‘If Jupiter’s ‘Great Red Spot’ were to have a terrestrial cousin it would undoubtedly be the storm that persists on the ‘Edge of Disaster,’ an ominous ridge in Western Colorado. Fed by a series of mountainous lakes and a quirk of airstreams, the unnamed storm churns in its valley like a thick soup, trapped in a constant approach of the ridge.
Standing at the ‘Edge of Disaster’ is a humbling experience. One feels awe, initially, and then perpetually until the awe begins to feel more like tension and eventually, stress. The ‘Edge of Disaster’ perfectly triggers a series of instinctual fears that are not meant to be sustained. Some find catharsis at the ridge, a resetting of perspective, but most find the prolonged anxiety follows them off the hillside, like a ringing in the ears.’
I looked up weather patterns before I arrived- I do that a lot, actually, but it makes for boring reading so I don’t include it in the posts. This storm never quite escapes the valley but it does, occasionally, slosh up the sides, smearing moisture up along the walls and ridges. That’s been the case recently so I donned my rain gear and wrapped my pack in plastic. I crinkled my way to the ‘Edge of Disaster’ and felt the heavy storm-fear in my ass (like the sudden drop of a roller-coaster, but cosmic and grim).
I was on my own at the ‘Edge of Disaster’ so I, unwisely, played chicken with instinct and I timed myself watching it. It is hard, in a way that’s difficult to describe. I have lived through storms; that’s a different feeling altogether. I have lived through storms.
The ‘Edge’ is reinforced with unmarked cement which seems like a good idea but may provide a false sense of safety. I stand too close and topple over the edge, blinded by fluttering plastic and pushed by my shadow. It watches as I tumble into the valley and slip beneath the storm.
I come to in the mud, far below.
-traveler
