Like many poor decisions, Joe’s choice to hike the Nez Perce Canyon made a lot of sense at the time. He had done it over thirty years prior and thought of the trip often.  Doing the trip again would test his fitness and resolve, he thought. And, maybe, he would finally out walk his grief.

It had been over a year since Joe’s wife, Loretta, had passed. It wasn’t sudden. Cancer is a nasty, teasing bitch. He knew what was coming, but it knocked him to the ground with surprise, nonetheless.  Joe had done all the things.  Therapy. Wellbutrin. Group therapy. Travel. More therapy. More Wellbutrin. But, here he was, still well short of acceptance.

At his daughter’s insistence, Joe had even tried dating, of late.  Indeed, just two weeks prior to this hike, he had finally accepted the persistent invitation of Jennifer Cooper, an old acquaintance of both his and Lorretta’s, who was now divorced.  Jennie Cooper was lovely and sexy, despite her sixty-ish years, and Joe had given her a thought or two even when Loretta was still alive. 

The date had been nothing short of disastrous. Jennie was, as they used to say, “hot to trot.” After a flirtatious dinner they wound up back at her place.  Joe was a fit and handsome sixty-six.  All the parts were in good working order.  And, when Jennifer revealed her investment in lingerie, he was as revved and ready as a much younger man. 

Things went downhill quickly.  An awkward position against her headboard, combined with the sudden shift of blood flow, produced a foot cramp in Joe’s left arch so intense that his rapt attention on Jennie’s delightfully well-maintained breasts was interrupted. Thoughts of Loretta filled the void. Joe’s erection began to question whether Joe was really serious about this.  The long-forgotten doubts of a nervous virgin joined the party and Joe felt the evening crashing around him. 

Joe went down on Jennie to buy time.  As he ate her with a well-trained tongue on autopilot, he tried to stretch out his arch and think of anything other than his dear wife.  When Jennifer began to come like a freight train, Joe’s erection reappeared long enough for him to attempt coitus.  Jennifer’s narration of her sensations, an erotic feature Joe generally enjoyed, proved more irritating than exciting, and he could sense his hard-on about to leave the building.  With the practicality of a working girl on a schedule, he resorted to a fake orgasm. Groaning and shuddering and heaving in false passion, he collapsed onto Jennie with the not-so-stiff skills of an actor in a daytime melodrama.

“Well … that didn’t help,” Joe laughed out loud to himself on the drive home.

The only thing that did help, even if it was a temporary salve to his soul, was moving.  He filled his days with long walks, long swims, bike rides, and, when his knees felt up to it, a jog. He found a semblance of peace when his heart rate was above ninety and he was moving through what otherwise was, for him, a totally stagnant world. 

This was especially true of day hikes in nature.. Whether in lowland forest, alpine mountains, or ranging desert, tiny fractions of depression were flaked away when he was striding amidst the colors, textures, and smells of Dear Mother Earth.

So it was that Joe found himself here, now, nearly stumbling, along the Nez Perce Canyon floor.  The plan had been to take a leisurely two-day hike with a low-weight pack through the lightly visited seven-mile Canyon to the much-visited William Clark Reservoir.  He would fly fish for dinner along the way, take a dip in the lake, and then hitch back to his car, just as he had done so long ago, shortly before he was married.  He would be cleansed by the challenge.  That was the plan.

It turned out that “fit for sixty-six” was not the same as “fit.” After a mile of switch backs, his right knee barked, his lower back strained, his lungs hissed, and his left arch screamed, courtesy of that calamitous evening with Jennifer Cooper. He fished lazily and poorly and the results showed.  That evening he cooked a single eight-inch trout on the edge of the river and went to sleep hungry.

Joe “slept” in a non-stop rotation from one sore spot to another, either awake or in a shallow dream in which his dear Loretta spoke to him in loving tones but unintelligible words.  In the morning it felt as if rigor mortis had set in prematurely. In excruciatingly slow motion, Joe extracted himself from his sleeping bivy, rolled onto the desert floor and stood like a pool toy being inflated by an eight-year-old.  If there were any coyotes or pumas within earshot, they surely fled from the horrific groans that emanated from Joe with every movement.

If he was to make the Reservoir by dark, Joe would need to get moving and keep moving, or face another miserable, even hungrier night. He walked more slowly than the previous day, his progress tempered even further when he discovered that the silty water of the tailwater river had clogged his water filter.  He added thirsty to his list of woes.   

He trudged along, ignoring productive trout water and longing for the snack shack at the dam.  He checked his map often, hoping that he would at long last get to the big bend in the river that would indicate that the dam and all the irritations and joys of civilization would be just a mile away.   There was a moment, just a moment, of complete exhaustion when Joe thought it might be fine for God to take him right there and then. He would die in a beautiful place and he would be with Lorretta.  “Why not?” Joe huffed.  

