Baker
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I breathed out a long, exhausted sigh, stopping to throw my pack onto the ground. Ahead of me, the rest of the group continued their trudge up the side of the mountain. I heard the thump of feet on the ground as the three people behind me in the line came to a halt when I blocked their path. Two of them, a boy and a girl about the same size and age as myself, silently looked at me. Their bulky backpacks protruded above their heads, and straps around their waists kept most of the burden on their torsos instead of their shoulders. Not remembering or even caring what their names were, I sat down heavily on my pack and waited for the final member of the procession to approach.
Soon enough, he too trod up the deserted path. One of our two leaders, Rusty was your typical tree-hugging, nature-loving dude. His basic vocabulary consisted of words like "stoked" and "rad" and he didn't own a television or personal cell phone. Just my kind of person.
Anyway, at this point in time, I didn't know anything about Rusty. It was the first day of our first journey into the wilderness, and I was already completely miserable. My parents sent me on this “wonderful” three-week trip because we had a credit from several years before. My sister had gone on it, but had to leave early because of severe burns she received while boiling water. I strongly resented the fact that I had to go on a trip that she had signed up for while she went to debate camp, something she enjoyed. Why should I have to suffer while she got to have a great time elsewhere? Wasn't summer supposed to be relaxing and fun? Admittedly, the idea of three weeks in the wilderness also scared me. All kinds of dangerous and terrible things surely awaited me: bears, mountain lions, burns, bugs, and, worst of all, dirt. There would be no showers, no TV, no friends, no chicken nuggets. Of course I tried protesting the trip, using the same logic above as well as some less... mature tactics, but nothing worked. I was going, like it or not.
And go I did. Although this was only my first day in the wild, I decided I’d had enough. I told Rusty that I didn’t want to be there, I didn’t belong there, and I was only there because my sister couldn’t come back to use the credit. Then I asked him to give me his company-issued cell phone. I would call my dad, who would hire a helicopter to fly me out of there. Rusty claimed there was no service in the mountains. I told him we could walk back to where there was service. He said that would delay the whole group, and that I’d just have to wait until the end of the week until we would return to civilization. I continued arguing, but, as with my original protest of the trip, I failed. My complaints did not move Rusty or the other guide, Shelly, and the hike continued.
I grimaced and bore it for the next several days that soon left me filthy, hungry (I refused to eat most of the offered food), and thoroughly exhausted. The days were long and dull, the nights freezing and far too short. Despite this, the dismal conditions brought the group together, as we all bonded through our shared struggle. The other kids weren’t so bad after all; sure, one was a graffiti artist and another a rabid pyromaniac, but we all shared several characteristics.
For most, this trip was the first time out of sheltered city-dwelling, the first week-long vacation without a shower, and the only camping trip undertaken outside of our backyards. Everyone disliked the monotony of hiking and the burdens of packs, loved the warmth of a sleeping bag at the end of a long day, and looked forward to a long, warm shower at the end of the week. Despite my first impression, I even began to like Rusty, who turned out to be an excellent lyrical poet and even rapper. As the group grew closer, the silence of the trekking began to be broken by jokes and laughter, which did much to remove our minds from the daunting distances we were forced to cover each day.
Then, finally, the last full day of hiking rolled around. After that, we would begin to walk down from the mountains to meet our waiting van that would carry us back to what I thought of as the real world. To reach that point, however, we would have to first reach the top of the highest mountain we had seen yet: an uphill march of a daunting 2,000 feet.
We began early in the morning, and for a time the hike was just like the ones before it. The group traded riddles and games as we walked, but, as the day wore on and the ground showed no sign of flattening, the line grew silent. Soon, only the clomping of heavy boots and the regular noises of nature flowing around us penetrated the silence, and everyone’s eyes remained firmly fixed on the ground in front of them.
Half way up the hill.
My breath snagged in my throat and I focused on steadying it as I continued forward. A low burning slowly kindled in my legs and calves, and they started to grow heavier and harder to maneuver. Several times, my feet dragged along the ground and stubbed on rocks and sticks on the worn path. The sharp sensations in my lungs and lower body heightened all my senses, and the combined stench of fifteen filthy people suddenly washed over me. Sweat ran into my mouth, and the salty taste of the liquid lingered on my tongue as I forced myself up the side of the mountain.
Almost to the top.
I gasped as a stitch stabbed me in the side and quickly threw my hand on the spot to apply pressure. We were so close to the top now that I could almost feel the rush of relief that inaction would bring at the end of the hike, and I would not stop now. I could not break now, not when victory was so near and the rest of the group raggedly continued. The first of us reached the top, and I heard the sighs of lifted weight and the crash of packs dropping to the ground. I quickened my pace as much as possible, throwing my leaden legs into the slope. Soon, I crested the hill and joined the others on the large plateau.
As I allowed my backpack to slide off my shoulders and onto the ground, I breathed heavily, just as the others before me had done. However, relief and exhaustion did not cause any of us to exhale; instead, it was the scene laid out before us.
Miles upon miles of forest stretched from horizon to horizon, broken only by steep peaks jutting out from the undulating terrain. Trees large and small dominated the scene, and in several places hundreds of felled and burnt trees marked the path of forest fires. Clearings opened up in the distance to reveal steadily-gushing springs and peaceful lakes. Birds fluttered above and among the trees, alone and in flocks, gliding on the air currents. Gusts of wind whipped through the forest, disturbing the unmoving trees and the hair of the fifteen teenagers standing looking out over the forest. Someone summed up the group’s emotions, muttering, “Now that’s what it’s about.”
< Message edited by Bballman23 -- 11/17/2008 1:20:42 >
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