#i WILL hike the mountains. i WILL return to the dirt and moss from which i came.

[herd-reject-arts]

Here I go to spend several days by myself in the North Carolina wilderness. Wish me luck. Never gone camping alone (but I have my dogs, and I trust them more than any people I know), so that's intimidating. Hopefully I don't have to fistfight a bear over whatever I'm cooking that night. Not looking forward to no toilet or shower until Monday, but it is what it is. I absolutely have to do this, for my mental health. I'm losing so much money taking the time off work to just have mountain time to myself. But I gotta. My life has been such a chaotic mess for over half a year now - everything that could go wrong, has - and I've never felt so close to just letting myself snap. I can feel it boiling right under the surface at any given time.

But yeah. Should be a time. Might post pictures upon my return (provided a bear doesn't decide I'm on the menu). Wish me luck!

[marimoscorner]

A Witch’s Hearth: Finding Home in Nature

In our Disconnected, Urban World

Written by Autumn (she/her) 🍁

To most witches, pagans and druids, the nature around us is as much of a home as our own domiciles. It’s healing to go out to an old growth forest, to bathe in the wisdom of beings who lived before you and will likely still stand tall when you are amidst their soil.

However, not everyone has immediate access to the lovely blessing of a deep forest.

I myself recently moved from the deep, lush forests of the PNW to just about as far south as I could go in my car, chasing the light that I need to function. The move has helped with my daily functions and mental health, yes—but I have been left feeling a bit lost without the forests of home.

Join me as I plan some ways in which I can adapt anew to the nature around my new home, how I may incorporate it in my magic, and how I may carve out a new spiritual hearth for myself.

Perhaps this can help inspire folks to tackle their own homesickness with nature, and to reconnect with the world in which they live (whether or not they’ve made a move).

Once again, please take this with a grain of salt—as this is just from my own experiences. I am not a teacher, I am simply recording my thoughts in the hopes to add my voice to the pot. With that, let’s begin! 🌿

A Deep Homesickness

This photo is one my partner took at our engagement up in WA, right before we ran into a bear

The above photo is how I think of home. The deep green of the forest, the blue of the mountains on the horizon. Moss on just about every surface. The rich dirt that sustained it all. Were it not rainy and dark most of the year, I wouldn’t have left.

Now, I find home in a biome all its own. I’m living deeper into a city than I ever have, and I’m feeling isolated from nature. While the beach is close by, any deep woods that remind me of the edges of the wilderness up north are at the very least two to three hours away by car.

Though I have a hard time remembering this, it is not a bad change. Any plant that is uprooted from the earth it’s known its whole life is bound to feel a bit uncomfortable. But perhaps it can flourish if moved to soil better suited for its intrinsic needs.

Though my experience includes a physical move, this can apply to a homesickness you feel due to a simple displacement of nature in this society. Perhaps you aren’t seeing enough nature, or aren’t able to connect with what’s around you.

Let’s forge ahead to tackle this feeling of loneliness head on!

Finding Similarities

This is a photo I took at a hike about 2.5 hrs out of the way down here. Though without as many trees, it felt much more familiar and was beautiful in its own right

In our modern society, we’re left with a longing to return to nature—to our home. You may find yourself longing for a specific kind of view. Perhaps you’re looking for prominence of a particular element—like a roaring river to enact water or plenty of clover to help you feel the earth. The following is a list of steps to tackle this:

Make a list of things you want to see or things that would help you feel at home in nature. Think of your dream location when it comes to the outdoors. What does it look like? What features does it have? How do you feel?

Go online and find trails nearby with as similar to these features as possible. AllTrails has the ability to search for trails with waterfalls, forests, wildflowers, wildlife, etc. for free. Make good use of the wonderful web of resources provided to us.

Make an effort to connect with nature at least once a month, if you can. Be sure to pack for safety—and take a nice hike, or sit under an old tree and journal in your grimoire. Ground yourself and notice the seasons around you

In this way, you’ll help your soul settle and feel comfortable, which will help with our next steps.

Bring a Piece of Nature Home

Here’s one of my cats, Pagan, enjoying our newest garden box arrangement. I’m so proud of how far she’s come since we rescued this tiny baby

Many times, it’s near impossible to find the time in our busy lives during the week to go deep into nature. Thus, we need to take this connection into our own hands, and build our own miniature wild sanctuary.

NOTE: Do not remove plants or creatures from nature. They are there for a reason.

Take inventory of your available space. Is this your entire patio? A shelf? A portion of your altar? A garden box? A whole backyard? Take measurements so you can better plan

Remember your list of natural things you enjoy. Brainstorm some ways to include them in this space. It could be a photo or painting of your dream location. It could also be an actual plant for a tiny breath of fresh air. If you have the space, you could plant a whole garden! It is whatever matters most to you. Try and incorporate your local biome to help enmesh the two worlds, if they are different.

Thrift and shop around to fulfill the needs of this space. The more you can get secondhand or from smaller businesses in your community, the better. You may even be able to ask your neighbors or friends with impressive plants for a cutting to propagate!

Consider the safety of any children or animals in your life. A lot of plants and flowers can be toxic to certain creatures. Utilize the web to determine what is safe for your situation.

Set up your space and enjoy! You may utilize spells or ritual to fully enact the space and help it to feel more magical, but it is really your choice.

For my family, we live in an apartment. We haven’t had a backyard in years. Still, we’ve found way to turn our patio into a spot of natural respite. We utilize a tiered planter in order to make the most of our patio space. Though we’ve included small flowers that remind us of our old home, we’ve embraced the biome we’re currently in and have an entire row of beautiful succulents. Of course, we also added catnip for our babies, and herbs for our kitchen witchcraft. We also put down these outdoor tiles from IKEA that mimic a lawn and wooden patio. On our table, we’ve put a hummingbird feeder to help better support local wildlife, and are discussing an actual bird feeder.

Embracing the Nature Around You

A photo I took of a playful wild crow. He was an excellent little model!

This is a step I still need to complete myself. When biomes don’t match up with how you picture nature in your craft, it can be frustrating! Especially if you’re in a fairly urban area, you may not have much access or choice in which nature you interact with.

Here’s the good thing, though: it’s all nature, regardless of how it shows up in the world.

Start researching your local biomes. Take account of your local parks and community gardens. Study the history of the land that you’re on, and how it played into the lives of the people that it truly belongs to (of course, do not culturally appropriate. This should go without saying). Explore native biodiversity. Find volunteer programs at local organic farms. Visit a farmer’s market. The list of possibilities goes on.

If you’re feeling overwhelmed or don’t know where to start, this is how I’ll be organizing my journey through this step:

Make a list of natural sights in your area that are easily accessible to you. I’m talking within a 30 minute drive or closer level of close. These don’t need to match up perfectly with your perception of nature—you may be pleasantly surprised in what you find when you open yourself up. This could include: parks, hiking trails, state parks, plant nurseries or shops, local/community gardens, farms that allow for visitors, farmer’s markets, local watersheds that allow for visitors, etc.

Visit these locations safely, documenting what you find beautiful and/or spiritual in each one. List aspects of local nature and how that could make an impact if you were to include them in your craft

Create a mini encyclopedia of local spots that you end up loving for days where you’re feeling disconnected and need a quick pick-me-up. You might even create a jar full of folded papers to pick them at random.

Increase the amount of local natural elements that you include in your craft instead of/alongside elements of your idealized natural space. You may find this area around you feeling more like a home or hearth than you ever have before.

Once you start practicing awareness in nature more and more, you’ll start to notice it in more places. This can not only help with your connection to your location, but can help you build your magical hearth in the energy around you.

Giving Back

This is a photo I took at the San Diego Zoo of a weaver finch building its nest

Nature takes care of us, even when we’re detached from it in our cities. We need to take care of it in turn. If you have the means, find some way to give back to the nature around you if you so wish. Here are some ideas:

Give back to the plants with your energy, or make an offering of compost to replenish the soil

Purchase a Membership at a local zoo or aquarium that prioritizes conservation. This way you get to visit, too, while giving back! I love having memberships because I know on each visit I can really take my time and don’t have to rush about.

Volunteer to help reforest, or to help plant at a local garden. This can even be done by donation if you do not have the access or ability to physically participate

Consider giving homegrown herbs/plants to family and friends—or prepare them to help feed those in your community, if you have the means to donate

Teach others in your community how to properly dispose of waste and how they can help keep our natural beauty alive

Simply compost and recycle when the option is available to you

Etc. There is no one right way to do any of this! Just with your intent, you make your community a better place. Thank you for being in it

Thank you for taking the time to read through my little magical journal and ideas. Even if we don’t fully align, I hope that our paths crossing has contributed to even a slight net-positive in your day. I look forward to writing again soon.

[mamabearcat]

Into the Woods - Part One

Yes, as usual, it started as a one shot and then.... maaaaybe three parts to this? Not sure what to rate this one - it’s sorta dark but no more graphic than the original manga I guess, where people get ripped apart on the daily. For the moment, I’m gonna say T. Listened to The Cure’s Lullaby while writing this one...

On candy stripe legs the Spiderman comes Softly through the shadow of the evening sun Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead Looking for the victim shivering in bed Searching out fear in the gathering gloom and Suddenly A movement in the corner of the room And there is nothing I can do When I realize with fright That the Spiderman is having me for dinner tonight

Tagging everyone who asked to be @clearwillow @keichanz @redflamesofpassion @xxracheyxx You know what to do if you wanna join the tag train.

Kagome’s heart thudded in her ears as she careered out of the doorway, half fastened boots slipping on the gravelled path. The plastic toggle on the drawstring of her oversized red hoodie whipped into her cheek as she skidded around the corner of the house. The chilled mountain air felt harsh, catching in her throat as she gasped for breath, the oxygen in her lungs stolen by the horrifying images just left behind.

A vision of her loving grandfather’s face, his features twisted almost beyond recognition into a mask of lust and violence swam before her eyes and she pushed it away, madly dashing towards the crumbling steps leading downwards towards the moss-covered Torii gate, uncaring of the high possibility of falling and snapping her neck in her eagerness to get away.

“There’s no point running little girl. I seeee yooouu.”

Kagome smothered a sound midway between a terrified shriek and a sob behind her shaking hand. A childhood memory of hide and seek with her grandfather tore at her, made her gasp, tears threatening to spill. It was still her grandfather’s voice, but she knew. She knew it wasn’t him.

She began running down the eroded stone steps, her loose boots almost tripping her up. The worn dirt path stretched out ahead of her, a clear escape route all the way to the main road. But wouldn’t he expect her to use the path? The road was a forty-minute hike away, and it was doubtful that any cars would be travelling towards the isolated shrine at dusk. And what if he caught up to her? He’d already proven that even though he looked like her grandfather, his strength and speed wasn’t that of a frail man in his late seventies.

Her thoughts leaped towards the only other person she’d seen in the forest today – the grumpy woodcutter who’d warned her to stay on the path, the inu youkai with silver hair and ears and piercing amber eyes. Could she find him in the dwindling light? He’d told her he lived in the forest, but she had no idea where.

The only thing she could do was run. Mama was far away in Tokyo. No one else apart from the woodcutter even knew she was here. No one would be coming to save her. Choking back another sob she plunged into the increasing gloom of the forest next to the path and ran, heedless of the sharp twigs tearing bloodied scratches into her pale skin.

---

 “Are you sure you have everything you need honey?”

Kagome smiled at her mother as she shrugged her yellow backpack onto her shoulder, heavy with a week’s worth of clothes and her mother’s gifts of food for her grandfather.

“Yup, I’m all set.” She knew the tightness around her mother’s eyes and mouth were due to more than the early morning start to make it to the station on time; she was really worried about Grandpa. Kagome was glad that she could ease her mother’s burden by travelling to the isolated mountain shrine to check up on him.

“You know I’ll be there by Sunday, right?” The slightly shaky tone of her mother’s voice confirmed Kagome’s theory. “I’m so sorry I can’t come straight away, but there’s no one available to take over the project at work, and with Souta having his high school entrance exams this week… Grandpa sounded so frail and frightened on the phone, not like himself at all, and I just…”

“Mama, calm down! It’s not like I’m a little kid anymore - we’ve been over this.” She stroked her mother’s arm, trying to reassure her. “I’m happy that I can go check on Grandpa. It’s just lucky that I have time before my next semester begins at university.” She smiled at her mother, watching her take a deep calming breath. “And besides, I haven’t visited the shrine yet since he moved there. It’ll be nice to have time to visit with him and breathe a little fresh mountain air.”

“You remember which bus to catch from the station right?” fussed her mother in a worried tone. “And you’ve got the map? Make sure you get there before it’s dark, the forest trails can be slippery if it rains or gets foggy. And make sure you stay on the path – I don’t want to get a call to tell me you’ve broken your leg getting your foot stuck in a fox hole or something.”

“Mama, you worry too much!” Kagome grinned, leaning forward to embrace the slightly shorter woman in a swift hug. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see; Grandpa probably just has a bad cold, and after I pamper him for a few days with all the food you’ve packed he’ll be feeling much better, chewing my ear off with one of those old youkai folktales he used to tell me at bedtime. You might not even have to come at the end of the week – I promise I’ll call tonight and let you know how things are.”

