Don't Assume Your Meds are packed.

Check, recheck, and check again:

When my wife and I moved to Colorado five years ago, our two grandsons, ages 4 and 7, were too young to understand much about my diagnosis.  Of course, they only saw me when I was "on."  That was the case until July, 2010.  I had made detailed plans for a family backpack trip.  It would be a week-long adventure into the Weminuche Wilderness of the San Juan mountains.of Colorado.

We spent a day riding the Durango & Silverton RR into the Animas River Gorge to the Needleton drop-off.  There, we said goodby to the train and would not see it again for four days.  Thirty minutes after crossing the river, we entered the Weminuch.  Then, thunder, lightening, and yes, rain...pouring rain.  We had 7 miles of rugged terrain to negotiate - all up - and it rained, and rained, and rained.

D & S RR chugs along the Animas River.

 Hours later six exhausted, wet backpackers made it to base camp at 10,500 elev.  Still "on" at that time, I was certain I checked that I had all the meds needed for a few days in the back country.  I WAS WRONG!!

I came to the frightening realization of not having enough meds early on day two.  There was no calling for delivery of meds because there was no cell phone reception.  So I made the best of the situation as possible.  I taught the boys how to prepare a hot meal.  How to dry gear and clothes on rocks and branches.  All the things that would make them "veterans."

Daughter and grandsons playing cards in the meadow outside base camp.

 On day five, we broke camp and were on trail early.  We could not miss the train.  The first thirty minutes went well.  Then it hit me.  What few traces of dopamine were left in my body after hiking, doing normal camp chores, and photographing some of the most awesome back country in Colorado, had since dissipated.

Mt. Kennedy, the scene from inside my tent for three straight days.

 My left knee started to freeze.  I was forced to stop cold every few minutes.  We had over seven miles to hike over trails that were anything but wide, dry, and free of obstacles.

Everyone was patient with Papa, but I felt embarrassed to say the least.  My son-in-law went ahead to the pick-up point and learned the train would be delayed.  Back at my side, both he and my daughter insisted I lean on them and they would carry me out of the Weminuche.

Over thirty of these beautiful high mountain creatures wandered thru base camp.

 So picture a man cinched into an expedition-size backpack, being virtually carried down the mountain like an injured football player coming to the sideline.

Son-in-law, daughter and grandsons in the Weminuche Wilderness.

 We approached the bridge to cross the Animas as we heard the train whistle.  Thirty minutes later, the family and Papa were on board, thinking and smelling that huge meal we would order in Durango.

Do I want to go back to the Weminuche?...you bet I do.