer purchase when walking on slick terrain. At least, that’s what the moderately priced, “beginner” yaks are. I’m sure there are some ice-pick equipped versions for the really hard core ice climbers which could also double as murder weapons in a pinch.
As we started on the path to the trailhead which went about a mile over a flat field and level grounded forrest we started to wonder if we had been hoodwinked by some good old fashioned yooper shenanigans. Yes, we’re not from here, but we can manage to walk a mile over level ground without special footwear, thank you very much! Also, just a side note: does it bother anyone else that you always have to hike to get to the actual trailhead? I’m surprised every time. “What?! That didn’t count towards the 4.5 miles? WHAT?! THAT’S THE MILAGE ONE WAY?!” But I digress.
At the official trail head we paused to read an overzealous warning sign. I’m not sure if it was specific enough to actually protect whoever maintains the trail from legal culpability. It was more of a if you insist on going on I wash my hands of this kind of sign. “CAUTION!!!!!!!” it read. Yes, there were seven exclamation points. “Many hikers find this trail to be Treacherous.” We laughed at the use of the capital “T” in the middle of a sentence. Silly, dramatic sign! Surely this trail isn’t bad enough to negate the use of proper grammar.
If only we knew then. If only we knew.
The flat trail continued about another mile. Emboldened by the ease of travel I became almost foolhardy, brazenly mocking the cautionary words and seemingly unnecessary foot gear. “Look!” I yelled to my family as I came to a small branch that had fallen into the otherwise well groomed path. “This must be the ‘capital T treacherous’ they were talking about!” I spread out my arms, feigning difficulty balancing, and with exaggerated movements took a big, careful step over the stick that was little more than an inch thick. Now, if you paid even a cursory amount of attention in your high school English class you will recognize this as foreshadowing. I shake my head to think of it now. Ah, Tina, you sassy thing. You’ve read enough books to know better than to tempt fate.
We continued on and a short way down the trail there was an abrupt change in the landscape. The path sloped down somewhat steeply to lead us into a shallow ravine that had been hidden by a line of trees. The path continued along the bottom of the ravine for about a quarter of a mile during which the top edge sloped higher and further from the trail. And there at the end was our destination, the gleaming ice caves created by a rocky cliff face on the lip of the ravine. But they were at the top of the ravine. And we were at the bottom. Ah. Here’s that “capital T treacherous” part they were talking about.
Finally the yaks we had laboriously strapped on began to earn their keep as we started up the steep trail to the caves. The snow was packed down and icy but also deceptively loose in places and would crumble where you stepped. It was steep enough that in places it made more sense to go on your hands and knees to steady yourself and spread out your weight. Both my mom and aunt had some close calls, sliding back down the hill several yards before being able to catch themselves. Meanwhile, a few feet away from the path up, some adventurous children had created a makeshift slide, as children are known to do in pretty much any scenario I can think of. They slid down the hill on their tiny, little butts in the same track until they had created a groove so slick and well defined that even a penguin would not have sniffed at it.
We reached the landing at last and were well rewarded for our troubles. The ice caves were incredible and exploring their interior made me feel like an old school adventurer. All I was missing was a pack mule and a musket.
It also made me feel that a rousing chorus of “Let if Go” from Frozen had never been more appropriate. But I refrained. I would like to say this was due to my highly developed social graces but it would be more accurate to say I was afraid my vibrato might shake loose the dozens of icicle stalactites hanging from the rocks above. Wouldn’t that just be a horrible way to go? Singing “Let it Go” not withstanding.
I would now like to introduce you to a key phrase my cousins and I use when describing crazy excursions with our family: “the decision was made”. This is a decision usually made by certain, specific individuals who shall remain nameless. I wouldn’t consider it a democratic process. You are always welcome to not partake in whatever decision has been made, but it’s a trade off for hearing about it for the rest of the trip. And possibly missing out on an amazing experience. I have have pretty aggressive FOMO so I’m typically roped in. The decision has been hazardous to my health on multiple occasions, but I’m also usually glad I did it.
In this specific instance, the decision was made that we would attempt to scale the rough outcrop of rocks and root systems above the caves to see if the view was different from the top of the ravine. My uncle, arguable the most agile (and biggest risk taker) of the group went first. I videoed his progress on my phone, all the while mocking his form and making sassy comments that are easy to make when you are not the one trying to scale a cliff. Again, foreshadowing. And then it was my turn. I felt very confident in the root system I had selected and in my yaks. They had served me well so far after all.
As by now I’m sure you have guessed where this is going I won’t belabor the point any further than to acknowledge my cheap yaks and upper arm strength failed me. Suffice it to say one moment I was climbing and the next I was falling into a ravine. At first I was on my stomach, disparately trying to dig my fingers into the iced over face of the hill to stop myself. But alas, I had been just lucky enough to fall directly above the narrow space that was also the ice slide worn so smooth by the inexhaustible tiny, little butts in snowsuits.
Somehow I was able to turn my body around so that I could see where I was going. My mind, enhanced by adrenaline and terror, was quickly able to process a further complication to my already bad situation. A little boy and his mother had chosen the absolute worst time to take a trip down the slide. They were a few yards ahead of me and I was gaining on them fast. Desperate for something to slow my progress I reached out with my leg for the first thing I saw: a nearby tree about six inches thick. Though I quickly realized this idea was totally nuts and tried to recourse I was too late. I caught the tree with my right knee which only had the effect of spinning me around and I continued to slide down the hill head first and blind, my eyes uselessly looking into the cold, winter sky.
There have been very few moments in my life that I thought I may die. This was genuinely one of those moments. People say your life flashes before your eyes, and maybe it does but I honestly can’t remember anything other than terror. I can’t imagine what was going through my parent’s head up at the top of the hill. They had just seen their daughter fall down a ravine, run into a tree, and then disappear into a line of trees. I do know that my uncle and aunt were laughing, so it must not have looked as dire as I picture it looking because they are not horrible people.
I did eventually slow down whether it was from the hill leveling out or the cumulative effect of gallons of snow piling into my pants. Based on how wet and cold I was later I’m guessing it was the latter. I came to a gentle stop, bumping harmlessly into the child and his mother who had paved the way for my spectacular slide. And then, in a moment that so perfectly captures everything that is wrong with the youth of America, the little boy pointed at me and said, “haha! You fell down!”. Yes, the children are our future and the future is bleak!
It was sheepishly and with the help of my mom and aunt that I hobbled out of that ravine and slowly back up the hill, through the flat, level forrest and back to the car. We did, of course, take the time to stop at the “Caution!!!!!!!” sign and take my picture next to it, because priorities! Because when I am old and gray and I am explaining to my grandchildren why my right knee starts creaking on snowy nights I feel like this photographic evidence will really lend believability to the story. I want to be able to prove it’s not a Tall tale. And yes, that is “tall” with a capital “T”.
Loose Change 