We had shuttled cars before the trip, leaving one at the Vallecito trailhead an hour up the road from Durango, so we decided that three of us would leave early, moving fast to try to catch the first train from Silverton passing through the Needleton wilderness stop by 10:30. We could pick up the other car near the train station and do the reverse shuttle before the larger group arrived, saving them a long wait.

The fast group would be Dr. John, my son, and me. Dr. John always had to start his day with a cup of coffee, so he coaxed his finicky little stove to life, and boiled water to pour through a single cup filter, a personal tradition. I fired up my Peak-1 for a quick dose of hot chocolate, to warm my son and me. In a few minutes, we were on the trail with lightened packs, as the others finished breaking camp.

The streams had turned into raging torrents, so crossing the slippery single and double log bridges as the rain continued falling was a challenge. We didn't stop to rig safety lines, yet somehow, none of us fell in. Our pace down the mountain, led by Dr. John, was just shy of a run. Our boots pounded the trail, but the sounds were lost in the thundering crescendo of the water cascading over the rocks in Needle Creek, just to our left.

Raingear can only do so much in a driving rain, and we were soon soaked inside and out, but our pace never slackened. Even seasoned hikers like us forget how fast you can move downhill, compared to uphill, in the thin air. When the ground began to flatten out, we knew the Animas River was close by. We crossed the pedestrian suspension bridge at about 9 AM, and joined a few other soaked hikers sitting near the tracks on the other side, waiting for the train whistle. As we broke out candy bars and water bottles, the rain stopped.

[July, 2002] Dr John took his own life last Sunday night, after arising at midnight to go out for a walk. When I first heard the news, I was unable to comprehend. Here was a man who was known and loved by more people than I will ever meet in my lifetime, the doctor who delivered my son into the world, someone who seemed to have everything going his way. I had to try and understand why, and went to see a mutual friend who was on that same expedition in '97. He told me of a personal crisis that had developed suddenly for Dr. John, and how he was gripped by fear - fear of what other people might think of him. In spite of the efforts of several close friends to reassure and support him, it finally overwhelmed him, and he chose to end his life rather than suffer the pain he was feeling.

Pain so all-consuming is hard to understand for most people. But when someone believes their very world is on the verge of collapse, if some very private thing is about to be revealed to everyone, or if they feel like they have let other people down in some way, the pain can be beyond description.  Dr. John was not a weak person. Self-esteem is so much more fragile than any of us suspect, until it is ours that is crushed. I have my own secrets to reveal someday, and I hope I can get through that experience alive.

At the funeral yesterday morning, there were hundreds of people, more than I've ever seen at a funeral before. Was their love there all the time? Would it have faltered? Too late to find out, now.

Maybe it doesn't really matter what the root of it is; many of us have some secret, or some weakness or flaw that we hide from everyone, worrying about what everyone else would think, were it discovered. From a tragedy like this, we must draw the strength to confront our fears, to forgive ourselves for whatever it is that sets us apart, to love ourselves and allow those others who will, to love us.

Dr. John has taken the last hike, and as a Christian, he no doubt anticipated a paradise indescribably beyond the most beautiful high mountain meadow. If that is where the final trail leads, surely he is resting there now, making a single cup of coffee on his odd little stove.