Farewell to Clack . . .

Maybe I just wasn't paying attention. Maybe my familiarity with river crossings had bred some contempt. It seemed innocent enough, the tributary was flowing fast but it wasn't deep, a good assortment of stones and boulders meant it should have been an easy crossing. And it was, but there was an unfortunate casualty.

Click and Clack have been with me since my walk on El Camino de Santiago in 2001. Constant companions on my walks ever since, they have given me a feeling of security in each hand, have eased me up the ascents and provided me with stability on the descents. Out here they have assisted me over river crossings as well, one in each hand giving me balance. Walking without my trekking poles, Click and Clack, would just be unthinkable.

I leapt from one boulder to the next, water seeped into the splits on my worn out shoes making me shiver. Click came with me but Clack got stuck on the river bed. I had to let him go or I would have lost my balance, I knew I only had to turn around to retrieve him once I was safely on the rock. To my horror, as I looked behind me, the current was tearing at him. Like a boxer having just been delivered the final, fatal blow, Clack slowly started to lean to one side, his fall becoming faster as the force pulled him from his anchorage.

"No! Clack"! I screamed after him, but my cries were muffled by the water. I jumped back but it was too late. My hand reached him just as the pounding froth of the Toulumne River took him away.

I rushed along the river bank, trying to keep track of him and watch my step at the same time, hoping and praying that he may hit the side, come to rest in the calm areas, or get caught by an obstacle. It was not to be. I watched, despondent, as he bobbed away from me like a loved one leaving on a train. He swayed from side to side almost as though waving a farewell and I waved back. I swore I heard him:

"It's been great. Don't be sad. You still have Click. I'll be fine, I'll wash up somewhere down river and a hiker will find me. I will hike on . . . I will hike on"!

Click and I watched our companion bob further away, becoming smaller and more distant. Our hearts sank. We turned, paused for one last glimpse and began plodding on up the trail.

Goodbye old friend . . .