Her mother returned her hug tightly, pressing her cheek against Kagome’s and rocking her slightly from side to side. “I know, honey, I know, I’m probably worrying over nothing, but just humour your mother okay? I just have a feeling that somethings not right. Please, please be careful.”

The whooshing sound of the Shinkansen approaching the station cut short their conversation. Kagome lined up behind the number painted on the platform that corresponded to her assigned carriage. She blew her mother a final kiss as the door slid open and stepped onto the train.

 ---

Kagome swung her backpack down to the ground, and pushed her hands into the small of her back glad to be able to stretch after sitting on public transport all day. She had been walking up the steep mountain trail for about twenty minutes, and guessed she was about halfway to the shrine. Time for a little break and she definitely deserved a snack. She sat down on a moss-covered log next to the path, sipping water and munching appreciatively on the pale pink mochi bought at the little family run stall near the bus stop at the base of the mountain trail. It was well past her usual lunch time, and the sakura mochi sweetened with red bean paste was just what she’d needed.

Her mind pondered the weird interaction with the stall owner as she swallowed the last mouthful. She’d been chatting happily to the smiling old lady after she made her choice and handed over her coins, and it had been a total surprise when the woman had gasped in horror when she’d explained where she was travelling. The tiny woman had shuffled away into a back room, pushing aside the sun faded noren that hung in the doorway and returning moments later with a small object clutched in her arthritic hand. She had thrust it into Kagome’s palm – a yakuyoke omamori.

“For protection against evil”, she’d whispered, looking around suspiciously as if they might be overheard by someone, folding Kagome’s fingers over the small yellow brocade talisman and squeezing them tight. “Stay on the path – I warned your Grandfather, but he refused to listen.” Before Kagome could thank her, she’d disappeared behind the fabric divider again. The conversation was obviously over.

Kagome pulled the small rectangular amulet out of the pocket of her cut off denim shorts and held it in her palm again. She held it up by the looped string, watched it twisting in the sunlight filtering down through the green canopy above, the gold brocade glinting. She smiled indulgently at the old woman’s superstition. Her Grandfather was the same; he’d been brought up in a Shinto shrine and still followed the old ways.

He had spent many hours telling her traditional stories about youkai and miko, and his childhood growing up in a shrine. She’d even considered taking on a part-time position as a miko at a nearby shrine while she completed her university degree as a way to earn a little extra, seeing she was already familiar with many of the duties. But then she’d found a job at her local café that fit her lecture timetable and nursing placement at the hospital, so she hadn’t pursued it, even though she was sure it would have made her Grandfather very proud.

Mama had been a little worried about Grandpa moving back to the mountain shrine traditionally run by his family, but Kagome had understood. He’d moved from Kumamoto prefecture to Tokyo to help look after them when Papa had died, but he’d never really been happy there. Now that his older brother had passed away, he was the last person left to take over as caretaker, unless her or Souta decided to move here.

She breathed in the clean crisp air, enjoying the novelty of solitude. A gentle breeze rushed through the branches above, reminding her of the sound of the sea. Small birds chirped nearby, and black and white butterflies flittered through the soft beams of afternoon sunlight dappling the dirt path in front of her. She took another deep breath. All was quiet and tranquil, so different from the constant bustle of Tokyo. There probably wasn’t another soul around for miles.

“You know, that little scrap a cloth ain’t gonna do shit for ya.”

Kagome shrieked, jumping up from her seat on the fallen log and away from the deep voice that had whispered directly into her ear.  She twisted, almost losing her balance and tripping over as she turned abruptly to see who had broken the silence.

A man was standing there behind the log. Lean, but broad shouldered and a whole head taller than her, a teasing grin on his face. No wait – fangs? Along with claws, short silver hair and… were those dog ears? A youkai then? Kagome wasn’t frightened; she had a few friends at university who were youkai. Shippou was one of her best friends, and Jinenji wouldn’t hurt a fly. She frowned at the grinning male, taking in his black and red checked jacket, dusty jeans and axe resting on his shoulder as she tried to calm her rapidly beating heart.

“You scared me you jerk! What are you, some kind of wood cutter?”

“That’s exactly what I am”, he smirked. “And I take it you are lost.”

Kagome bristled slightly at the insinuation. Obviously, he was under the impression that the weak little woman needed saving. “No, I’m not lost! I know exactly where I’m going. I’m walking that way”, she said, pointing up the mountain path.

“Then you’re headin’ in the wrong direction woman. The main road’s back behind you.”

Kagome hmphed, crossing her arms. “Well, not that it’s any of your business, but I’m not headed to the main road. I’m walking up to the shrine.”

The tall man’s eyebrows lowered, and he frowned at her, shrugging the wooden axe handle from his shoulder to drop the heavy metal blade on the forest floor with a dull thud. “Why would ya wanna go up there? It’s just a long dusty walk with not much to look at. Nothin’ interesting, no pretty stalls to buy trinkets at, no food, not even a vending machine. You’re wastin’ ya time. You’d better head on back to the road before the last bus comes.”

“Shows how much you know. My Grandpa lives there, he moved there about three months ago. I’m going to visit him.”

The man’s amber eyes widened in surprise. “So, you’re jiji’s granddaughter huh? He’s a stubborn old coot.”

Kagome frowned at him. “You just told me that no-one lived there!”

He smirked, leaning forward a little. “No, if you’d been listening woman, you’d know that I said there was nothing of interest up there – that’s not a lie.”

“Hey, don’t be rude!”

He sighed, scratching his chin with a clawed forefinger and looking upwards to the tree line above as if the conversation was already boring him. “Well, since you’re related to him, and he is kinda my neighbour, I suppose I should introduce myself. Name’s Inuyasha.” He nodded his head in what Kagome supposed could be called an approximation of a bow.

Kagome sighed, clasping her fingers together on her thighs and leaning forward. Just because he was an overly macho grump didn’t mean she couldn’t be polite. “My name is Higurashi Kagome. It’s a pleasure to meet you Inuyasha-san.”

He grinned at her again, one white fang poking over his bottom lip. “It ain’t nice to lie to people Higurashi – no one’s ever been pleased to meet me my whole life, and I doubt you’re gonna be the first.”

Kagome narrowed her eyes at him as she straightened up. “My apologies Inuyasha-san”, she huffed. “My Grandpa is expecting me.” She swung her heavy backpack up onto her shoulders and turned to continue up the mountain path. A grumbling growl followed her.

“Hey, Higurashi Kagome.” She paused. “If you are gonna waste your time goin’ up there, keep your wits about you. You’ve got a couple a hours before sunset, make sure you get there before it gets dark. And stay on the path.”

Kagome turned to face him again, her eyebrow twitching. “You’re the third person to say that to me today. I didn’t think there were any bears left in Kyushu!”

“It ain’t bears ya gotta worry about around here”, he said with a growl. “Just stay on the path Higurashi. And trust your gut!” With that he shouldered his axe and turned to head off into the trees.

“Hey, what about you?!” Kagome yelled behind him as he disappeared in amongst the trees, only the occasional flash of white or red showing his whereabouts, his progress through the heavily wooded forest almost silent.

“Doesn’t apply to me woman; I live here! And I ain’t a weak human like you are. Stay on the path!”

“Jerk!” Grumbling, Kagome hitched her backpack more comfortably on her shoulders and shoved the tiny talisman back in her pocket. If she never saw that grump again, it would be too soon for her.

 ___

 “Grandpa, are you here? It’s me Kagome!” She tapped on the door of the little house behind the shrine. The shrine building and grounds had been still and empty, the bell silent, no incense burning in the large holder, and twigs and leaves littering the gravel around it. Maybe Grandpa wasn’t feeling well enough to sweep them away? The little house seemed silent also, and a small shard of disquiet lodged in Kagome’s chest. What if Mama was right, and there was something really wrong with Grandpa? She tried the front door, but it was locked firmly.

The windows at the front were covered by blinds, so Kagome headed around the side of the house. A small window near the back of the house was uncovered, and she cupped her hands around her face, trying to peer in. The late afternoon sunshine lit up the small kitchen and the scene inside increased her worry. The sink was filled with more than a day’s worth of dirty dishes, and broken glass and spilled rice littered the floor. The door to the refrigerator was wide open.

Kagome ran to the rear of the house, knocking frantically on the back door. “Grandpa! Grandpa, can you hear me? Are you okay? Please open the door!” She twisted the doorknob, and sighed in relief when she found it unlocked. She dropped her backpack and loosened the tops of her hiking boots, toeing them off next to her Grandfather’s neatly arranged shoes.

“Grandpa? Grandpa, where are you?” Kagome ran into the kitchen, stepping carefully around the broken glass on the wooden floor to avoid cutting her sock clad feet. The small tatami room off to one side was empty save for a low table and seating cushions.  The short hallway ended in a bathroom; an open bottle of pain medication left on the sink.

Kagome slid open the door to the next room – her Grandfather’s sleeping futon was still laid out on the tatami mats, the quilt messily turned aside. Kagome was beginning to panic now. She had never known her Grandfather to leave his futon out after sleeping. She glanced unhappily around the room for clues to his whereabouts, her hands clenching and unclenching, but there was nothing except for dust motes drifting through bright beams of sunlight filtering through the paper shoji screens.

She walked back to the kitchen unsure of what to do. Should she call Mama straight away? She pulled her phone out of her pocket, noticing that her battery was nearly dead – she’d been reading and listening to music on the train and bus for hours, so she wasn’t surprised. But calling Mama without knowing where Grandpa was would just frighten her. What should she do? She turned to close the door of the refrigerator and was startled by a sudden tap on her shoulder.

“Grandpa!” She dropped her phone in her surprise, flinging her arms around the old man and bending down to hug him close. “Where were you, I was so worried!” She pulled back to look at his face. His eyes looked bloodshot and his eyelashes were wet, and it looked like there were traces of tears on his pale cheeks. Had he been crying? And the way he was looking at her was like he didn’t recognise her at all!

“Grandpa?” she said uncertainly. “Are you okay? It’s me, Kagome.”

His eyes blinked, and then a wide smile curved his lips. “Ah, Kagome my child, it’s good to see you. Your mother said you would be visiting during your semester break. How are your studies progressing?”

“Never mind that Grandpa! What happened?” She pointed towards the broken glass and spilled rice on the floor.

The old man shrugged and walked towards the broom resting against the refrigerator. “Nothing to worry about. I’ve had a slight cold this week. I was making lunch and had a bit of a dizzy spell. I decided to go sit in the open air outside the shrine and clear my head a little before I cleaned up.”

Kagome bit her lip, trying to push back the pure panic that had been rushing through her only moments before. “But why didn’t I see you? I looked everywhere for you Grandpa!”

Kagome blinked. For a moment, she had thought she saw a look of extreme anger on her Grandfather’s face, but she must have been mistaken. Her Grandfather reached up and patted her shoulder.

“We must have just missed each other dear girl. Go sit down and I’ll make some tea.”

“No, no, I’ll do it. You haven’t been well, and that’s why I’m visiting after all. Please let me look after you Grandpa.” He smiled at her indulgently.

“Very well, if you insist. I’ll go sit down.” She watched him walk out of the kitchen, his steps a little uncertain, like he was still dizzy. She was concerned, but thankful. Things weren’t as bad as she had feared. She would look after him for a few days, and he would be back to his normal blustery self.

 ---

 Kagome bustled around the little kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove and emptying her backpack of the treats her mother had made to bring, twisted azuki bread, tiny matcha butter cookies and a selection of her Grandfather’s favourite tea. She put a plate of treats and a cup of tea on a tray for him, trying to make it look as beautifully presented as Mama would have, and carried it into the tatami room where he was seated on a cushion, gazing at nothing with a vacant expression on his face.

He turned his head towards her at her as she entered the room. She noticed his eyes still looked a little bloodshot; even his iris looked different, the usual dark brown looking almost dark red. He blinked at her, taking a moment to respond to her presence as if he had been deep in thought. Maybe he had a headache? He tilted his head to look at the tray.

“Thank you, child, this looks lovely.”

Smiling happily, Kagome placed the tray down in front of him. “It’s no problem at all Grandpa. I’m just going to go clean up in the kitchen, and then start on dinner okay? Drink your tea before it gets cold.” She watched him reach for the cup, tremors shaking fingers as he reached for his tea. He was definitely ill, but knowing him, he was probably hiding exactly how ill he was from her. She almost chuckled, thinking of what that rude woodcutter she’d met on the trail had said to her earlier - he really was a stubborn old coot wasn’t he.

Kagome plugged in her phone to charge, then finished the washing up, leaving it on the side of the sink to dry, ready to put away later. She used the broom to sweep the spilled rice and broken glass into a little heap near the bin, but couldn’t find a dustpan and brush. Rather than disturb her grandfather, she picked up the biggest pieces with her fingers. A jagged piece sliced across her palm and she dropped the collected glass with a yelp.

“Is everything alright granddaughter?”

