ESSIE'S LOG BOOK

Saturday, JULY 31, 1999

NOTE: Essie and her companions were to make their first pass over the Continental Divide by early Tuesday. It would take until Thursday morning, however, to appear, scathed and determined, from the treachery of the deep forest passes. Relief supplies and support cars would search for the travelers for two days, driving back and forth over the route that lay in waiting for them.

The Continental Divide

Tuesday, July 27, 1999

The full moon of midsummer was to have helped guide Essie, Tonya and Mary further into the wilderness along forest trails that line the top of the Continental Divide. But Mother Nature chose instead to unleash a fury of hail, lightening storms, thunder and rain that would slow the three 21st century pioneers. Exhausted, Essie would lie awake near a campfire, keeping its protective illumination alive with dry branches and logs. Tonya had heard the grumblings of a black bear in the dark, a reminder of their closeness to the feral and untamed. The donkeys would bray and call out to each throughout the night, sending their own warnings to circling wildlife.

"It's been an interesting journey. It gives us, on a small scale, what it must have been like for the pioneers. As far as you can see (up on the Divide) is rock and snow," Essie said. "Abigail, Tonya's donkey, likes to lay down and fall asleep without warning. She takes 15-minute naps and we have to wait.

"We ran out of clean water," Essie said, "and ended up purifying stream water with iodine. In the morning, it takes almost three hours to pack the donkeys. Mary fell in one of the mud fields and hurt her ankle. She's been limping for some time."

By Wednesday Essie had directed the women to begin rationing what was left of their food and water. They were already behind schedule and the narrow trail that unfolded before them gave the illusion of limited gain. Should they become further delayed or encumbered, they would need every supply afforded them. Should they become stranded and run out completely, they would have to resort to the ingenuity and wisdom of those who went before them.

"Every day we began at 4:00 am and went until sunset. The terrain was rough making it hard to get anywhere," Tonya said. "There were creeks we had to get through, and the mud fields were a mess. The ice fields were slow and slippery. They looked like glaciers though they were just melting ice. You had to watch every step so you wouldn't fall. There were nerve-wracking moments. I don't know that we ever panicked. If I panic I don't think clearly - and the whole point is to think clearly when you're in a difficult situation. There was a lot of risk up there."

Essie trudged onward, her ankle-length braids tucked safely under a hair net, away from the tug and pull of curious donkey nibbles. By nightfall they were too tired to unpack and set up their tents, the women tossed out tarps and fell exhausted onto their sleeping bags.

Record Rains in the Rockies

Thursday, July 29, 1999

Fog suffocated the top of the Divide by morning, restricting visibility to less than a quarter mile. It would be hours before the sun burnt off the mist that enveloped them, a short reprieve of warmth before the torrents of afternoon rain and lightening. Earlier in the day, mudslides had closed Berthoud Pass, what would later become Essie's second attempt to cross the Divide.

Mosquito bites lined their care-worn faces, blisters caused their feet to swell inside their boots and irritability tore at their physical stamina as they left Rabbit Ears Pass. Leaving the sanctity of the forest, the travelers embarked on what was to become, perhaps, the most arduous part of their journey - Highway 40.

The smell of wet sage had long since eclipsed the allure of sweet alpine flowers, the sound of donkey hooves negotiating loose rocks deafened the melodic breezes through the treetops. Weathered barns dotted the landscape of rolling hills, and fenced pastures replaced the winding freedom of dirt trails. Civilization began to crop up at the crest of every knoll and the fear of being lost or mislaid faded. But the delays on top of the Divide had taken their toll on the women's emotions and patience. Infighting had sprung up and the intense urging of survival tore at their once benevolent social graces. Tempers, like the donkey's nostrils, flared without concern, and mistrust lay quietly beneath the surface; a measure of masochism mixed with altruism and a destiny as yet unspoken.

Sweat having long since washed away any remnants of sunscreen, bug spray or other protection, the women moved on through high-grassed ditches and along mosquito-infested streams and creeks. Where the road curved sharply they would be driven back along the narrow shoulders of the highway. The blare of semi-truck horns and whir of car tires blowing dust into their faces posed the greatest departure from the history they struggled to emulate.

"Survival is the key. We should never be judgmental of what has happened in the past until we have been there ourselves. You have to do whatever it takes," Essie said. "Today, we were talking about food. Just knowing we're now on the highway where we know we can get food...it makes such a difference in your attitude. I don't ever want a child to go hungry in Denver. People must give money, even a dollar, to the Food Bank of the Rockies. They must also teach their children about the past. We can never leave that behind...never." Essie's optimism had yet to fade, the importance of her journey to bring attention to the hungry and disenheartened grew stronger with every step.

Mountain Borage

Send Contributions to: Food Bank of the Rockies 10975 East 47th Avenue Denver, CO 80239-3007 Tel.: (303) 371-9250 Fax: (303) 371-9259 E-mail: FBRINC@aol.com Or visit the Food Bank of the Rockies Website.