ALONG THE WAY

alongthe way by Robin N. Clayton Snakin' Your Way Up FOSSIL CREEK? Take a BIG STICK

FOSSIL CREEK SOUNDED LIKE THE PERFECT place to get away from everyday hassles and get close to nature. With my two kids in tow, I joined my friend Annie, her husband Steven and their three kids for a weekend of water, sun and relaxation-and no slimy creatures, we hoped-in the desert playground outside of Strawberry, Arizona.

We camped by Fossil Creek, its waters running shallow and wide and teeming with minnows and crawdads. The kids kept busy chasing fish until Steven hauled them about a mile upstream to the water hole-a deep pool beside tall rocks where they could swim.

Annie and I agreed to walk up and meet them after setting up camp.

I went down to the water to rinse my hands and heard footsteps that made me wonder which child got left behind. Movement on the other bank caught my eye.

His prickly, tusked face appeared first. He peered at me from behind his ugly snout, then charged at the water on stubby legs, exposing his porky body and expressing an instant dislike for me. He snorted and grunted. I scrambled back 10 feet and fell flat on my tailbone. Satisfied with my reaction, he grunted a last complaint and headed into the trees.

Good thing javelinas don't like water, because he definitely didn't like me. I figured the water was my friend and decided it was time to find the others upstream.

Annie and I walked up the middle of Fossil Creek toward the pool. The water deepened to our thighs, but we waded on. We knew we had to reach them eventually since the pool they swam in spilled into the stream. Overgrown trees thickly lined the banks, so wading up the creek seemed the fastest route.

And the safest. I optimistically assumed javelinas couldn't swim.

The creek's slippery rocks made me grateful for my sturdy walking stick. The water rippled and curled from our movements as I sought out the bottom to be sure I didn't crush any little fish. And to be sure the crawdads didn't bite my toes.

I looked to the side and saw a perfectly straight branch fall out of a tree. It landed just 15 feet from where I waded - the ideal stick for roasting marshmallows. I wanted to grab it before it floated off, but before I could reach it, my "marshmallow stick" suddenly gyrated to the left, with beady little snake eyes gleaming.

I did the hokey-pokey through the water, screaming like a loon, "SNAKE! SNAKE! SNAKE!"

Annie immediately joined my convulsive panic dance, easily outdistancing me and screaming all the while, "WHERE? WHERE? WHERE?"

The snake wriggled out of sight. After I stopped trembling, I stumbled out of the stream and climbed a huge fallen log with no weirdlooking branches hanging over it-having decided javelinas aren't so bad. Annie spent at least 15 minutes trying to talk me off the log before she hit on a winning argument: If I stayed here, the snake knew where to find me. The only problem was, the tree thicket blocked our path along the bank. This left only the water route, where the snake probably had friends.

When I realized I had no choice, I inched back into the water and made my way out from under the cover of the branches, waiting for some squirmy snake relative to drop on my head.

The thought of continuing up the unfamiliar territory of the stream proved too much for me, so we waded back to camp. All the while, I chanted a warning: "I have a stick! Do you hear me? I have a stick, and I will use it!"

I have never felt so happy to see a lawn chair, and what did Steven need us for anyway? He knew the way back.

Insect noises in the firelight usually give me the creeps, but after the day's excitement, the buzzing didn't faze me. The creek sang me to sleep under the blaze of stars.

At sunrise, the fears of yesterday's adventures faded. I felt strong to have braved the waters and returned to my camp without giving inwell, not completely to the panic. After all, I was in creature territory, and I stuck it out despite the deep desire to hit the highway for home to soak in my snake-free bathtub.

I have since found a great affection for trees, and big sticks in particular, as long as I find them stationary and already on the ground. Fossil Creek turned out to be the perfect place to get close to nature.

If you go, just be sure to take a stick. And don't be afraid to use it. Oh, and make sure it really is a stick. Ан