“Don’t worry Grandpa, just a little cut, everything’s okay”, she called back. Holding her other hand under her dripping palm she walked over to the now empty sink, wondering where her grandfather might keep his first aid kit. She didn’t think the cut was deep enough to need stitching, but it was stinging quite badly. She must have nicked a blood vessel, because it seemed to be bleeding a lot. She turned on the tap, ready to run it under the water, when her grandfather’s hand shot out from behind her and grabbed hold of her wrist.

“Show me your hand.” Kagome flinched. How did he get into the kitchen so fast, when he had looked so dizzy before? And his voice sounded… odd. Not caring like it usually would if she had injured herself. She turned to look at him as he inspected her palm carefully, the bright red blood pooling in her cupped hand.

“Grandpa, please, it’s gonna drip everywhere and make a mess. Let me… ow, you’re hurting me!’

His grip on her wrist was suddenly fierce, and she whimpered trying to tug her arm back. When did her frail Grandfather suddenly get this strong? His slightly long fingernails were almost piercing her skin and it felt like the bones in her wrist were close to cracking. “Grandpa, please stop!” She tried to look into his eyes to catch his attention, but he seemed to be almost mesmerised by the warm blood that was now beginning to run down her wrist and over his fingers.

“It smells so sweet”, he muttered to himself, ignoring Kagome’s whimpers and efforts to pull back her hand entirely. “I can sense the power of it. Who would have thought such a prize would come to me willingly? I had thought to wait until the mother arrived, but it would be a shame to waste this.” He suddenly jammed the forefinger of his other hand into the open wound and Kagome shrieked, watching him with horror as he pulled back his finger and placed it into his mouth, tasting her blood. He moaned softly, almost like a lover would, then bent his head to slurp and lick the blood out of her palm, pulling at the cut with his other hand to encourage the blood flow.

Kagome tugged backwards frantically trying to get away, her sock covered feet slipping on the wooden floor. This made absolutely no sense. Had her Grandfather gone insane? Had the isolation of the shrine made him crazy? This couldn’t be real! She moaned in horror and he looked up at her, his lips, teeth and chin coated in her blood. His irises were pure red, full of rage and lust and a horrible stench reached her nose, like rotten meat. He grinned at her; his once kindly face unrecognisable.

“No need to prepare dinner Kagome-chan”, he grinned malevolently. “I already have plans.” Purplish black miasma began to leak out of his eyes and mouth and Kagome felt her stomach turn. She reached behind her frantically with her other hand, feeling for anything that might aid her escape. Her fist closed around a heavy cast iron fry pan and she swung it at her Grandfather’s head with all her might, connecting with the side of his skull. There was a flash of bright pink light and she heard a wet cracking sound. The crushing grip on her arm loosened.

Kagome tore her arm away and bolted towards the doorway, shoving her feet haphazardly in her boots. She couldn’t look behind her. She felt like she needed to vomit, but she held it in, retching as she slid open the door, ignoring the beauty of the sunset highlighting the sea of green stretched out below as far as the eye could see. She had hit him. What if she’d killed him? What if she’d killed her own grandfather?

“Kagomeee-chaan…”

Kagome put down her head and ran, shuddering with horror. Whoever it was in that kitchen, it wasn’t her Grandfather.

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Into the Woods - Part 2

[kitsoa]

Fic: A Measure of Gratitude

Fandom: Kingdom Hearts

Genre: Gen

Word Count: 4309

Characters: Sora, Riku

Relationship: Sora & Riku (mainly platonic but its free real estate)

Summary: [Post KH2][Pre-DDD] It was a childish ambition of his, accomplished in seconds. Perhaps the way he got there cheapened the moment, but it couldn’t change the beauty of the view. This was his home.

Sora reflects on his homecoming.

The air splashed around like a thick hot soup. Hungry gasps for oxygen took in the humidity with native ease while arms pumped through the foliage of green and sneakers slapped the wet stone at a constant beat. The run was joined with the ceaseless screams of cicadas and the scampering rustle of a startled animal.

The island was built around a massive and dormant volcano. Upon its dark soil sprung violently rich greenery. Trees of impressive heights, coiling vines along fallen trunks, moss blooming along jagged cliff sides, wet ravines that spilled water from a nearby ocean channel in loud splatters. The expanse of the main island was covered in a forest known fondly by the youth of the town. The primary hiking trail was exhausted in its familiarity, only holding captive the spirit at the base of the volcano’s sharp incline by a sloppily pinned strip of bright yellow ribbon blocking entry to Uwami Point.

It was almost laughable really. Closed in a moment of crisis roughly 20 years ago, the lone, pathetic string of tape was mainly symbolic of the very few hard laws in the land, relying on the trust of islander fellowship to enforce the idea that Uwami Point could kill as it had done before. It didn’t stop the more adventurous children until resulting consequences satisfied them to play exclusively at a lonely island across a small surf of ocean.

It was a schoolyard dare, a right of passage for unruly teens, a thrilling challenge to a wide-eyed child looking to prove himself. So the act of jumping over the blockade was not unheard of. Not for many Islanders and certainly not for Sora.

The impact of his shoes on the rock was momentary as the young teen immediately broke back into his run. He launched himself among the step stones of a winding creek, sweeping under low hanging branches, arranged in a manner both familiar and entirely new—like someone shifted the couch over by two inches. His focus was as intense as his breathing, eyes darting miles ahead of his next step to take the vault across the stump that wasn’t there 2 years before, and dodging the drop where he broke his wrist when he was nine. All the while the incline grew steep and the smell of the ocean took back dominance over the dirt and green.

The trees started to thin as the rocks climbed to the sky and what was the once the expert movements of a boy at home became something else entirely. He kicked off the wall of stone and parried himself off another in a way that looked like flying. Sora flipped along the small footholds, finding greater purchase on the larger ledges only to launch himself higher, sometimes scampering his shoes straight up a vertical incline to catch a distance lip.

The entire time his blood pumped, eyes elated and sparkling with what was a childhood dream falling—or in this case climbing— into his lap. The moment captured his body into a captivated physical trance, his focus equally pacified and humming with electrifying precision. Beneath that, wells of something greater, more mysterious, and limitless bubbled with the joy. It joined his coiled muscles as he rocketed along the impossible trail of Uwami Point.

The massive leaves of a tropical bush indicated the return of green and Sora grabbed its stalk for one final pull up. There were few trees upon the more level walkways of the mountain but the path winded across vertigo-inducing altitude. Sora rose to his feet, taking several steps toward the clearing on the rocks, the air salty and active. It was a like a different world, the clouds so much closer, his eyes consuming the entire expanse of the forest surrounding the town— the size of a dinner plate from his vantage point. His feet stopped at the massive drop into a sea of trees.

“Wow.” He breathed, unable to contain his wonder. Here was his home, his small world nestled in a nook of island foliage and blue sea, in a form he never before dreamed he’d see. Sora let the temptation to reach his hand out toward the coastal settlement take over, his gloves obscuring the homes, his fingers worming along the dirt streets, every single denizen in his palm. The school was near his pinky, the younger students milling about like ants while at recess. Several ships were finding the port with trade from the island neighbors. His small home settled on the edge of town by a coast of soft white sand curled under his thumb. If he squinted, the mayor’s mansion was in sight by the town square. Face flush with excitement, Sora thought of showing Riku this view. He wondered what he’d say.

And then, in the distance, he spotted the lush little Play Island. The special islet stood out like a beacon surrounded by the blue. Even so, it was still an unsuspecting location for his world’s heart. Just knowing that gave the place a warm glow that was amplified by the fond memories upon those shores. The compulsion to lay on its sun-soaked beach was far too real for the mountain scaling teen.

With a wry grin, Sora fell into the easy analytics of judging if a glide-induced jump from this height would result in an early nap across the stretch of water. Confidence started to swell with a change in the wind pattern, whipping his hair into his eyes which were skirting across the town in a last minute search for witnesses. He took a couple steps back to prep his running start.

His muscles fired him into a leaping sprint when a voice emerged out of the quiet nature around him.

“You will definitely get spotted if you try that.”

Sora squawked as he tried to stop, his momentum launched out of control. And in a comical attempt to stop himself, the boy’s arms flailed wildly while his sneakers slid to the edge of the cliffside until finally, Sora fell off.

“Sora!”

Riku, the unsuspecting visitor to what was actually an impossible trail to follow, stumbled forward in a jerk of protective reflexes, reaching down the cliff toward his falling friend to no avail.

“Oh thanks, Riku.”  He heard the eye roll in Sora’s voice and took in the sight of his friend falling slowly through the air, a magical glide easing him to the next available ledge, arms crossed in a sour mood.

“Did anything hit you?” Riku couldn’t contain the guilty worry in his voice. He clenched the ledged while his friend descended.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Sora insisted, feet touching the ground on a small lip along the cliffside. “Just gimme a second and I’ll give you some payback.”

A second was all he needed to scale back up in two easy leaps. Riku couldn’t rise to his feet in time to avoid Sora’s vengeful tackle on the way up, complete with a gurgly yell.

“Wah? SORA!” He spluttered as a face full of Sora was now on top of him, pushing his shoulders to the ground. A mischievous grin was on his mouth as he pressed his forearms into Riku’s face with a series of sloppy knuckle slaps to his head.

“Way to screw up my plan Riku!” Sora laughed while the older boy knocked his hands away in a light swipe. He then used his long legs to pin Sora’s ankles in a show of resistance.

“Oh, you’ll thank me later,” Riku responded, attempting an easy tone with difficulty amidst the wrestling match. He swept his feet to the side, knocking Sora off balance and into humorous crumpled of limbs. Riku took his chance and went after the boy’s mess of brown hair, rustling it into an even greater mess.

“Hey!” Sora protested grabbing at his pant leg in a childish way as Riku got to his feet. His posture tensed.

“No no don’t.” He said as Sora released his pant leg with a cocked eyebrow. Riku heaved a sigh, scratching has his face with an embarrassed gaze. “I can't let my uniform rip.”

And that’s when Sora took full note of his friend’s attire, blue plaid dress pants and a now dirt scuffed short sleeve uniform polo fit with a plaid tie. The Destiny High School summer uniform.

“Why aren’t you in class?”

Riku swallowed a laugh in a choked huff. “Why aren’t you?”

Sora shrunk back in a spell of insecurity. He grabbed at his feet as he adjusted himself into a sitting position. He was still in his adventuring clothes, complete with the clanking buckles and rattling pockets full of keychains and accessories. He scratched at his head.

“Ah, you know.” He laughed with a furtive hesitation in his eye. “I wasn’t really feeling it today, that’s all...”

Riku crossed his arms, clearly contemplating something in the silence of his piercing eyes. He took in a breath… and then sighed it away in defeat.

“I’m not really one to talk.���  Riku pulled a hand through his bangs, clearing his vision before the wind swept it back into his eyes. Sora felt the tension in his neck relax. “The moment I realized you were skipping, I headed out after you. Talk about an opportunist.”

“How’d you know I’d be here?”

Riku hummed thoughtfully, taking a moment to crouch down to Sora’s seated level and kick his feet out. “You were staring at Uwami Point yesterday. I had a feeling you wanted to give it a spin with your new abilities.”

“And yet you stopped the biggest test of said abilities.”

“Hey, as impressive as your ability to glide is, don’t think for a second you won’t get spotted by the entire town trying to take a short cut to the Play Island. We have to—”

“Maintain the world border. Don’t worry, Donald never let me forget.”

“‘Border?’ ”

“Sorry— ‘order.’ ”

“You’ve clearly committed that to memory.”

Sora made an exaggerated pout. “It’s not easy lying to everyone.”

His exaggeration hid greater stress and Sora had to swallow down a sudden string of tension in his throat at a creeping memory from only days before. A reunion so basic; the family friends rushing to their home as news of Sora and Riku’s return rippled across the town like the igniting lamps at nightfall. He remembered Hana, the wife of his father’s employer, in her misleading scowl and heavy glare, yielding to a twinkling joy on verge of tears, crushing him in a hug and pawing his shoulders and face for signs of some kind of harm. Questions spilled from her mouth that would echo later from neighbors of a more casual bond. Where had he been? What had caused his absence? Was he okay?

He didn’t blame them for their overbearing reactions. He even indulged in the euphoric atmosphere of their presence. Old bonds in his heart leaped. Childish selfishness basked in an attention he had gluttoned for in his younger days. And as joy curled his lips, a blush rose to his cheeks and brought a similar twinkle to his eye— looming clunch on his jaw skewed his face awkward. His neck grew tight and a pressure seeped through his chest.

When the swell of shock and elation died out, and all that was left between them was that empty air of unanswered questions and great expectations, there was the seizing dismay in her eyes. It was a confusion so unrelated and undeserving while she and many others in the following days would realize that they had come to harbor a worry that would never find burial.

And wasn’t that worry just another form of darkness?

Riku’s face was lax, his mouth a hard to read line. “True.”

Sora shook his head of the memory, choosing instead to cling on the more present good. The beautiful horizon lent a hand in that.

“Oh, but secrets can be fun too! How many people do you think have ever successfully climbed Uwami Point?” As if to exclaim his point, Sora outstretched his arms to present the impressive view of the town.

Riku hummed. “If the stories are true, I can only imagine a small number have even tried.”

