"I was kneeling in front of a sparkling, bubbling brook of clear water that was running down the mountain."

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The Third Night

I had already decided that the previous night I had spent on the volcano was my most miserable night ever. I never imagined that I would have a much worst night within the next 24 hours. I shouldn’t have worried about falling asleep and rolling off the edge of the ledge. For the second straight night, sleep was impossible for me. I spent the whole night praying and entertaining myself. I shouted, talked to myself, sang, and even did a radio talk show with myself. This might sound crazy but really I was trying to avoid going crazy. I had no watch so once the sun disappeared I really had no idea what time it was. Every time I stopped talking to myself all I could think about was food and water. I was also cold and I was praying that it wouldn’t rain. I had seen men suffer from hypothermia during my days with ALERT and I knew that dehydration, hunger, and hypothermia could be a fatal combination. For the first time that I could ever remember, when I allowed my mind to wander, I didn’t want to be alive. I just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up again. I was so exhausted yet my thirst and my fear of falling or something falling on me wouldn’t allow me to get the rest that I desperately needed. I just lay there all night trying to convince myself that my misery was mostly my imagination.

I diligently watched the sky all night. I eagerly waited for that first dim light to appear in the horizon signaling the beginning of a new day. If darkness was my worst enemy then the sun was my best friend. I think as the early morning hours passed by I found myself talking to the sun. Where are you? Please start your journey upward. I need you. After it seemed that two nights had passed, the first rays of light began to reach the mountain and hope filled my heart. God had allowed me to survive the night, as miserable as it was, and now I had a whole new day in front of me. I had never been more thankful in my life to see the sunrise.

As soon as I felt that there was enough light to travel by, I wearily sprang to my feet and carefully but hurriedly made my way to the sound of water that had tortured me all night. Like the night before, I fell a few times and scratched my hands but I didn’t care. I had to get to that water. As I moved down, the waterfall sounded closer and closer and then there it was; a magnificent white cascade of water falling hundreds of feet into a small pool below. Actually, I wish it had been that dramatic but it didn’t happen quite like that. I never saw the waterfall even though I could hear it. What I saw, however, was just as good, and I fell to my knees in front of it with relief. I was kneeling in front of a sparkling, bubbling brook of clear water that was running down the mountain. As I looked at it, the frustration that I had carried down with me to the brook from the miserable night before seemed to melt away and I felt myself thanking God for this wonderful gift. I still had my half broken bottles with me from the day before so I filled one of them up and touched the cold water to my parched lips. I drank slowly, knowing that it would hurt my dry throat and mouth if I drank too much too fast. After I had satisfied my thirst, I began looking around me searching to find some sign that would tell me where I was. I had left the main path to find the water and I was hoping I wouldn’t have to climb all the way back up the hill. Then I saw something. At first it didn’t register in my mind but when I realized what I was looking at, my heart began to beat excitedly again for the second time that day. I was looking at a beaver dam that stretched across the little brook. Something looked very familiar about the dam. And then I saw it. There was a big hole in the middle of the dam; a footprint! I had made that hole two days earlier when I had crossed the brook! I had thought that the dam was a little bridge but my foot had annoyingly gone right through it when I had stepped in it. I saw the path then and I knew exactly where I was! I was very close to Trigales. I quickly got to my feet and began running down the path. Within twenty minutes, I came out of some trees, and there I was walking into Trigales, a place that I had lied awake dreaming about for the past few nights. I quietly thanked God as I walked through the small village.

It was still the early morning and most of the people in this small little town were just getting up. As I walked, I met a man on the path who just happened to be headed to the house of the people who had been so hospitable to me on the first night of my climb. I decided to stop by and let them know that I was ok and tell them my sad story. They wanted me to come in so that I could eat and rest. I politely declined, however, because I was really anxious to reach Tapachula that day. I also knew that they probably did not have a lot of food to spare but I did gratefully accept some water and an energy fruit drink that they offered me. I asked them to write me in Tapachula if anyone ever came forward with my back pack. I think we all realized that this event was quite unrealistic but I thought it was worth a try. After saying our goodbyes to each other, I continued on the path down the mountain. I was still quite hungry but I knew that I could make it the rest of the way because I had finally put some fluid in my body. I was so thankful that I had found Trigales. Even though I knew the path that I was on led to some town I really had no idea whether it would take me back into Mexico or into the country of Guatemala.

It took me four more hours to reach the bottom of the volcano. On the way, I stopped to talk with  villagers and when I told them my story they were all incredulous. I arrived in the small town of Cordoba at 10:30 on Monday morning. It was May 5^th, or “Cinco de Mayo,” a famous holiday in Mexico. Maybe I wasn’t celebrating independence that day with the rest of the nation but I certainly felt like celebrating. I was so thankful to God for protecting me even though He didn’t make it easy. While it is true that I had lost my backpack which contained an expensive rain jacket, a small PDA computer, my GPS and some clothes, at least I was still alive. As an added blessing, I still had my passport because whenever I traveled, I was in the habit of keeping that with me. In Cordoba, I jumped into the first taxi that I saw which took me through Union Juarez, where I had begun my journey, and into the city of Cacahoatan. At the bus station, I hopped on a microbus and was soon headed back to Tapachula.

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