Mud Walk

Without any background research I can confidently say that fancy skin product connoisseurs and dermatologists have at one point advised to use mud masks as exfoliates. My skin will apparently feel cleansed as the mud peels off dirt and oils clogging my pores. It always sounded counterintuitive, and I’m here to say, I was wrong.

                On the second day in Big Bend, our pack chose a 2.1 mile hike described as a descent into the valley carved by the Rio Grande. Naturally, we dressed with closed-toe hiking shoes and socks anticipating a leisurely stroll. As with any hike, it never goes how it’s planned. Upon arrival five of the six of us realized that in order to reach the trailhead, we must cross a tributary with three-foot deep mud. Apparently, our pack leader forgot mention this description to the rest of us, even though he brought Chacos. We stood in silence in dismay, looking for an alternate route. Unless we wanted to swim down the Rio Grande with no outlet in sight, there was no other option. We untied our shoes, stripped off our socks, and formed a line to enter.

                Visually we could tell the 50 foot mud path was wet and slimy. It was riddled with leg indents from other hikers that never reclosed. I carefully navigated my first couple of steps on sun-hardened slabs, reluctant to cede my last sense of cleanliness I possessed after two days of camping. I ran trials of toe-dipping in the surrounding mud to find the best pathway. But by the fifth step, each trial failed me as my foot sunk every time. I contemplated my next move even though the result would inevitably be the same.

                I raised my right foot, slightly placed it on the cool surface of the mud, and after a deep breath, transferred my body weight forward. Instantly my ankle was submerged. The mud underneath my foot oozed around the perimeter of my leg. Committed now, I aimed for my friends ahead of me with my toes and threw my left foot forward. The mud, soft and penetrable, suctioned me in half way up my calf. As I tried to raise my back leg, I really had to work to overcome the vacuum force. Each step took us deeper and deeper into the mud as more of our legs became coated. However, the grungy plaster was therapeutic.

                Our kidlike personalities came out. We pointed at each other’s legs mocking how deep some of us sunk. The drive of our feet in the mud popped air pockets sounding like passing gas that we then began to imitate with our mouths. We pushed each other causing the victim to topple over while their legs were stuck. From a distance an onlooker would have seen a group of 22 year old men acting like children, playing in mud and making crude noises, but in the moment we were too busy to care. It was just us and nature.