'Stories’— meaning cautionary tales and ‘tried’—meaning ‘failed.'

“Yep… Everything looks so different from up here.”

“It certainly provides… an interesting perspective.”

The kind of perspective a restless child could have used to cure his island fever. A spin on the small sameness of a sea-locked paradise that could easily inspire and regrow weary appreciation for home… But it was a perspective nearly impossible to gain without first stepping foot outside. Redundant, the view of the town could just as easily summate the limits of their world.

The thought was sobering. The memories of reckless horseplay on the island and schemes of adventure on the beach gave a sleepy warmth in Sora’s head. It felt a little like swimming, staring out at home. Weightless, free, and comforting. The memories of loving smiles from shopkeepers on the square, or his father’s crew, to the diligent teachers at the school— he imagined they were all within his vantage point from this distance. But in the same way, it felt a little muffled. Unreal and distorted as though the winds from this mountaintop were waves and those smiles were trying to talk to him from the surface when all he could only see was their sun dazzled shadows through the water and all he could hear were their warped voices in the bubbles.

“Are you happy to be back Riku?”

The question caught Riku off guard, Sora’s expression was mellow and perhaps nostalgic—not an ounce of unspoken context or prying. Just an honest reflection. Their home behind his heartfelt gaze, the sun as ever faithfully crawling through the sky, the question seemed silly.

“Yeah.” And his words were sure. It didn’t really matter if rumors flew in unsavory ways, or if the townsfolk would never completely understand the people they were growing into.  Even if there was a foundation of truth in the furtive glances, and that horrifying storm— now a bad memory— was a result of his weakness… the idea of standing on this earth had been resigned so many times in the past year that Riku couldn’t fathom regret. At least not at that moment. Sora just made things easy.

“What about you?” He shot back. What of this open heart could words really convey? There was something so islander about an exchange of easy pleasantries, if this could be considered that.

“Oh sure.”

A silly question indeed.

And it was like they were on those dark shores again, yearning for the slight breeze to smell the same while letting it settled slowly that they were never going to view their sea again. If Sora hadn’t been there. If he had been alone, grounded on that suffocating land, Riku imagined he would have wept endlessly on that black sand. He would have gone from being blind to the wealth he already had, to truly destitute. A real island prison as opposed to his naively manufactured one.

But Sora’s eyes flickered, that sobered feeling from earlier swelling around his vision while he took in his friend. Déjà vu. That water swarmed around Riku and he felt the urge to reach out to him against a swallowing current. At least… he was below the surface with him. It gave him the strength to lay the feeling on the table.

“But you know. I think I’m a little nervous.” The surprising words had that characteristic Sora pep. It was the sort of certainty that spoke of his refusal to dwell and brood, or at least fight in the face of it.

“Nervous? Of what?” Unlike Riku, Sora’s never resented his home. Any guilt around his heart from here would have to have been born from some contrived sense of failed responsibility and as far as he could tell— Sora was nothing but victorious.

Sora slowly let his gaze fall away from the town, focusing at his feet, upon the shoes that trodden on lands beyond the wildest imagination.

“Not a day went by when I didn’t think of home… I just wanted to find you and Kairi and let everything go back to normal... “ He cocked his head in some mixture of nostalgia and amusement.

“But ever since we got back… I’m starting to wonder if normal’s even possible anymore.”

Sora wasn’t sure normal was the word. Maybe it was ‘same’? But that forced him to recognize the feeling as unyielding change. A transformation instead of a slightly skewed picture frame.

Sora‘s voice was gentle, almost lost to the wind in his bout of insecurity. Riku exhaled through his nose, not taking his eyes off the sad smile on his friend. There was a flare of guilt in his gut he refused to let fester. If only he had realized what he had. If only he hadn’t uprooted their world and destroyed any sense of the word normal. If only—

“You think you’ve changed?”

Sora crossed his arms with a more befitting pout of consideration as he rolled the summation.

“Yes? I mean something’s different. I feel different.”

“You’ve grown,” Riku corrected and Sora felt an uncontrolled swell of pride from a younger side of himself, desperate for his older friend’s recognition, now suddenly dished out without fanfare. He laughed it away with a dry bark.

“I’m taller.”

“And you can climb Uwami Point in seconds flat.” And the weight of such a benign fact was reluctantly recognized, but promptly ignored.

“That doesn’t matter.” He pushed Riku’s example away with his hand, bemusement in his eye. It did matter. It was indicative of his new abilities, of his responsibilities and purpose. It was the highest point in their world. The limit.

“Does ‘normal’ even matter?” Riku asked, but in his head, he screamed ‘ of course it matters.' The attempt at devil’s advocate to fight Sora’s woes was a purpose he could rally behind though. It settled him into a familiar position; giving sage advice he wasn’t entirely sure of like the older kid on the Play Island he was used to being.

“Not exactly…” Sora admitted. “But it probably does for everyone else.”

Riku paused, the spell of concern resonating and tugging at his own heart. It didn’t take long for the rumors to reach them. While their return was miraculous and welcome, the lack of answers to their great mystery simmered a world of fables. How long until they tainted the hearts of their beloved islanders? How long until the weakest of connections withered when Sora’s love included everyone? Would it spread like poison? What would that lead to?

“I know what you mean,” Riku said after a moment, doing his best to fight the spiraling void of dark possibilities. Alas, it brought him to a spot of resonance. A memory from just that morning, interrupting Kairi’s pre-class conversation with her classmates to inquire about Sora and the stares from the underclassmen that ensued. People unsure of what to think. Perceptions once gilded in admiration and familiarity now boggled in the foreign sight that was Riku himself. Otherness. Guilt. It was like playing with fire and blisters calloused along his skin.

Riku didn’t know how to put that into words.

“But hey,” He continued, finally knocking Sora out of his thoughts and catching his drifting gaze with a tilt of his head. “I guess we just have to keep it a secret the best we can. Just you, me, and Kairi.”

They were the people Sora’s heart chose. Woven into the foundation of all he felt, they were his pillars. As long as they stood beside him, he would be okay. That image of swimming felt a little more grounded, in his hands were the solid palms of resonating company and it coursed through him like liquid courage. The steadfast eyes of his longest friend reassured him. He was not alone.

Sora nodded sharply, encouraged. “You’re right.”

“That’s more like the Sora I know.” A wry smile teased Riku’s mouth. A shock of perspective— one of less macrocosmic levels— jolted Sora with a trill of self-conscious anxiety at his words. He blinked back beside himself.

“Ah… uh… Sorry?” He offered. “I didn’t realize I wasn’t being ‘me’...”

Riku waved the concern away with a laugh. “Don’t think about it too hard, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Hey!” Sora jutted his jaw forward for show and Riku had to hold it together with a bemused smile.

“Why don’t you go to class tomorrow? We can bring things to normal together.” Riku offered after a kind silence.

He shifted his weight and brought himself onto his feet as Sora pursed his lips, giving the only school building on the island a long and pointed glance.

“Come on Sora. United front?”

He may cox his friend with ease, but stepping into the constricting uniform was a herculean task in and of itself. He could truly sympathize with Sora’s reluctance with striking clarity. Even so, Riku's efforts seemed fruitful.

“Only if you let me glide to the Play Island after nightfall.” Sora mirrored Riku, rising to his feet with a sly grin on his face, troubles far away. He began walking toward the edge of the perimeter he arrived from, intending to jump.

Riku gave a scoff. “You’ll have to carry me with you.”

“No way! You’re too heavy!”

“I’m offended.”

“How are you gonna get down without scuffing up your uniform?” Sora asked pointedly, peering over the edge to find potential footholds for his friend to ease down the cliff. Riku, in a moment of concern, glanced at his uniform pants, patting away some dirt collected from when he was sitting.

“I guess I didn’t think that far.”

Sora took a step back in yet another jumping prep, a self-important laugh. “Then it looks like you’re actually are getting that lift.” And that’s when Sora stepped on a loose stone, bringing his attention to the earth beneath his feet.

“Hey, Riku… come over here.”

“I was joking,” Riku said turning around from the cliffside only to noticed Sora‘s distracted focus. He drew closer, following his friend’s curiosity as he crouched himself toward the stone.

“What do you know... We aren’t the first ones up here.” Riku mused as Sora brushed away loose dirt from the sloppy engraving. It appeared to be old but was deep enough to have survived years of erosion. Whoever wrote the message did so with passion. Sora imagined if someone were to have scaled this cliff —without superhuman abilities— they would’ve easily had the drive to inspire a trophy of this simplicity. The message itself was the confusing part.

“‘Another, ’” Sora read aloud. “Another what?”

This was the highest point in all of Destiny Islands. There wasn’t ‘another.’

Riku failed to respond, something dark sobering his gaze. “That’s kind of sad.” He said after a pause.

“Hm? What do you mean?” Sora was attempting to search for more inscriptions on the rock but failing.

Riku took his time to brush his thumb over the message, the jagged engraving seemed artistic at first glance, but closer inspection showed more sloppy desperation in the lines. “Whoever climbed up here chose not to write their name… they probably weren’t very proud of themselves.”

And to write something as greedy as 'another.' There was little context in those lines, but something about its location was chilling. Sure... the view was beautiful, the feat was validating, the notoriety was immortalizing, but what more could someone from this small world expect?

“Oh…” Sora knitted his eyebrows together in concerned thought. “That’s… not right…”

Who wouldn’t feel proud of themselves? Sora and Riku technically cheated themselves from the pride… but the spoils of the view, the nostalgic dream-come-true was too sweet to not appreciate. But this mystery person, who most likely scaled this mountain with their hands, facing the dangerous winds and stretched out footholds… they didn’t even tell anyone to warrant an island legend… assuming that they got back down alive. Sora almost choked on that sinking thought. It made him feel wrong, almost dirty. In those moments, the air clung to his skin weird, like he didn’t really belong. Nothing stirred more fear in his heart.

“Or their name is actually ‘Another.’” Riku offered after a silence.

Sora choked, but this time on a bursting laugh. “Now that’s sad.”

“I’m just picturing a cranky mother naming her fifth kid ‘Another’ out of frustration or something.”

Sora threw his head back. “I’d probably climb a mountain too if my mom was that disappointed in me.”

“You’ve done more than that and your mom’s a saint Sora.”

Sora smiled, impossibly bright. “I’m actually really happy we weren’t the first up here.”

It made him feel closer to the ground, but he didn’t know how to say that out loud.

Riku hummed in agreement. Sora took in the town as he rose to his feet one final time. This was home. It was small, but plenty. This was enough.

When they returned to level ground, Sora and Riku took a boat out to the Play Island. They stretched the long afternoon in the dark cave of the Secret Place, holding a handful of conjured fire to newly made engravings of their own, sloppily scratched on the precious blank stone. They tested their imagination and art skills on the walls, making up stories about a mysterious ungrateful mountain climber and later showing Kairi in fits of laughter. She scolded them for skipping class before drawing an artistically superior sequel.

And when night fell they saw the stars shimmering from the cave openings. Backs flat on the wet stone floor, they got another, equally impressive view of their world.

[j0sgomez-blog]

By Michael Lanza

We can all remember specific places that we consider the best days of hiking we’ve ever had. I’ve been exceptionally fortunate: I have hiked many trails in America and around the world that would probably make anyone’s list of most-scenic hikes. From iconic national parks like Yosemite, Zion, Grand Canyon, and Glacier to the John Muir Trail and Teton Crest Trail and some of the world’s great treks, including the Alta Via 2 in Italy’s Dolomite Mountains (lead photo, above), the Tour du Mont Blanc, New Zealand’s Tongariro National Park, Iceland’s Laugavegur Trail, and the icy and jagged mountains of Norway and Patagonia, here’s a list of the 25 hands-down prettiest days I’ve ever spent walking dirt and rock footpaths. I think you’ll find some places in here to add to your must-do list.

The write-ups and photos below link to my complete stories about these adventures at The Big Outside, with more pictures and information to help you plan each trip.

Please tell me what you think of my list, or suggest places you think I need to see, in the comments section at the bottom of this story.

Happy trails.

Mark Fenton atop Half Dome, high above Yosemite Valley.

Yosemite’s Clouds Rest and Half Dome

Traversing the slender summit ridge of 9,926-foot Clouds Rest (lead photo at top of story), we walked what felt like a high wire between sphincter-puckering abysses in the heart of Yosemite National Park. Below one elbow, a drop-off of several hundred feet; on the other side, 4,000 feet—that’s a thousand feet taller than the face of El Capitan. It’s arguably the best summit view in Yosemite and one of the best reached by a trail in all of California’s High Sierra. On the first day of a 151-mile grand tour of that flagship park, four of us walked from the granite-framed shores of Tenaya Lake over Clouds Rest and on to one of America’s most famous summits: Half Dome. And after all that, we still weren’t even finished for the day.

See my story about that hike, “Best of Yosemite, Part 1: Backpacking South of Tuolumne Meadows,” as well as “Best of Yosemite, Part 2: Backpacking Remote Northern Yosemite,” and all of my stories about Yosemite and about California’s national parks.

  You want to backpack in Yosemite? See my e-guides to three amazing multi-day hikes there.

  Hikers on the South Kaibab Trail, Grand Canyon.

The Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim

We breezed down the narrow crest of the Grand Canyon’s South Kaibab Trail as the first light of day fell on one of the planet’s most magnificent and unfathomable landscapes: a mile-deep chasm with twisting side canyons, walls stacked in multi-colored layers, and an army of stone towers each standing thousands of feet tall. Three friends and I walked across the canyon from the South Rim to the North Rim, and back again—42 miles with over 22,000 feet of up and down—in one very long day. I’ve repeated the r2r2r over two days, and have plans to return again this year to attempt it in a day. Wherever I hike for the rest of my life, I’m sure I’ll always rank hiking rim to rim among my greatest trail days ever.

See my stories “Fit to be Tired: Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim in a Day,” “Ask Me: Hiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim in a Day,” and “April Fools: Dayhiking the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim,” and all of my stories about the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

  Do it right. Click here now for my expert e-guide to hiking the Grand Canyon rim to rim.

  David Ports hiking the West Rim Trail, Zion National Park.

Walking Across Zion

From the red-rock Kolob Canyons in the park’s northwest corner to the 2,000-foot, creamy white and blazing burgundy cliffs of Zion Canyon, Zion National Park harbors some of the most uniquely beautiful and beloved natural real estate in the entire National Park System. Hiking 50 miles across the entire park in a day, tagging highlights like Angels Landing and the West Rim Trail, seemed like the perfect way to experience a park without peer. That’s what several friends and I figured, anyway. Our adventure was proof that, even when events don’t proceed quite as planned, it can be a great day.

See my story “Mid-Life Crisis: Hiking 50 Miles Across Zion in a Day,” and all of my stories about Zion National Park.

Score a popular permit using my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

  Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.

  My family trekking the Alta Via 2 in the Dolomite Mountains, Italy.

The Alta Via 2 in the Pale di San Martino, Dolomite Mountains, Italy

Often described as “the world’s most beautiful trail,” the Alta Via 2 traces a roughly 112-mile (180k) path through northern Italy’s Dolomite Mountains, which thrust a dizzying array of spires and serrated peaks into the sky, gleaming like polished jewels in sunshine and virtually pulsing with the salmon hue of evening alpenglow. On my family’s hut-to-hut trek of a 39-mile (62k) section of the AV 2, jaw-dropping views became routine. But on the day we hiked from the Rosetta Hut, in the sub-range known as the Pale di San Martino, down to the small mountain town of San Martino di Castrozza, we walked below one sheer limestone tower after another on a path that clung to vertiginous mountainsides, sometimes chopped from the face of a cliff.

See my story “The World’s Most Beautiful Trail: Trekking the Alta Via 2 Through Italy’s Dolomite Mountains.”

Get the right pack for you. See my picks for “The 10 Best Backpacking Packs” 

and the best ultralight, thru-hiking packs.

Geoff Sears on the Highline Trail, Glacier National Park.

Many Glacier to Logan Pass, Glacier National Park

In the cool hours of early morning, my hiking partner and I set out from the Many Glacier complex on the east side of the park, heading toward Swiftcurrent Pass and eventually Logan Pass on the Going-to-the-Sun Road: a traverse of 15.2 miles with about 2,000 feet of uphill. Neither of us had hiked these trails before, so we carried no expectations—and were amazed at every turn. We walked below towering cliffs spliced by ribbon waterfalls, climbed to a notch hundreds of feet above the Grinnell Glacier, and followed the Highline Trail, an alpine footpath with sweeping views of the Northern Rockies where sightings of mountain goats and bighorn sheep are common.

See my story “5 Perfect (Big) Days in Glacier National Park,” and all of my stories about Glacier National Park.

  Get my expert e-guides to the best backpacking trip in Glacier and backpacking the Continental Divide Trail through Glacier.

  My daughter, Alex, descending from the Fenetre d’Arpette on the Tour du Mont Blanc, Switzerland.

Trekking the Tour du Mont Blanc in the Alps

Hiking to Courmayeur, Italy, on the Tour du Mont Blanc.

Some hikes need no introduction. The Tour du Mont Blanc is one of them. One of the most storied, popular, and step-for-step majestic trails on the planet, the roughly 105-mile (170k) footpath around the “Monarch of the Alps,” 15,771-foot (4807m) Mont Blanc, passes through three countries—France, Italy, and Switzerland—delivering a cultural and culinary experience to match the scenery. While there’s not a mediocre mile on the trek, two of our nine days walking it with family and friends really stood out scenically: day four, hiking from the Rifugio Elizabetta Soldini mountain hut into the resort town of Courmayeur, Italy, below a staggering array of knife-like spires; and the rugged crossing of one of the trail’s highest mountain passes, the Fenetre d’Arpette at 8,743 feet (2665 meters) in Switzerland, overlooking the tumbling, severely cracked Trient Glacier pouring into the valley we descended.

See my story “Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc at an 80-Year-Old Snail’s Pace.”

  Save yourself a lot of time. Get my e-guide “The Perfect, Flexible Plan for Hiking the Tour du Mont Blanc.”

  My family at the crater rim of Mount St. Helens.

Hiking Mount St. Helens

The catastrophic eruption that decapitated Washington’s Mount St. Helens on May 18, 1980, removing almost 1,300 vertical feet of mountaintop, ironically created one of America’s most strikingly beautiful, fascinating, and coveted dayhikes. On a climb up the mountain’s standard Monitor Ridge route—10 miles and 4,500 vertical feet round-trip, most of it over a rugged and stark moonscape of loose rocks, pumice, and ash—you’ll soak up views of several Cascade Range volcanoes, and eventually stand atop the rim’s crumbling cliffs, gazing out over a vast hole 2,000 feet deep and nearly two miles across.

See my story “Three Generations, One Big Volcano: Pushing Limits on Mount St. Helens.”

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  Hikers on Blahnukur, near Iceland’s Laugavegur Trail.

Laugavegur Trail, Fjallabak Nature Reserve, Iceland

Some landscapes defy comprehension; as a photographer, I’ll look at them and think, “No one will believe this is real. They’ll think I doctored the picture.” I felt that way several times in Iceland, but never more powerfully than I did while hiking over a peak named Blahnukur and on the northernmost section of the 33.5-mile Laugavegur Trail. A hut-to-hut trek that begins with a long soak in the hot springs of Landmannalaugar, it crosses a barren land where mud pots bubble and burp and the colors of volcanic activity are everywhere—paint-can spills of ochre, pink, gold, plum, brown, rust, and honey against a backdrop of purple pumice, electric-lime moss, and the black rhyolite of old, hardened lava flows.

See my story “Earth, Wind, and Fire: A Journey to the Planet’s Beginnings in Iceland.”

Todd Arndt backpacking through Evolution Basin on the John Muir Trail.

The John Muir Trail from Evolution Basin to Mather Pass

The John Muir Trail, aka “America’s Most Beautiful Trail,” is a 211-mile journey through one of the most picturesque mountain ranges in the country—the High Sierra, which Ansel Adams dubbed “The Range of Light.” When a few friends and I knocked off the JMT in a week, we packed two or three normal days of hiking into each day. (The scenery was morphine for our aching feet.) But I have to give the edge to the day we ambulated from Evolution Lake in Kings Canyon National Park all the way to the Upper Basin of the South Fork Kings River: past the glassy lakes of the Evolution Basin, over 11,955-foot Muir Pass, through LeConte Canyon with its soaring granite walls, and over 12,100-foot Mather Pass, which we crossed as the setting sun set puffy clouds overhead afire.

See my story “Thru-Hiking the John Muir Trail in 7 Days: Amazing Experience, or Certifiably Insane?” and all of my stories about the High Sierra at The Big Outside.

After the John Muir Trail, hike the other nine of “America’s Top 10 Best Backpacking Trips”

Backpacking the Teton Crest Trail over Death Canyon Shelf in Grand Teton National Park.

Death Canyon Shelf to South Fork Cascade Canyon, Grand Teton National Park

The day began auspiciously in the middle of the night, with a huge bull elk waking us by clomping around just outside our tents on Death Canyon Shelf. We did get back to sleep, and the next day, we backpacked the Teton Crest Trail over the shelf, across Alaska Basin, over Hurricane Pass, and down into the South Fork of Cascade Canyon—a day of early-morning moose sightings, uninterrupted views of these famously jagged mountains, and endless fields of wildflowers. I’ve had many top-shelf days in the Tetons since that first-ever backpacking trip there, but I still consider that stretch of the TCT its finest.

See my stories “American Classic: The Teton Crest Trail” and “Ask Me: 8 Great Big Dayhikes in the Tetons,” and all of my stories about Grand Teton National Park.

  Dying to backpack in the Tetons? See my e-guides to the Teton Crest Trail and the best short backpacking trip there.

  Hikers at the rim of Mount Ngauruhoe, Tongariro National Park, New Zealand.

Hiking the Volcanoes of Tongariro National Park, New Zealand

I could create a separate list just of the most spectacular days I’ve spent in New Zealand. (It would include day two on the Kepler Track, at least one day on the Dusky Track, and sea kayaking in Milford Sound and Doubtful Sound, all in Fiordland National Park, as well as days on the Cascade Saddle Route and the Whanganui River.) But not for nothing was Tongariro, on New Zealand’s North Island, this country’s first national park and the world’s fourth. Active volcanoes have birthed a virtually lifeless, yet Technicolor world of craters painted in vivid shades of burnt red, orange, brilliant white, gray, deep black, yellow, and brown. On a 12-mile hike over three of the park’s volcanoes and craters, a local guide and I walked through old lava flows of coal-black rocks and up to the 7,516-foot rim of the active volcano named Ngauruhoe. But you take your life in your hands hiking here: Tongariro has seen dozens of volcanic eruptions just in the past century.

See my story “Super Volcanoes: Hiking the Steaming Peaks of New Zealand’s Tongariro National Park,” and all of my stories about adventures in New Zealand.

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  David Gordon at Big Spring in The Narrows, Zion National Park.

The Narrows, Zion National Park

Tough call deciding whether the first or second day backpacking Zion’s Narrows deserves a spot on this list. But take this classic, two-day backpacking trip and you’ll get to decide for yourself. Walking down the mostly shallow North Fork of the Virgin River between close sandstone walls that rise up to a thousand feet overhead, with trees and lush hanging gardens contrasted against rock painted in a rainbow of colors, Zion’s Narrows keeps getting more spectacular with every step.

Read my story “Luck of the Draw, Part 2: Backpacking Zion’s Narrows.”

  Click here now to get my e-guide to Backpacking Zion’s Narrows.

  Jeff Wilhelm above Grey Glacier, Torres del Paine National Park, Chile.

Above the Gray Glacier, Torres del Paine National Park, Chile

A rumble of thunder ripped through the air, audible over the persistent wind—but it wasn’t thunder. A few hundred feet below our rocky overlook in Chile’s Torres del Paine National Park, a slowly widening ring of small bergs floated in the lake, shrapnel from a massive chunk of ice that had just calved off the snout of the Grey Glacier. We were ascending a trail over a mountainside scoured to bedrock by ancient ice, scaling hundred-foot-tall steel ladders anchored to the earthen walls of gorges, while looking out over a river of ice two miles across and 17 miles long. Part of the spectacular “W” trek in this park in Chile’s Patagonia region, it was a 19-mile day that ended when we walked up to the Paine Grande Lodge after dark, buzzing with excitement.

See my story “Patagonian Classic: Trekking Torres del Paine,” and all of my stories about hiking in Patagonia.

Jeff Wilhelm backpacking the Dawson Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

The Continental Divide Trail, Glacier National Park

Backpacking the CDT/Piegan Pass Trail in Glacier National Park.

On a 94-mile traverse of Glacier, mostly following the Continental Divide Trail from Chief Mountain Trailhead at the Canadian border to Two Medicine, three friends and I saw bighorn sheep, mountain goats, black bears, moose, and a grizzly bear, and heard elk bugling almost every morning and evening—and we enjoyed mountain skylines unlike anywhere else in America.

But if it’s possible to pick out one or more days on that hike that stood out, there would be two in particular: hiking over Piegan Pass (photo at right), and our afternoon following the high, alpine Dawson Pass Trail from Pitamakan Pass to Dawson Pass (photo above)—both were just jaw-dropping. Glacier does that to me every time I go there.

See my story about this trip “Wildness All Around You: Backpacking the CDT Through Glacier.”

  Save yourself a lot of time. Get my expert e-guide to backpacking the CDT through Glacier.

  Toleak Point, Olympic coast, Olympic National Park.

Mosquito Creek to Toleak Point, Southern Olympic Coast

You won’t find much on the longest strip of wilderness coastline in the contiguous United States, the shore of Washington’s Olympic National Park—just seals, sea lions, sea otters, bald eagles, many species of seabirds and whales, and trees 10 to 15 feet in diameter and growing over 200 feet tall. On the middle day of a three-day, 17.5-mile backpacking trip, hiking from Mosquito Creek to Toleak Point, my family explored tide pools and boulders coated with mussels, sea stars, and sea anemones, looked out on scores of stone pinnacles rising out of the ocean, and camped on a wilderness beach. I’m not sure who had more fun, the kids or the adults.