Somehow, he marched on. At times he had to scramble over or around boulders that piled next to the river, or full-on wade through deep pools to get around them.  It was in one of those pools when Joe first saw the snake. Water snakes aren’t all that common in the West.  One might see a garter snake, or a gopher snake, or maybe the rare long nose, winding through the water every now and then, but this snake was very different. Five feet long, girthy, and coal black, it was like nothing Joe had ever seen. It went straight through his legs and around his hiking stick before circling around for another look.  Joe wasn’t scared – the only snake to fear in these parts was a rattler – but it was startling. The surge of adrenalin proved helpful. Joe picked up his pace with thoughts of an ice cream sandwich at the Reservoir spurring him on.

At last, Joe approached the big bend. A person – the first he had seen in two days – stood at the apex. As he got closer, he saw that the person was a woman.  Closer still, he realized the woman was an elderly native American. “How the hell did she get down here?” Joe asked himself under his breath. Stranger still, she was in old-time Indian clothes, as if she had just stepped out of Edward Curtis’s studio. She seemed to be waiting for him. 

“Hello,” Joe said, forcing a smile through gritted teeth.

“Ta’c hal’axp,” the woman answered with a wave.  She continued to speak to him in her native language much to Joe’s confusion.  He nodded and tried to explain that he only spoke English but she continued on. 

“Surely this woman speaks English,” Joe thought to himself. “How odd.”

The woman had brilliant silver hair that hung down to her legs.  While obviously older than he, she had a beautiful, compelling face.  She wore a crown, of sorts, made from woven sage and desert flowers. 

“Water,” Joe asked the old woman. “Do you have water?” He could resort to the brown-tinted water of the river, but he likely would spend the rest of the week in the bathroom, if he did.  She pointed across the river.

“Ki’iyee!” She said. “He’eseq’eyki wpesne.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I have no idea – “ Joe said before the sight on the other side of the river distracted him.  Instead of the Meriweather dry creek, there was a clear, roiling stream.  Joe knew – or thought he knew – this was impossible.  The North Fork of the Meriweather had ceased to exist when the rising reservoir had overtaken the springs that comprised its headwaters.  It hadn’t flowed in sixty years.  He looked back to the old woman.

“I am Joe,” he said, patting himself on the chest. 

“Awanyu,” she replied, patting her own.

“Ki’iyee…,” the old woman said, again pointing across the river.

Joe nodded. “It’s not like this conversation is going anywhere,” Joe chuckled to himself. The water did look clearer on the other side. “Goddam I’m thirsty.” 

He felt his way along the river bed, planting his wading stick firmly with each step.  He reached the confluence after ten plodding minutes. The water was gin clear, and he could not help but lean down and take water into his cupped hands.  Once he started, Joe couldn’t stop, bringing handful after handful to his parched mouth. 

He stood and looked back at the old woman. In this light she looked young. Her long silver hair appeared black. Joe smiled and waved in thanks.  The woman pointed vigorously upstream, shouting “Ki’iyee,” once more.  She clearly wanted him to go up Meriweather creek.  Joe looked at the cascade of spring water in front of him.  “Was this a short cut? Was the fishing good?” Joe wondered. He had no idea why the woman was so excited for him to continue.  He looked back toward the woman only to find her gone. He looked up and down river with no sign of her.

Joe shook his head in bewilderment. At that moment one of those large, black snakes swooshed past him.  Joe shuddered.  “You, too?” Joe muttered to the slithering serpent. “I guess everyone wants me to explore this creek.”

The smaller stream pushed a lot less water than the main river so Joe moved through it easily, dancing over the slick rocks with little worry.  A steep bank lined the stream as it cascaded down from the hill above. Joe sighed at the prospect, but curiosity spurred him on. He scampered up with surprising ease. There the Meriweather leveled out into a series of gentle riffles and pools. Joe assembled his rod and flicked a small dry fly into the promising water. He landed fish after fish … gorgeous native red band trout.

He kept moving upstream, so excited by his turn of luck that all pain and discomfort seemed to leave his body.  He eventually ran into another cascade in the form of three stepwise waterfalls.  He put his rod in his teeth and scrambled up until he reached the top. There he found a large, deep, sapphire-blue pool, marked at the end by a waterfall that was perhaps twenty-five feet in height.   Joe checked his watch.  He decided he could take a refreshing swim in this pool, hike out, and still make it to the Reservoir in time to catch a ride back to his car.  He might even have time for that ice cream sandwich.

