Circle the Cirque Crest

Yup, a broken fibula. Note, a week or two later and I still had the scratches and stab wounds from the Muro Blanco. Worse, my best shirt was torn beyond repair, which happened well before my little accident.

"And Then, Disaster Struck..."

Circle The Cirque Crest - By D.W.Donehoo (All rights reserved)

I must of miscalculated, but I did look up when I should of been watching my feet. I don't exactly know what I stepped on, but my right foot slipped about 4 inches and stopped abruptly, which turned my ankle with my full weight behind it. I felt, or heard a pop, and I went down like a ton of bricks. Dave, normally a darkly tanned person, ran up looking pale and wide eyed. I think my first feelings were embarrassment, because the ankle didn't seem to hurt much. I was embarrassed for the ghastly sounds that came involuntarily from my mouth as I fell, for making such a stupid blunder on such easy terrain, and for the inconvenience I would now be causing Dave. I was humiliated.

I looked at Dave and said, "It's broken. I heard a pop." Later I would learn was that I had broken the fibula above the ankle. I had Dave take off my boot, but thankfully there was nothing to see, leaving only the virtual certainty that it was seriously injured. Dave wrapped the ankle with an ankle wrap, I took a bunch of anti-inflammatory pain killers, and we stuck my foot back into the boot and tightened the laces. One thing I knew for sure, I was just as anxious and determined to get out of the Muro Blanco as I ever was, broken bones not withstanding.

We partially unloaded my pack, transferred the gear to Dave's pack, and we began the slow walk to Paradise Valley. In one difficult section, Dave dropped his pack ahead and came back for mine. More excessively thick bush sections were navigated, and the irony was we were about on the same pace as the day before. Much to my annoyance, a rattlesnake forced a painful detour. At one point a helicopter flew overhead twice, but they did not see us. It was just as well. Eventually we were on the last slope of bush and below us was the woods leading to Paradise Valley. Greatly relieved, we entered the woods and made as swift progress as my foot allowed. Soon, we found a faint use trail, further speeding progress. There were still obstacles mainly in the form of deadfalls, but nothing compared to the difficulties in the heart of the Muro Blanco. Adding insult to injury, just before I got to the trail a hornet stung me on the leg. My right broken leg. On the ankle.

At last we reached the trail and camp of Upper Paradise Valley. After a short discussion it was decided Dave would leave the tent and what food he could spare (we both were nearly out of food: this was supposed to be our last day). Dave would report all this to the Rangers and hire a horse-packer to come and pick up me and my gear, today if possible, tomorrow for sure. So, I bade Dave a fare-the-well and thanks, sat down in my chair, put my bad foot up, got my book out, and tried to relax.

I looked at my watch: it was only 11 AM.