See my story “The Wildest Shore: Backpacking the Southern Olympic Coast,” and all of my stories about Olympic National Park.

  Want my help planning any trip on this list? Click here for expert advice you won’t get anywhere else.

  In the Narrows of Paria Canyon, Utah-Arizona.

The Paria Canyon Narrows

By our second day backpacking Paria Canyon, in southern Utah and northern Arizona, our kids had become so inured to the frequent, shallow puddles of quicksand that it became a game for them to stomp around in them, laughing and shrieking, to see if anyone could get stuck. We were deep in Paria’s narrows, hiking in the shade of canyon walls that make humans look tiny. At every bend and twist in the canyon, we’d look up at another sheer, multi-colored wall or huge, arch-like formations eroding into a cliff, and come upon the occasional hanging garden of moss and greenery where a spring gushed from cracks in solid rock. The desert Southwest harbors many lovely canyons, but few compare with Paria Canyon for length, variety, and sustained beauty.

See my story “The Quicksand Chronicles: Backpacking Paria Canyon,” and all of my stories about hiking and backpacking in southern Utah.

Explore the best of the Southwest. See my stories “The 10 Best Hikes in Utah’s National Parks” and “The 10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

My daughter, Alex, at Precipice Lake in Sequoia National Park.

The High Sierra Trail, Sequoia National Park

We weren’t far into a nearly 40-mile family backpacking trip in Sequoia before I realized it promised to be one of the most photogenic places I’ve ever hiked. Part of one of the biggest chunks of contiguous wilderness in the Lower 48, it’s home to many of the highest mountains outside Alaska, lonely backcountry groves of giant sequoias, and crystal-clear alpine lakes. On our third day, hiking the High Sierra Trail from Bearpaw Meadow toward 10,700-foot Kaweah Gap, we traversed a cliff face hundreds of feet above the deep Middle Fork Kaweah River. We stopped for lunch and a swim at the Hamilton Lakes, which are almost completely enclosed by towering cliffs and pinnacles. By late afternoon, we found campsites at Precipice Lake at 10,400 feet, its glassy, green and blue waters reflecting white and golden cliffs (one of my 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites).

See my story “Heavy Lifting: Backpacking Sequoia National Park.”

Todd Arndt in the Cirque of the Towers, Wind River Range.

Crossing the Wind River Range

From the first light of early morning turning a sliver of clouds on the eastern horizon blood red, until we finished our long day near dusk, the 27-mile, east-west traverse that some friends and I made of the southern Wind River Range felt like a stroll through mountain paradise. We spent much of our hike above 11,000 feet, drinking up expansive vistas of soaring granite cliffs and peaks rising above 12,000 feet on the Continental Divide. We scrambled to the 12,250-foot summit of Mount Chauvenet and strolled across the Lizard Head Plateau gaping at stone temples and thick glaciers. Then we put an exclamation point on our adventure by walking across the Cirque of the Towers, a mind-boggling horseshoe of sheer-walled, granite peaks scratching at the clouds.

See my story “A Walk in the Winds: Hiking a One-Day, 27-Mile Traverse of Wyoming’s Wind River Range.”

Todd Arndt nearing Island Lake and Titcomb Basin in the Wind RIver Range.

Other trips I’ve taken in the Winds certainly compete for a spot on this list, but especially the first and second days of a 41-mile hike to Titcomb Basin—an alpine valley at over 10,500 feet, where peaks on the Continental Divide soar more than 3,000 feet above lakes rippling in the wind—from where we took an off-trail route over 12,200-foot Knapsack Col. We passed countless, beautiful alpine lakes on that trip. See my feature story about that trip, “Best of the Wind River Range: Backpacking to Titcomb Basin.”

Our 27-mile Winds traverse is featured in my story “Extreme Hiking: America’s Best Hard Dayhikes.”

Above Royal Arch Canyon on the Royal Arch Loop in the Grand Canyon.

Royal Arch Loop, Grand Canyon National Park

The Grand Canyon’s very rugged and infrequently hiked, 34.5-mile Royal Arch Loop stands out even in a park where just about any hike would make just about anyone’s personal list of top 10 backpacking trips. But our second day of hiking featured just about everything that makes backpacking in the Grand Canyon unique: sweeping views, a sandy beach beside the Colorado River, an intimate side canyon with lush hanging gardens, a high solitude quotient—and what must be one of the best campsites in the entire Big Ditch, below Royal Arch (one of my 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites). As a bonus, we even got some spicy scrambling and a fun rappel off a cliff.

See my story “Not Quite Impassable: Backpacking the Grand Canyon’s Royal Arch Loop,” and all of my stories about the Grand Canyon at The Big Outside.

My wife, Penny, on the Rockwall Trail in Canada’s Kootenay National Park.

The Rockwall Trail, Kootenay National Park, Canadian Rockies

Our second day on the 34-mile (54k) Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park was long and hard—12 miles over two 7,000-foot passes—but we had the most effective painkiller: views that even impressed our 14- and 12-year-old kids. One of Canada’s most popular and stunningly scenic hikes—and really deserving a spot on the list of the world’s finest treks—it follows the base of an almost unbroken limestone cliff up to 3,000 feet (900m) tall. We started that day below 1,154-foot (352m) Helmet Falls, one of the tallest in the Canadian Rockies, and hiked to Numa Creek, crossing meadows carpeted in wildflowers below hanging glaciers, and sighting four mountain goats at Tumbling Pass.

See my story about backpacking the Rockwall Trail in Kootenay National Park.

Stay drier and safer. See my reviews of “The 5 Best Rain Jackets For the Backcountry.”

Jeff Wilhelm hiking Gnarl Ridge on the Timberline Trail, Mount Hood, Oregon.

Timberline Lodge to Cooper Spur, Timberline Trail, Mount Hood

On our first day backpacking the 41-mile Timberline Trail around Oregon’s 11,239-foot Mount Hood, a friend and I waded through innumerable meadows bursting with lupine, fireweed, and other wildflowers, always with Hood’s snowy and icy face looming above. By afternoon, we popped out of the forest on Gnarl Ridge to a moonscape of rocks and dirt and busted pinnacles. Hood towered nearly 4,000 feet above us, a constant backdrop as we traversed a vast, stark plateau. We stopped at a campsite on Cooper Spur with a 360-degree panorama of Hood, surrounding forests and mountains, and Mounts Adams and St. Helens in the distance. Although the Timberline has long lived in the shadow of Mount Rainier’s 93-mile Wonderland Trail, it competes with the Wonderland for scenery—and probably has an edge in adventure: On the Timberline, you may look at some creeks and wonder whether you even want to try to ford them.

See my story “Full of Surprises: Backpacking Mount Hood’s Timberline Trail.”

Accessorize wisely. See my “Review: 22 Essential Backpacking Gear Accessories.”

Guide Buenstorf and my wife, Penny, hiking the Europe Trail in the Swiss Alps.

The Europe Trail in the Swiss Alps

Near the tail end of a six-day, hut-to-hut trek through the Pennine Alps of southern Switzerland, my wife, Penny, and I, joined by our German friend, Guido, hiked the Europaweg, or Europe Trail, toward the resort town of Zermatt. Largely contouring well above treeline, we had constant views across a bottomless, vibrantly green valley of peaks taller than the Colorado Rockies, with the jagged profile of the Tetons or High Sierra, the waterfalls of the Cascades, and glaciers like Mount Rainier’s. We ended that glorious day drinking beers on the outdoor deck at the Europahutte, or Europe Hut, gazing out at the 14,780-foot (4506m) Weisshorn and its glaciers, and the Matterhorn farther up the valley.

I’ll write about that hut trek through Switzerland’s Pennine Alps in a future story at The Big Outside.

Want to take the world’s best adventures? See all my stories about international adventures at The Big Outside.

Image Lake and Glacier Peak, Glacier Peak Wilderness, Washington.

Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop, Glacier Peak Wilderness

Deep in Washington’s Glacier Peak Wilderness, we ascended Trail 785 through quiet forest before emerging in a sprawling mountainside meadow crazy with marmot burrows and blooming wildflowers. Our sweeping vista to the south revealed the deep, green valleys of Miners Creek and the Suiattle River. Beyond it, 10,541-foot Glacier Peak wore a heavy cloak of snow and ice, towering above a sea of mountains. It was the third day of five my family and three friends spent backpacking the 44-mile Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop. That day had begun at our previous campsite, below the glacier and emerald alpine lakes of the Upper Lyman Lakes basin (one of my 25 favorite backcountry campsites), and still ahead of us lay one of the most beautiful backcountry tarns I’ve ever come across, Image Lake.

See my story “Wild Heart of the Glacier Peak Wilderness: Backpacking the Spider Gap-Buck Creek Pass Loop,” and all of my stories about the North Cascades region.

Got a trip coming up? See my reviews of the best gear duffles and luggage and 7 best daypacks.

My wife, Penny, nearing the summit of Galdhøpiggen, the highest peak in Norway.

Climbing Norway’s Highest Peak

Under a brilliantly blue morning sky in the highest mountains in northern Europe, my wife, Penny, our friend, Jeff, and I started a 5,000-foot climb of the highest peak in Norway, 8,100-foot Galdhøpiggen. It was the final day of a 60-mile trek in Jotunheimen National Park, and we could have lounged in our last hut—but were glad we didn’t. Ascending a treeless mountainside, we gained increasingly longer views of a rugged, Arctic-looking landscape vibrantly colorful with shrubs, mosses, and wildflowers, where cliffs and mountains look like they were chopped from the earth with an axe. At the chilly, windblown summit, we stood above a sea of mountains and glaciers. And, of course, it being Europe, there was a hut at the summit where we could buy hot cocoas.

See my story “Walking Among Giants: A Three-Generation Hut Trek in Norway’s Jotunheimen National Park.”

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My wife, Penny, dayhiking Thompson Peak (far right), highest in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains.

The Crown of Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains

We started hiking in a cool, morning fog that hung thickly over the Sawtooth Valley, headed for a very small and airy block of stone that lay beyond sight about 6.5 horizontal miles and 4,200 vertical feet in the distance: the 10,751-foot summit of Thompson Peak, the highest in Idaho’s Sawtooths. Four-and-a-half hours later, we had the crown of the Sawtooths to ourselves on that July day, with a view of the entire Sawtooth Range and the White Cloud Mountains across the valley. That was the most recent of my several trips up Thompson, a rugged, partly off-trail hike that starts out nice and then knocks your socks off long before you reach the summit.

See all of my stories about Thompson Peak and about the Sawtooth Mountains at The Big Outside.

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[tanck9]

Cañi

Today began like many of my adventures, on a bus to an obscure destination, in this case a trail through a canyon. I heeded the advice provided at my hostel and went in search of a short hike to enjoy the scenery and adjust to my new location, Pucon. When the bus pulled up at the terminal it died a few times but after the driver coaxed some extra diesel into the engine, it started right up without a problem. Upon entering the bus I reconfirmed with the driver that I wanted to go to the canyon.

The bus wound around country roads with stunning views of the nearby mountains and the ominous volcano that overlooks Pucon. Locals casually hopped on and off the bus in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. After about 20 minutes the driver stopped and began to call back, this is the stop for Cañi. I glance towards the back of the bus at a few other travelers who appeared to be looking for the same hike I was. We all laughed and then proceeded to exit the bus. We were on this two lane country road in the most beautiful and remote place but there was no sign of a trail. Luckily one of the travelers spoke Spanish and asked for directions. We were close, we just needed to walk another 300m down the road.

Now to this point I hadn’t seen the word written and thought I was in for a downhill trek, to my surprise the locals were saying Cañi. It is a sanctuary for a temperate mountain rainforest and the trek is about 17km with a change in elevation of 1200m uphill. Let me just say that my diet of completos and Chilean wine in no way prepared me for this hike. The bus would not return for another two and a half hours so I decided to go for it. I registered and paid my 4,000 CLP.

The first two kilometers were nice easy rolling hills overlooking the valley, the next two kilometers were steep vertical grades. I thought I was dying. I joined a group as they passed by and their guide offered me a walking stick. I spent the next two kilometers trying to keep pace but eventually just stopped to eat my sandwich. Food fixes everything and this was a perfect place for a picnic. Every time I turned a corner the views were stunning, I would just stand there and take a mental picture for a few minutes.

After my short picnic, I decided to keep going, if the views I had seen so far were any indication, turning around was not an option. I made it to the next trail marker, face flush, totally out of air and bumped into the same guide that had given me the walking stick. He encouraged me and said I had made it through the most difficult part. This was not true, but it was motivating so I continued.

I had now ventured into these enourmous trees rumored to be over 500 years old. Their bright white bark and foliage only on the top appeared from another planet, I was in awe again. Fortunately, this part was relatively flat so I walked peacefully through the land of giants as the light played tricks with their leaves. At this point the ground started to transform to patches of frozen dirt and the trees had moss hanging from them, it was a little erie but so cool.

I finally reached Laguna Negra, the second to last marker on the trail. The lake was stunning, partially frozen and reflecting the enormous trees that surrounded it. I was also running out of time to reach the summit. The gentleman that worked the registration for the park cautioned us to start our descent by 3:00pm which meant I had less than an hour to reach the Mirador. I was not about to spend the night on the mountain! It was about a kilometer to the top, how bad could it be?

