Meltdown in Boulder Canyon

Newsletter 2023-09-24

My kids tell the truth, the half-truth, and nothing but the half-truth. They eagerly tattle when a sister attacks them but conveniently leave out the part where that sister was retaliating for when the tattler launched an unprovoked flying ninja kick while the retaliator was taking a nap. The first rule of having sisters is never close your eyes. The hardest half-truths to deal with are the ones the kids tell about themselves. When the girls claim they like something, I add it to our family itinerary to do again, even if, by the time we get back around to it, they admit they actually hate it. That’s what happened this weekend. The last time my wife Lola and I took the kids on a trail in the woods, they thought it was the best thing in the world. This time, we had complaints from the first step. That was unfortunate because hiking tends to involve lots of steps. That’s pretty much all it is. After our first trip to a state park, I thought we might become a hiking family. After our misadventure this weekend, I’m not sure if we’ll ever go outside again.

This hiking trip was Lola’s idea. There’s no school Wednesday due to a teacher in-service day, which means in service of their mental health. Giving the teachers an occasional break from the kids is the only way to prevent across-the-board nervous breakdowns. Lola took the day off work, too, and was looking for something fun to do with the kids. Naturally, she thought of hiking since the girls claimed they loved it so much the first time. Turkey Run State Park is nearby, so we can knock out a visit there without bothering with a hotel. Day trips are basically free, while we’re lucky to get through overnight trips for less than a mortgage payment. Unfortunately, the forecast called for rain on the in-service day, so we turned our mid-week day trip into a casual Saturday outing. We told the kids about it Friday night. The girls claimed they were so excited. That turned out to be their biggest lie yet.

The main problem with hiking is the walking. There’s a lot of it. If there wasn’t, it would just be called sitting down. We arrived at the state park by 9 a.m. The parking lot was mostly empty. Everyone else realized they could sleep in since nature is available all day. The last time we went there, we were early in the season and the park didn’t charge for admission yet. This time, the gates were guarded. It cost us seven dollars for our van load of eight people to enjoy the wonders of the outside world. If inflation keeps going at this rate, nature will soon be outside my price range. We invited our friends Peter and Lila along since we include them in most of our adventures these days. Any day now, I expect them to suddenly move away and change their numbers. Bringing them meant we had one adult per child. That should have meant the whole trip was much safer. In practice, it meant we had more ears to hear all the whining.

We arrived early enough that the visitor center hadn’t yet opened for the day. That meant we had to use the sketchier campground bathrooms a short distance away. The restroom stop was necessary because there’s no plumbing on the other side of the river where most of the trails are located. There aren’t even outhouses over there. If nature calls when you’re out in nature, your choices are to hold it or pee on a tree. Our group had six girls and two boys, so option two wasn’t really an option for most of us. We had our first freak-out right there in the bathrooms. They were dirty, and one of the kids didn’t want to go. The meltdown caused a staggered exit. When I called for the group to get moving and hit the trails, my eleven-year-old, Mae, was still in the bathroom. Had Lola not noticed, I totally would have left Mae behind. We were barely past the parking lot and we already almost lost a child. We were off to a great start.

Our next challenge was the suspension bridge. Lola and half the kids are afraid of heights. Short people like to stay close to the ground. Around here, even step ladders are a little dicey. Mae and my nine-year-old, Lucy, were especially apprehensive about the crossing. Last time we visited the park, we went across the bridge many times. At first, the kids had been nervous, but they gradually conquered their fears. This time, their phobias were back in full force. Just because they didn’t die last time didn’t mean they wouldn’t die this time. Past performance is no guarantee of future survival. I was right behind Mae. She yelled at me to stop shaking the bridge. There were twenty other pairs of feet crossing the river at that moment, but somehow Mae was certain that all of the swaying could be traced solely to me. That’s one way to let me know I’ve gained weight. Somehow, I managed not to bring down the entire bridge. We all made it safely to the other side. It was time for the actual adventure to begin.

Lucy had the map and thus the power. She decided that our destination would be Boulder Canyon. We set off in that direction. The problems started almost immediately. Lucy tripped, and one of her sisters laughed. Siblings are seldom a great source of sympathy. Lucy was enraged. She was nervous around all stairs after that, which was an issue because the park is approximately zero percent level ground. Then the trail got even more treacherous. Shockingly, the path to a place called Boulder Canyon involved both boulders and canyons. The trail was slick with steep drop-offs and no guardrails. Lucy was on the verge of panic. I held her hand, less for comfort than to physically anchor her in place. If I’m heavy enough to shake an entire suspension bridge, I can probably counterbalance a single fourth grader. While the slopes were steep, this wasn’t exactly the Grand Canyon. If anyone did fall, they would have slid and gotten muddy, but injuries would have been minimal. The physical ones, anyway. Any kid who stumbled would incur more sibling laughter. Death is bad, but humiliation is worse. Lucy was ready to break under the pressure.

