Today's prompt: LOSS OF STRENGTH.

I spent the summer of 1973 working in Glacier National Park, Montana. The park service staffed their four lodges from a pool of college applicants. With my application, I had to submit a letter of recommendation written by a teacher, a church leader, or someone from my community willing to be my sponsor. My dad's friend was the city treasurer of our town, and he consented to be my sponsor. The park job wasn't glamorous by any means. Sometimes I worked in the laundry, where we cleaned literally thousands of bed sheets, pillowcases, white tablecloths and napkins. Occasionally I subbed in the dining room of East Glacier Lodge, working as a bus girl. You couldn't work as a waitress until you had a summer of busing under your belt. Other students worked as maids or bellhops. What made the drudgery of the jobs worthwhile were the days off, when the mountain trails and streams of the spectacular countryside beckoned.

On one such occasion, I made plans with a co-worker named Brenda from Sacramento to hike the 17-mile Highline Trail. I had accomplished many smaller hikes, but this one would be a serious all-day undertaking. Little did I know just how underprepared I truly was! It was a warm, sunny day and the narrow, winding trail went up one side of a mountain and down the other. Looking back, it was truly one of the most magnificent trails I've ever hiked. I don't recall that we saw another human being the entire distance. We walked alongside gentle streams and through fields of opulent wildflowers. We hiked past melting glaciers and thundering waterfalls. At one point, we approached a crystal clear lake nestled in a valley and as we got closer, we spotted a graceful doe drinking from the water. We cautiously crept toward her, trying hard not to make a sound. The deer let us get within a few feet and I managed to snap a picture before she bounded nimbly away, scared off by the clicking of the camera lens. That miraculous picture is one of my favorites of all time.

Around midday we were cresting the top of the trail and came across Granite Park Chalet built on the top of the mountain. It reminded me of something out of Swiss Family Robinson. The chalet served as a shelter for hikers and was outfitted with picnic tables. Brenda and I sat and ate the lunches out of our backpacks in a spot where we could gaze for miles over the Rocky Mountains to adjoining Waterton National Park in Canada. If only all my lunch hours afforded such a majestic, breathtaking view.

It was some time after eating that my hiking boots began to rub blisters in my heels. We’d been hiking alongside a stream and decided to leave the trail and rest on boulders near Redrock Falls to soak our sore, tired feet. The icy water coming down off the mountain was so cold it took my breath away initially. But after awhile my legs became numb and the water actually felt soothing. It was while we were peacefully soaking our feet that we happened to look back up at the trail. There, standing imposingly on his hind legs, was a huge grizzly bear. We were several hundred yards away, but it appeared as if he was staring right at the two of us. My heart was pounding wildly in my chest as we remained motionless and silently prayed that he wouldn't decide to head our way. This time, it never occurred to me to take a picture; my terrified mind was too busy wondering if I was about to become lunch for a grizzly. After what seemed like an eternity to us but was actually probably less than a minute, the bear dropped down on all fours and went loping off in the opposite direction from where we were headed. We feverishly put our shoes and socks back on and quickly worked on putting as much distance as possible between us and the bear.

The sun was low in the sky by the time we finally got back to lodge headquarters. During the last few miles, my arms were so swollen from hanging at my sides all day that I could hardly bend them at the elbows, and I couldn't curl my fingers to grasp anything. My heels were a mass of festering blisters. When I got into the shower back at my cabin, I found that I didn't even have the strength to stand anymore. I literally sat in the shower stall and let the water beat down on my head and body. Afterwards, I crawled into bed and it was one of those times when I was asleep before my head ever hit the pillow. I don't ever remember being that exhausted either before or since the day of that 17-mile hike. It zapped the very last ounce of strength I had, but the exhilarating adventure was totally worth every second of pain and discomfort.