It was steep, but every switch back revealed a better view of the mountains in the distance and the lake below. I finally made it to the top but let me say it was not graceful. I’m pretty sure I crawled the last few yards but it was worth it. 360 degrees of mountain views. The photos could never capture the magnitude of the place but the mental pictures I took combined with a feeling of awe will stick.

I started my descent about 2:50, I knew I was cutting it close so I picked up the pace but the ground was slick and it was difficult to move quickly. On the way down the birds came to life filling the forest with unfamiliar songs. I was about a quarter of the way down when a couple gentlemen passed me on their horses. I waved and offered a friendly Hola, one of the gentleman slowed his horse and proceeded to ask me in Spanish, how I liked Chile, where I was from, and offered a few suggestions of places I should see in Pucon. Then to my surprise he asked if I wanted to “drive” the horse. I responded in Spanish that I didn’t know how, or maybe I said I’m a professional horse trainer? Because he hoped off his horse and offered me a ride. I was a little hesitant, this was a bit crazy but when in Chile. So I hopped on and then asked how to maneuver the horse. I kept asking how to make the horse stop, and Edward kept telling me it didn’t matter. Thankfully, he lead the horse and I really didn’t do much but it was great and honestly probably the only way I made it down off the mountain in time for the bus.

My heart was happy, more than that I was content. I had been challenged physically to the max but along the way there were people who reached out to help me; from providing encouragement, giving me a walking stick, or letting me ride their horse each of them went out of their way to make my day a little better. It challenged me to take the time to help other people. Sometimes simply reaching out to another person alters their entire day. Mountains tend to sand off the rough edges and today was no exception.

When I made it back to Pucon, I was starving and headed straight to the completo stand. I ordered a completo and coke devouring them in about two minutes. I paid the owner and made my way to the grocery store. My hunger must have lingered because I acted like an unsupervised teenager; I picked up wine, Coco Puffs, off brand sour cream and onion pringles, golden raisens, peanuts, a coke, a gallon of water, and a pack of m and m’s for good measure.

[firefly-hwufanficwriter-blog]

(Fanfic) The Time Traveler 04

April 17, 2017, Monday [#119]

My masterlists: [Fanfiction.] [Fan edits.]

Title: The Time Traveler (Chapter 04) (Slight MC/Jake)

Chapter Four summary: Jake and MC talk as they, along with the rest of their group, make their way to the La Huerta Observatory. But why does Jake feel slightly unsettled?

Story summary: Using a time travel gun prototype, Jake McKenzie travels back to the past. By encouraging friendships between everybody to build up trust and teach each other skills, he hopes to stop a terrible future from happening.

Links to previous three (03) chapters: [01] [02] [03]

Chapter Four: Droplets and Stars

Jake had expected everything today to happen the way it did the first time - he would wave goodbye to those who were leaving and then spend the entire morning relaxing by the pool. There had been no conversation with MC.

So why was MC standing in front of him?

She smiled at him and spoke, and it seemed like the most beautiful thing in the world, to see her walking on her own, talking on her own… yet somehow, he felt a twinge of something in his heart, and he didn’t know what to call it.

Nevertheless, he found out that MC was there to ask Jake if he would join their group - and that it was Sean’s idea.

After a few more minutes of conversation, she gave him a final smile before returning to the others to say her own goodbyes.

Jake thought about what had just happened. Of course, now that the option was on the table, there was no doubt that he would join them. He knew the wilderness and mountains of La Huerta better than everybody else here combined; he knew what - or better yet, who - to avoid. So of course he was coming.

But why did he feel slightly unsettled?

He panted as he batted away thin, low branches with overly large, deep green leaves. He was used to traveling in these parts, but strangely enough, on this hike, he became somewhat fatigued after walking for only a short time - or, at least, short compared to what he was used to.

Jake surmised that it was because of his body - while he retained his memories of the future, he still had the body of his younger self, which was more accustomed to piloting rather than actual hiking. The stamina he had built up in the future, both in relation to exercise as well as his tolerance to La Huerta’s stifling humidity, were both things he would have to get used to once again.

After stepping over a particularly large tree root, Jake wiped his brow. “Whew! It’s hotter than a Turkish bath out here!”

Surprised, MC turned to him as they both continued to walk. “You hang out at Turkish baths a lot, Hotness?”

The question startled him for a moment, before he remembered where he was - in the past, before all the little flirtations and short slips of the tongue that eventually turned into long talks about anything and everything. He had been so used to MC knowing certain things about him that it took him a second before remembering that this MC barely knew him at all. He gave a small laugh to cover up his mixed emotions.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Thinking that to be the end of the conversation, he was about to turn away from MC and look ahead for the large boulder that he knew was just a few meters up ahead, which had been one of their distance markers in the future...

...when MC commented slyly, “If you’re hot, you could always just take off your shirt.”

Take off your shirt. Take off your shirt.

MC had said that to him more times than he could count. But in the last handful of times that he could barely remember, it wasn’t for any frivolous purpose - it was normally after he had sustained some type of injury after it was his turn to go on a mission that required him to leave their hideout. Blood loss being what it was, things went woozy after a while, and before he slipped into unconsciousness the last thing he would remember was MC - or Michelle, being their resident field medic - telling him to take off his shirt...

But Jake wasn’t there. He was here, in the past. What should he say?

“You bring me out here just to ogle me?”

In response, she grinned and said, “Maybe.”

He should have been happy at that response, but somehow he wasn’t. She had invited him along and she had admitted to maybe liking to look at him. That could be the start of what they used to have - or will have? Time travel was confusing - but why didn’t he feel happy? Why did he instead feel... something else?

And why couldn’t he put into words what that something else was?

Trying to breeze past his own confusing feelings, he replied flirtatiously, “I’m not that easy. You gotta wine and dine me first.”

Winking at him, she replied saucily, “I could do that.”

And she happened to miscalculate the length of her next stride, her foot avoiding sturdy dirt and instead making contact with slippery moss, and she was falling forwards to the ground.

But Jake caught her flailing arm, quickly taking her by the hand to help her up, and in the few moments when all of that took place, he happened to glance at her smooth, unmarked arm...

...and the feelings of strangeness throughout the day suddenly made perfect sense, and Jake felt sick.

How could he, even for a single moment, compare this woman to his MC?

Jake’s MC, with her thin strands of straw-colored hair; her body showing the bones most of them did from starvation; her scars earned from skirmishes and battles and ambushes and injuries - his MC had been all the sparkling droplets of water in the endless ocean and all the twinkling stars in the crazy, one-of-a-kind La Huerta sky.

But this younger MC, with her perfect, wavy blonde tresses; her body almost grotesquely healthy; her skin smooth and unmarked; her footsteps taken with careless fluidity that made her seem like she feared nothing in the world - she was nothing more than a pale imitation of the woman Jake had, and still, loved. She almost seemed like she wasn’t real.

It was like looking into a mirror.

And how could Jake love a mere reflection?

(End of Chapter Four.) (Word count: 999 words.)

Chapter Four notes: (B01-C08.) Originally, I had a different Chapter Four uploaded, one that had lighthearted flirting between Jake and the MC. But the more I thought about it, I realized that something about that chapter felt… off. Since he essentially left behind everything, and everyone, in the future, I thought that Jake would have more feelings of conflict about loving this younger MC because, on some level, he might feel like he was betraying his MC. He wants to save the younger MC, yes, but I think that he also needs time so that he can fall in love with her for herself, not because he’s expecting her to be exactly like the future MC someday.

Author’s note: By the way, receiving 🦄🦄 comments 🦄🦄 on my fanfiction lets me know that YOU are interested in reading more... 😊😎 Nudge nudge, wink wink 😀😋

(Waiting for H.W.U. to come back, forever and always; 17/04/17.)

[charllieeldridge]

Travel Guide to Nakatsugawa – Japan’s Hidden Gem

Have you ever travelled somewhere that you initially knew nothing about, but then fell in love with? For us, that was Nakatsugawa. Our 3 days spent in this small, mountainous city in the Gifu Prefecture became one of the highlights of all our travels in Japan. 

Many people have heard of nearby Takayama and Shirakawago (two places we have visited in the past) but located in the same prefecture, you’ll find Nakatsugawa — another must-visit place. With traditional villages, hiking routes, natural beauty, and cultural activities on offer, this destination in Japan is in that Goldilocks stage — it’s not a ghost town, it’s not too busy, it’s just right.

In this article, I’ll share our experience in this lesser-visited part of Japan, complete with how to walk the Nakasendo Trail, things to do in Nakatsugawa, how to get there, where to stay and more.

But first, don’t miss our travel video from Nakatsugawa!

Introduction to Nakatsugawa

When we were invited by Nakatsugawa Tourism to experience the things to see and do in Nakatsugawa (and surrounding area), we were looking forward to visiting, but honestly didn’t know much about this part of Japan.

We knew it would be set in the beautiful Japanese countryside, but what we didn’t realize was that there were so many cultural things to do, that it was quite offtrack, and that there was a hiking route that runs through the town which connects Kyoto to Tokyo! 

As people who love hiking, this was music to our ears.

Hiking the Nakasendo Trail

We didn’t have two weeks or so to hike the entirety of the Nakasendo Way (Nakasendo Trail), but we did have enough time to do a long day hike. This trail is a highlight of any trip to the region, but there’s more to Nakatsugawa than just this ancient walkway.

The city is surrounded by mountains (including Mount Ena), beautiful parks, historic homes, and a 480-year-old castle overlooking the rushing Kiso River. On top of that, calligraphy, meditation, matcha tea ceremonies, a sake brewery and theatrical performances can all be discovered within the city limits.

This is a place where you’ll want to spend some time exploring – both the things to do in Nakatsugawa and the surrounding areas.

During our trip, we had an English speaking guide with us to show us the various sights and things to do. In Japan, there’s not much English spoken, so it was nice to have him explain what we were seeing and doing. Obviously, you can travel here independently, but having a guide really brought the place to life. 

Us with our travel guide Ukisu-san

Things To See and Do in Nakatsugawa

Our 3-day trip was packed with activities. We definitely could’ve spent around 10 days exploring the nature, hiking mountains and visiting parks in the area — and, we could’ve spent three weeks simply hiking the Nakasendo Trail!

Here’s a list of the best things to see and do in Nakatsugawa based on my firsthand experience.

Hike The Nakasendo Trail

I have to put this first on the list of things to do in Nakatsugawa. This ancient Edo period walkway connects Kyoto with Tokyo (a distance of 534 km / 332 mi). During the 17th century, this route would’ve been filled with lords, samurai, pilgrims, and merchants.

These days, travellers can spend 15 or more days hiking this route, while passing by rural countryside, through forests, and numerous old postal towns. 

If you don’t have 15+ days, or you simply don’t want to spend that much time hiking, it’s possible to walk a portion of the Nakasendo Trail, as we did.

Hiking along the beautiful Nakasendo Trail from Tsumago to Magome

Starting in the village of Tsumago (in the Nagano Prefecture), we hiked through the town, alongside the Araragi River, and into the forest. The natural trail meandered through the towering trees, past smaller post towns and across moss-covered bridges, surprising us with little detours towards hidden waterfalls along the way. 

Dirt trails changed into stone at some stages, and once we were closer to the town of Magome, the landscape opened up.  At some points during the hike, we stopped for numerous photos and to just enjoy the view. Plus, there was a great teahouse for hikers to stop and have a rest (the cost of tea is by donation). After sipping on our green tea, we continued on towards the town of Magome (in the Gifu Prefecture).

A little detour lead us to this beautiful waterfall

This popular town is where many people visit to enjoy the view of Mount Ena, which was also a lookout point for the Samurai to keep an eye on intruders. After enjoying the view, continue on past the town of Magome where the scenery morphs from closed-in forest and river to wide-open farmland. This change in landscape is amazing and we enjoyed seeing the differences on the hike. 

We also came across the Suwa Shinto Shrine, Torii Gates at the Asahigaoka Park, and ancient stones on the walkway at Ochiai which are remaining from the Edo Period!

One of the highlights of the Nakasendo Way – torii gates

The Nakasendo Trail is a walk you don’t want to miss and if you don’t have time to do the entire 15+ day route, I recommend hiking from Tsumago to Nakatsugawa (approximately 16 kilometers). You can either break up the journey by spending a night in Magome (after walking for 8 kilometers before continuing on and spending your second night in Nakatsugawa) or, you can complete the whole route from Tsumago to Nakatsugawa in one go and sleep in Nakatsugawa. We hiked with Ukisu-san who spoke great English and was able to tell us about the history of the area, and he hiked at a pace we liked! While we enjoyed having a guide, the trail is well-marked so you definitely don’t need one. For information on hiking with Ukisu-san, please send us an email. For more information on the Nakasendo Way, click here.

Visit Magome Town

As I mentioned above, Magome is a main point along the Nakasendo Trail, but for those who aren’t into hiking, you can still visit this town on a day trip from Nakatsugawa. Magome town is surrounded by farmland with panoramic views of Mount Ena (2,191m / 7,188 ft), which is located in the Central Alps and is the peak of the Kiso Mountains Range.

