Lair of the Leopard - Day 1

I stopped under the carved leopard’s head just outside the canvas-covered doorway of Malalo Ya Chui and wondered what I’d gotten myself into. Once I stepped inside the rustic 8-sided structure I would be committing – really committing - to spending nine months of my life with whomever I found inside.

Coming here was an act of desperation. I had to make some major changes in my life if I was going to survive… changes that I chose instead of the ones that had been chosen for me. I wondered if I had the courage to do it. I was already late. Would it really matter if I just slunk off down the trail to the parking lot and left? I’d be out the deposit, but it wasn’t too late to change my mind.

My Missouri eyes had not yet adjusted to the intense greens of the lush vegetation that surrounded me. I didn’t recognize many of the trees or plants. The giant Western Red cedars (Thuja plicata) looked familiar, if much larger than the cedar trees of home, and I saw Maple-like leaves, but the trees, Vine Maples ( Acer circinatum), were different from the Maples I was familiar with. The mosses and ferns were foreign to me. Even the birds I heard calling in the forest were not the birds I knew. This place was a jungle to me.

Then I remembered the reason I was here…To learn about new things and places... To expand my paremeters...There was a welcoming wood smoke wafting up from the center of the roof, and I reasoned that the people inside must be much like me…Who else would sign up for a naturalist training program? Knowing only that told me that I had more in common with them than I had with the majority of the people I’d ever met. I was going to be alright here.

I looked to the leopard for confirmation. Lair of the Leopard - that’s what Malalo Ya Chui means. It’s located on the property called Linne Doran, or Pond of the Otter, in the Cascade foothills near Duvall, Washington. I had enrolled in the Residential Program at the Wilderness Awareness School. I was 2000 miles from home…and closer to Home than I ever had been.

The leopard was silent, letting me choose. I chose to go in. The moment I lifted the canvas to enter I knew I’d made the right decision. I can’t explain it. It just felt right, and good, and comfortable. The gut feeling I’d had when I’d stumbled on to the school’s website returned with a power that took my breath. This was where I was supposed to be now, this year, this class. This was where I needed to be. A thought came so fast and hard that I could not disbelieve it. “This is where you can heal.” Intuition is something that I had come to respect the hard way. I am a believer. I entered the lair.

Listen to the Voice...

"Do not go up the hill. Do not go up the hill. Do not go up the hill."

It's hard to explain that there's a very persistent voice hammering inside your head, telling you not to do the thing that everyone else in the van wants to do. I knew that we would be going up the hill just as soon as the guys finished putting the chains on the tires. Monarch Ski Resort was our destination, and we had missed 1 of our 3 skiing days because of high winds. The lifts had been closed, and we were forced to spend a day visting Royal Gorge, and the Great Sand Dunes. Even those side trips had gotten us into trouble. Tip: When the locals look at you like you are crazy for taking the rural route through the mountains, you should probably turn back. They know the snow plow doesn't go all the way to the other side.

Here's another tip: If the snow is blowing so hard that you can't see the highway, and there are no cars comming down the mountain pass, chains on the tires are probably not going to be enough. We had stopped at the pull-out just opposite a hotel at the southern end of Monarch Pass, and only because of the warning sign that chains were required to continue. The chains went on, and the guys climbed back in the van and buckled up.

"OK, if you are going to go up the hill, at least go to the bathroom first." Now, I talk to myself a lot...but this command was comming from somewhere deep inside. I could not ignore it. My traveling companions were not happy that I climbed out and trudged across the highway to use the facilites at the hotel. I took my time getting back in, and we had to wait as 2 vehicles passed us.

We hadn't gone a mile when the wind picked up and snow started to blow in every direction. Dale was a good driver, and he was going as much by how the road felt as by what he could see. It wasn't safe to stop, and we couldn't see where we were going. Even the kids were quiet as we inched up the incline. Just as suddenly, the wind died and we could see the road- and the white pickup and the little car that had passed us. They had stopped in front of us...my first thought was that the state of Colorado had really odd ideas about where gaurd rails were not needed, because there was not one on the opposite side of the highway, and it was a big drop.

That's when we saw the out-of-controll Dallas-bound Greyhound bus bouncing off the rock wall that edged our side of the road! The truck started to move to avoid the head-on collision. We watched the passenger jump out the door and get pulled underneath the front wheel...the snow was deep at the edge of the road, and he was thrown out to the side. The bus did hit the car, which started to slide back toward the drop.

By the grace of God, the bus and the car stopped crosswise of the highway...the jumper walked away from the accident, and we eventually got to the ski resort. I didn't ski...and I balked about getting back in the van to go down at the end of the day.

I've often wondered just how that day would have played out if I had not insisted on making the pit stop...I'd like to say that I've always paid attention to the voice. Many times I've heard it, and have chosen to ignore it. I've often paid for my reluctance to insist that my "gut feeling" could be right. I'll have more on that later.

I will say that when I was investigating WAS, I had the good sense to follow what my gut was telling me. I have not regretted my decison to do what felt right instead of what seemed sensible. Comming to Washington was the first thing I ever did without a plan - and a backup plan. It's working out so well that I don't make plans much anymore. I just try to trust that my intuition will lead me in the direction that I'm supposed to go.

Much to my surprise, intuiton is part of the lesson plan at WAS. It's good to have personal experience validated. I am learning to trust that the voice will be there when I need it...and I don't plan to make it "yell" at me anymore before I pay attention.