After one wrong turn and some backtracking, we finally made it to Boulder Canyon. It was actually pretty cool. It looks like a stationary waterfall made of large rocks. Nature can be okay sometimes when it’s not trying to kill you. Unfortunately, canyons are at low elevations, and what goes down must go up. Many, many stairs later, we were finally back at sea level. Mae and Lucy were physically and emotionally done. They expressed this subtly and with great tact. Just kidding. They whined that they hated hiking and wanted to go home. At the very least, they wanted to return to the van. We left our picnic supplies there. There was no place to eat on the trail side of the river, and besides, coolers are heavy. I’m not taking those things one step farther than I have to. We’d been walking for a little under two hours. It wasn’t exactly the Lewis and Clark Expedition, but we’d gotten a decent workout in. Quitting would have been an easy call were it not for the other two kids. My thirteen-year-old, Betsy, and seven-year-old, Waffle, insisted that we keep going. We hadn’t done trail three yet, which held most of the park’s premier attractions. All the pictures in the brochure came from there. Regardless of if I decided to bail or keep going, exactly half of my children would be disappointed. The day was going well.

Ultimately, I made my decision based on time and proximity. We were right next to trail three, and it was still too early for lunch. Returning to the parking lot for sandwiches at 11 a.m. would taste a bit too much like failure. Predictably, half of the children reacted poorly to the news. Lucy sulked, and Mae threw a temper tantrum. She refused to take another step. By then, the park was getting crowded, so she had quite an audience for her antics. A constant stream of hikers passed by as she stood there with her arms crossed, defying all attempts to get her in motion. Finally, I sent the rest of my party on to trail three while I stayed back to reason with Mae. And by “reason with,” I mean “explicitly threaten.” I explained to her that, if she didn’t move, she might as well stay in the woods forever because even if she made it out, she’d never be allowed to use another electronic device again. That got her walking. She switched to a mobile temper tantrum, which she thought was defiant but was actually quite wonderful. She was suddenly the fastest walker in the group.

We knocked out the first part of trail three. The canyons and cliff walls were as majestic as ever. The ladders, however, lost some of their luster. The park was packed by now, and the junction that required us to go up the wooden rungs was more crowded than Disney World. We patiently waited for our turn to climb while Mae pouted for all to see. By the time we finally got to the top of the ladders, I was done with hiking, too. Several hundred stairs later, we hit another trail intersection. I turned the group down the path that led to the parking lot. The other half of my children were now profoundly disappointed. Another successful day of parenting was in the books.

We arrived back at the van at almost exactly noon. It was now time for my favorite part of the day: food. You don’t shake suspension bridges by dieting. We claimed some picnic tables in a shaded area and attacked our meal. Then nature attacked me. I was minding my own business when a giant orange caterpillar fell out of the sky and landed right in front of me. It hit the picnic table so hard it bounced. Had the massive bug been a few inches to the right, it would have landed in my cup. It laid there on its back, dead to the world. We all looked at it, fascinated. As we watched, it moved very slightly. It was still alive. It had just knocked itself out. I have no idea what made this thing fall a hundred feet from the trees above. Maybe it misstepped on a branch with all forty of its legs at once, or perhaps it purposely took a dive to avoid an encroaching bird. Either way, it was having about as good of a day as any of us. As it slowly came to, I scooped it up and put it on the edge of the woods. Another half hour passed before it fully woke up and crawled away. I can pull a muscle just by sneezing, so I can only imagine how I’d feel if I went skydiving without a parachute. Unlike me in that scenario, the caterpillar has a bright future. It will one day transform into a Luna moth to terrorize camping lanterns everywhere. It was a positive note to end on as we left the park, probably forever. The place belongs to the caterpillar now.

As we drove home, I realized my children’s meltdowns were a blessing in disguise. Before their about-face, we were at risk of becoming an outdoorsy family. This was our second time hiking in six months, which is a lot for us. Now, we can stay home and watch our screens for the rest of our lives. Then, if anybody throws a temper tantrum, I can simply close the door. It’s parenting the way it was meant to be. I might never go outside again.

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for now. Catch you next time.

James