D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
June 2010
Trauma
Page: 3It was only a few days after the Babel incident, while hiking and meditating alone, out there, probably in the Burros, that I got it: It was as if God had allowed me, during the fllm, to pass out, finally, as I relived that bloody scene in Vietnam, when I'd been warned NOT to pass out. Imagine the control one has to exert to overcome a physiological sensation to pass out at the sight of one's own blood. Passing out isn't normally fatal. But in combat and accidents, someone needs to intervene who understands that death can come from the shock over blood loss alone.
Imagine! Forty years after the event, I passed out, seeing all that blood. It was if, I realized, God said: You didn't pass out then, Jerry, when you lived through that trauma and horrible injury. But you can pass out now. Let it all go, Jerry. It's time; you're safe now. You've done a lot of work on the Vietnam traumas.
I didn't even know I had PTSD until 1989 or 1990. But back there in Colorado Springs, in 1973, when I first saw Jeremiah Johnson, I knew then that something had changed in me over in Vietnam. I'd realized that Jeremiah Johnson and I had an experience we shared. From that night forward, I longed deeply for a chance to walk alone, in those mountains, among crags and peaks, canyons and mesas.
I wasn't sure why I felt that need, at the time. Wikipedia suggests that it wasn't until the 1980s that the term "PTSD" entered the lexicon. It was nearly a decade later when I realized that I had it myself: I had PTSD tracks laid down as early as one year old, and various layers had been formed well before I graduated from high school. My first PTSD "award" of veteran's disability was made in 1999. Before that, my disability had been related to gunshot wound and malaria. In fact, it wasn't until 2005, after arriving here, that my PTSD disability was adjusted upwards for psychological damage.
These things are connected. And for that, I return to Jeremiah Johnson as the opening thread into this part of my life.
In the film, Jeremiah has endured a multiyear feud with Crow Indians. He has killed many of them and they have tried, repeatedly but unsuccessfully, to kill him. One day, high in the Rockies, he meets up with his old mentor, Bear Claws Chris Lapp. Both men know what Jeremiah has been through, and where he's come from. Both know that Jeremiah has retreated to the highest places as a last-ditch attempt to live his life without more killing. Jeremiah went into the mountains to retreat to places isolated and insulated from war, and people who knew nothing about what war does to men. His imagination was sparked by the notion of becoming a Mountain Man. Solitary, brave, incredible explorers, Mountain Men often nursed their wounds in silence and stillness.
It was this conversation in the film that sparked my mind to go to the mountains. It was this conversation that caused my head to tilt, and my head has never been the same again. I am not invincible, and I am less inclined to hike alone, but there will be days, times, periods, when I will hike alone, because I have to hike alone.
In the scene, Bear Claws approaches Jeremiah, who is cooking rabbit on a spit. "What's on the spit?" Bear Claws asks.
"Grown particular?" Jeremiah answers.
"Not about feeding. Just the company I keep. Thank you kindly," Bear Claws says as he accepts a hind quarter.
"You cook good rabbit, pilgrim."
After another brief exchange, Jeremiah asks, "Would you happen to know what month of the year it is?"
"No, I truly wouldn't," Bear Claws says. "I'm sorry, pilgrim." Bear Claws shows deep sensitivity to this other quiet man's question. They are, in fact, so high, so alone, that time is irrelevant.
They speculate. "March maybe."
"Maybe April."
"I don't believe April."
"Winter's a long time going?"
"Stays long this high."
"March is a green, muddy month down below."
"Some folks like it."
"Farmers mostly."
"You have done well to keep so much hair when so many are after it."
"I hope you will fare well."
"And some folks say," the movie ends, "that he's still up there."
Jerry Eagan, who lives in Silver City, is working on a compilation of his "Hiking Apacheria" articles for a book. He asks those interested to visit his website, www.hikingapacheria.com, and post comments on his blog, hikingapacheria.blogspot.com