Joe stripped out of his clothes and waded into the pool.  The bracingly cold mountain water enveloped him. Pins and needles ran from his thighs up his spine to the base of his neck. He moved through the water in a gentle breaststroke as his body adjusted.  He took in the peaks around him, the brilliant blue sky above, and the soothing sound of the waterfall. He wasn’t sure if he had ever felt more alive.

The pond was no more than twenty yards wide, but twice that in length.  He glided along, the water deepening the closer he got to the waterfall. The longer he stayed in, the better he felt, as the water caressed every inch, every scar, every joint. 

When the chill finally got to him, Joe pulled himself out onto a large flat boulder. He lay there, drying in the sun, and closed his eyes.  He enjoyed the pressure of the warm sun and the sensation of droplets of water running along his torso.  Joe dragged his fingers across his chest and belly, feeling far more firm and fit than when he had left two days before. He felt years younger, in fact. Unconsciously, his fingers wandered their way to his sex. It was full of life. He smiled.  “I could have used that a couple nights ago.”

Joe let himself fall into a shallow doze. Whether it was a minute, or five minutes, or fifteen minutes, he did not know, but his eyes popped open when the sound of the waterfall had its first competition. Something seemed to be moving in the pond. Joe sat up straight. He startled when he realized a creature was swimming toward him. “Was it that damned snake?”

A shadow from one of the peaks now covered half the pond. The contrast of shimmering blue with gray shadow made it difficult to see exactly what this creature was. Joe hopped to his haunches in the movement of a much younger man. Preparing to fight or flee, he wasn’t sure. 

“Joe,” the creature said as it swam closer and into the full light. “It’s me.”

Joe drew back, aghast. “Surely I’m dreaming!”Joe shouted as he watched Loretta stroke toward him, her long auburn hair streaming behind her.  This was not cancer-stricken Loretta. It wasn’t even the Loretta of ten years ago. This was twenty-eight year old Loretta.  The Loretta that stole his heart on their first blind date. 

She extended a hand and Joe pulled her from the water. They embraced as young lovers. “Mmmm… I remember this body,” Loretta said as she held Joe’s growing penis and cupped his firm buttock.  It wasn’t until that moment that Joe fully took in his own body.  His sagging flesh and shrunken muscles were gone, replaced with smooth sinew.

Joe looked into Loretta’s warm, cognac colored eyes. “I’ve missed you,” Joe said as he kissed her.  Loretta moaned into Joe’s mouth.

 “And, I’ve missed you.” Loretta said as they broke their kiss. “Take me.  Take me now, before this dream of yours ends.”

Joe leaned down and took one of Loretta’s nipples – stiff from the cold water – into his mouth.  They collapsed together on the flat, smooth boulder, that now formed their marital bed. Joe explored Loretta’s body as if it was, not their first time, but their tenth.  That time when they were still new to each other but also understood what pleased them both.  

He grazed her rib cage with tender kisses, provoking goose bumps, as he knew it would.  A playful bite on her tummy brought a giggle. A flick of his tongue across her hip drew a deep sigh. Yes, he knew all her little erogenous spots.  At last Joe got to her tangle of red down, which he expertly parted with nose, lips and tongue. 

“Yessss,” Loretta uttered in a moan that blended into a laugh. “Pleeease.”

Joe licked around Loretta’s clitoris and stroked her labia with his thumb. He knew just how to play this game. When Loretta began to arch in search of direct attention, Joe applied firm pressure with a flat tongue as his thumb entered her.  That did it, as it had so many countless times before.  Loretta gripped Joe’s head with her dancer’s thighs and moaned with an open mouth until she twisted away.

Joe wiped her juice from his chin with the back of his hand and smiled. “Been awhile.”

“Been awhile since something else, too,” Loretta smiled back. She rolled off the boulder and stood in thigh deep water, grabbing an exposed rock and looking back at Joe with a happy, naughty smirk.

Joe stood behind his wife, stroked her back and shapely bottom, and entered her in a single thrust. Loretta pushed back into him with equal enthusiasm. Soon, the sound of their bodies coming together rivaled the waterfall, eclipsed only by their groans of ecstasy as they finished, together. 

After, the two swam in the pool, chasing each other, splashing each other, like playful children. They warmed on “their” boulder until the sun dropped behind the Canyon wall, their arms and legs wrapped together like a single being.

***

They never found Joe. The Sheriff’s Department figured he had fallen in the river while fishing, drowned and been swept downstream. It would hardly have been the first time.  The body would show up eventually. Or not. 

His daughter walks into the Canyon every year, to pay her respects. She goes just a mile or so downstream from the Reservoir, no farther than Meriweather Dry Creek.  More than once she has seen a strange, black water snake swirl through the shallows. It doesn’t scare her.