Leaves of three, let them be

Leaves of five, let them thrive.

I learned this poem as a camper at Franke Park Day Camp, as a way to differentiate Virginia creeper from poison ivy. Apparently, I didn’t learn my lesson. Two weeks ago, I wore shorts on a night hike that veered into brush. A day later, I had angry dots on my legs and shoulders, like little planets.

To my knowledge, there is no poem about twisted ankles, an injury that began during an Ellenville hike, when I jumped off a rock at lunch time. I further loosened the ligaments going down Algonquin Peak on July 31.

The following is self-diagnosis:

Poison Ivy:

Urushiol is the chemical that causes rash. Some people are immune, but other people may have several exposures before noticeable signs. My rash lasted a week, leaving gray marks for another.

Here’s what I should have done. When I got home, I should have rubbed my legs and hands with rubbing alcohol and water to remove the urushiol. Next, I should have taken a warm soapy shower, wiped my clothing and shoes, and scrubbed my finger nails.

I simply took a shower and saw the rash one day later.

Take a poison ivy quiz, if you are confused.

Ankle:

Within the first 24-48 hours, I should have used the RICE method: Rest, ice for 20-minute intervals, compression, and elevation. One thing I did well was to keep the ankle mobilized through gentle walking and Achilles stretching. A common form of rehab is to lie on the back and draw the alphabet with the toes.

Doing Shiva on top of the world

This was the Wal-Mart greeting at the top of Algonquin Peak, the second highest mountain in New York. Moments before, my fellow hikers and I scaled the space age rocks above the tree line, the edge of a sustainable habitat. At 5,102 feet above sea level, anything seemed plausible, even the spry Kate, who in her early thirties, was half woman/ half billy goat.

“Just letting you know that the plants up here are delicate and easily damaged,” Kate said. She emphasized professional qualifications with her Adirondack Mountain Club bag. “Can you remind your friends not to walk on the grass?”

“Sure, Kate,” I said. “I’ll tell them.” I couldn’t move. My legs were shaking, and my voice sounded flat, as if I were talking into a tin can phone. The wind turned puddles into mini cyclones.

Kate thanked us, looked at her watch, and said, “My day is done. I’m going down the mountain now. Anything I can help you with?”

“We’re doing fine, Kate. Thank you.”

Kate disappeared, and I worried about not making it down before sunset. It was about 4 p.m., and those rocks would be three times as hard to go down as up.  We left the top at 4:45 p.m. and reached the parking lot at 8:15 p.m. With shoes untied and beer in hand, I wondered if I had imagined perky Kate, my Summit Steward.