The cedar buildings in the town are set along the cobbled road which cuts through the small town. It’s a short, steep climb from the entrance of Magome to the main viewpoint, but along the way, there are numerous places to stop off for tea, chestnut treats, or simply to sit and watch the world go by, as the local residents enjoy doing. 

A couple of friends enjoying the sunny day in Magome

From Nakatsugawa there are frequent buses to Magome. It takes around 25 minutes to get there from the Nakatsugawa Station and costs 570 yen ($5.25). Buses run from around 7:30am to 6:00pm. Spend some time enjoying the museums, the atmosphere and the surrounding area of Magome before returning to Nakatsugawa on the same bus.

Walk to Naegi Castle

Another highlight of our trip to Nakatsugawa was the 480-year-old castle that sits on a plateau overlooking the Kiso River. Constructed by using the natural surrounding boulders, The Naegi Castle ruins are built into the land, and were in much better condition than I thought they would be — and surprisingly, they reminded us of Mayan ruins in Mexico. 

The view of the river and of the city of Nakatsugawa from this vantage point is amazing.

Naegi Castle ruins

There are a few ways to visit these castle ruins — you can drive up to the top and walk for about 10 minutes, take a bus partway up and walk for around 20 minutes, or hike the trail through the forest, across streams, and alongside castle wall ruins as we did! The walk was uphill with 47 switchbacks and took us about an hour. 

From the Nakatsugawa Station, take the Kashimo bus for around 12 minutes before arriving at Naegi. From there, it’s about a 20-minute walk to the ruins. If you have your own vehicle, you can drive closer to the top and walk for just 10 minutes.

Hiking up to the Naegi Castle

See the Waterfalls at Yumori Park

We were already blown away by the incredible nature of the Nakasendo Way, and the beautiful bamboo forest and other foliage surrounding the Naegi Castle, but Yumori Park was pretty amazing as well!

When we visited, we checked out the Ryujin waterfall which is said to have healing properties and sends power to those who visit. Surrounding the crystal-clear waters were numerous trees and suspension bridges crossing the river. Nearby, there’s another waterfall “Copper Hole”, and you can also camp here in the park. This is another pristine natural space in Nakatsugawa that I recommend visiting. 

The waterfall at Yumori Park – the water was so clear

To get to Yumori Park from Nakatsugawa Station take the Chuo Train Line (which is included with your JR Rail Pass) for about 9 minutes. Get off at Sakashita Station and switch to the Yumori Line Bus for about 15 minutes. Get off at the Yumorikoenguchi stop and walk for about 8 minutes to reach the park.

Explore the Backstreets of Nakatsugawa

When you’re visiting Nakatsugawa, you may be mistaken in thinking that there’s just one main road (which is on the Nakasendo Way), but there are other secret backstreets that are worth exploring. 

We zigged and zagged past residential homes, complete with chicken coups, flowers, and plants. We crossed little streams and received a warm welcome from the residents who were wondering what us foreigners were doing exploring these narrow streets. Without our guide, we would’ve definitely been lost! To learn more about this walking tour (which includes a sake brewery visit and tasting), click here.

Backstreets of Nakatsugawa

Try Zen Meditation

Zazen (sitting) meditation is more disciplined than normal meditation. Among other things, you sit in full lotus position, your posture must be perfect, and if you’re day-dreaming or not focusing properly, you receive a whack from the monk with a wooden stick to bring you back into the zone. It’s meant to be encouraging, not discipline for dozing off. Having heard the loud sound of Nick getting a walloping on his trapezoid, I’d probably request a non-contact meditation next time.

We visited the beautiful Zensho-ji Buddhist Temple and were happy to learn that the resident priest (Shoten Iguchi-san) was extremely kind and spoke some English. There were also English pamphlets to instruct us on what to do/not do.

I sat in half-lotus position, while Nick sat cross-legged, for around 20 minutes — this type of meditation usually takes place for 30-60 minutes, but we did our best! Click here for directions to the Zensho-ji Temple.

Thanks for the meditation!

Learn How to Do Calligraphy

From one priest to the next, we stopped off at the Kofuku-ji Temple to learn how to do calligraphy. Surprisingly, after all of our trips to China and Japan, we had never tried to write our names (or any words) in calligraphy. 

We were greeted by the priest Kouyu-san and were welcomed into the Buddhist Temple. Sitting at a table we watched as Kouyu-san effortlessly wrote our names (and Goats On The Road!) with swift, smooth movements of his calligraphy pen. 

We practiced numerous times, going through about 7 sheets of paper each until we felt we had “mastered” it. In reality, we hadn’t, but we tried our best and really enjoyed the experience.

The Kouyu-san’s wife speaks English fluently so this is a great activity for foreigners. The Zensho-ji and Kofuku-ji temples are just a 5-minute walk apart, making visiting them both quite easy. Click here for directions to the Kofuku-ji temple.

Calligraphy class in Nakatsugawa

Eat Chestnut Flavoured Food

The city of Nakatsugawa is known for its chestnuts. Because of this, you can find chestnut sweets (kuri kinton), chestnut ice cream, and more. Kuri kinton has long been a favourite of Japanese people here in Nakatsugawa — in fact, this sweet has been around since 1900.

Nick and I learned how to make this traditional sweet at the Chicory Village, and although the flavour was too subtle and not sweet enough for us, it was still interesting to learn how to make them. At the Chicory Village, they also have farm-to-table foods and the buffet here was amazing. It’s a tasty (and popular) lunch spot.

Chestnuts are popular in Nakatsugawa

Other things to see and do in Nakatsugawa

There are so many things to see here, and even though our 3 days were jam-packed, we still missed out on so many activities. 

When we return, we want to hike a larger portion of the Nakasendo Trail and do the trek up to the summit of Mount Ena. Our guide told us he runs trips up the mountain and we can’t wait to try it. 

Other things to see and do in Nakatsugawa include mountain biking (again, our guide offered those trips), fishing trips, matcha tea ceremonies, and visiting the Kashimo Meijiza performing arts theatre to see a traditional Kabuki performance. 

Transportation in and Around Nakatsugawa

While the city and surrounding area are considered off-track, it’s surprisingly easy to get here. We took the train from the big city of Nagoya to Nakatsugawa on the JR Chuo Honsen (1 hour and 10 minutes). This train was included with our JR Rail Pass. 

There’s also direct train service from Nagano, Kyoto via Nagoya, and Osaka via Nagoya.

Once you’re in Nakatsugawa, you can take public buses to many of the sights I mentioned above, or opt for a taxi or rent your own wheels. Another option is to hire a private guide with a vehicle. If you’re interested in discussing trips with the guide we were with, Kazunori Ukisu-san, please send us an email and we will provide you with his contact details.

Where to Stay in Nakatsugawa

There are numerous accommodation options here, but since it’s such a traditional, offtrack place, why not stay in a traditional accommodation?! We stayed in 2 different places during our 3-day stay and can recommend them both.

Hotel Hanasarasa is located a little bit outside of the city center, but has nice clean rooms (with futons on the floor, or with regular beds), and indoor and outdoor onsens for soaking those muscles after a day of hiking. 

The second place we stayed at was the Nagataki Ryokan, which is a 400-year-old home! The traditional ryokan was superb. The grounds were beautifully manicured and dotted with individual holiday homes. Even though the homes are old and in traditional style, there’s air-conditioning, a TV and a modern toilet. It was a comfortable place to sleep, complete with a public bath and (amazing) meals served in our dining room. This was one of our favourite accommodations that we’ve ever stayed at in Japan.

For other places to stay, click here to read reviews and see prices on Booking.com.

The living room / bedroom of the ryokan we stayed in

Final Thoughts

If you’re looking to experience the countryside of Japan, Nakatsugawa is a great place to do just that. Leave the bustling cities behind and indulge a more traditional, authentic Japan, complete with tasty food, cultural activities, and outdoor adventures. 

Nakatsugawa really surprised us with all it had to offer and we would return in a heartbeat. 

We were invited by the City Of Nakatsugawa Tourism to explore in and around the city and share our findings with you, our readers. This is an area of Japan we would happily return to and would love to spend more time here. As with all promotional campaigns on Goats On The Road, all thoughts, reviews, and opinions remain our own — despite any complimentary services received. 

The post Travel Guide to Nakatsugawa – Japan’s Hidden Gem appeared first on Goats On The Road.

Travel Guide to Nakatsugawa – Japan’s Hidden Gem published first on https://travelaspire.weebly.com/

[nostalgicfornonexperiencedthings]

9/25/18

The spot in the woods in Porcupine Mountains.

The fog is so dense above me that everything seems to be covered in a mist.

It envelopes me in a grey delicateness, effortlessly.

The pines seemed to mimic the red woods, as if I’d ever seen them in person.

The ground is layered in the rust colored, fallen needles of the seasons prior.

They offer a softness to my blistered and utterly exhausted feet from hiking several miles to the river.

Speaking of, the river flows just to the right of the trail.

There is a small trail down to the water of which has been worn by the travelers who have come before.

Moss covered rocks surround the bank, providing a still place for me to sit, remove my wool socks, and soak my feet in the frigid temps.

I retreat back among the trees where I pitch my tent beneath the canopy presumably 70 feet above.

My winter sleeping bag is slowly unrolled atop my pad, luring me inside, yet, I still need to build my fire for the night.

Walking around, analyzing every bit of Earth below me as I look for twigs and sticks that could be even remotely regarded as kindling.

The utter dampness of everything makes getting a flame started nearly impossible, even as I nearly run out of breath trying to encourage her to come to life.

Finally, I am able to retain a small spark.

Adrenaline pumping, I reach for my pile of sticks and continue to add to the flame until I feel confident enough that I can leave its side without it disappearing on me like that one boy I thought I loved did many years ago.

The darkness is starting to roll over the trees, creating only a darker grey than what was there before.

I’m sitting on a rain-soaked log by the fire as I eat what can only be described as God’s gift to hikers (Mountain House freeze-dried lasagna).

The warmth of its pouch return my hands to their natural temperature through my fingerless gloves which still hold debris from collecting tinder.

As if my chacos weren’t already tight from my swollen feet, the need to put on fresh wool socks to protect my toes from the cooling air is enough for me to accept the slight uncomfortableness.

My insulated leggings are working nicely, but it’s my cremé henley and flannel that mimics what I would imagine the fall color of Wyoming to look like who are the true heroes. 

That and the packable jacket I told myself I wasn’t going to need.

My steaming, spotted mug of a vanilla chai tea rests on the dirt floor beside me, until I notice the tiniest of ripples on its surface.

In a slow progression, I hear small raindrops falling on the leaves around me, including a few landing on the brim of my baseball hat.

Nature gives me just enough time to bundle up my things and shove them in my tent before she starts her aquatic symphony.

I shuffle myself beneath my layers of flannel and down and just lie still, able to feel my sheer body heat begin to swell my bag in comfort.

The smell of my campfire smoking into an oblivion combined with the ever increasing fragrance of wet Earth fills my lungs with a tangible representation of nomadism and euphoria.

I allow the sound of the never-ending flowing of my river to lull me to rest.

I feel overtaken by the moment and pure exhaustion.

I am unconscious, yet more conscious than ever. 

[happy-hiking]

The Whitney Experience

Whitney Portal- June 12, 2018

On June 12, we set out from our hotel in Palmdale, CA, passing through our first taste of the agricultural belt that passes through California. I have watched a documentary on the shady dealings that go along with the water rights in this area. It is always fascinating to see in real life, a place you have only heard or read about. We crossed through Mojave and swung around to the East to approach the Sierra Nevada.

While stopping to pick up our permits at the Eastern Sierra Ranger Station, we caught our first glimpses of Mt. Whitney, popping up beside several sharp spires, a few layers back into the Sierra Nevada. The length of the long walk ahead of us became immediately apparent. Inside the visitor center, the Ranger solidified what we had been expecting- news that the switchbacks are still unusable and that the best route to the summit is still currently climbing the chute. Oh, well. Time and nature weren’t quite on our side this time. We make the best of it anyway.

After leaving the Ranger station, we made our way into the small gateway town of Lone Pine. Expecting it to be like most other little gateway towns (overpriced as hell), I was pleasantly surprised when we stopped in at a few shops to pick up some last minute items. Not only were prices fair, the shop owners all willingly help each other out throughout town- if you go into a store looking for something they don’t have, they will provide you with suggestions of other businesses in town to check out that will likely have what we need. One shop worker even leveled with us when we asked if there would be any cheaper options to buy elsewhere for a backpacking stove top. You cannot travel with used stove tops on an airplane, and seeing as how we already have several at home, we wanted the cheapest option available while still being conducive to carrying up a big ass mountain. We were sent to another store down the road, where he assured us we would likely find something cheaper (we did!).

Once we picked up the last of what we needed in town, we kissed our cell phone service goodbye and began winding through the Alabama Hills, on our way up the infamous Whitney Portal Road. I tell you, the early days of bringing public lands to the masses led to some insanely ingenuous road building. The Whitney portal road switchbacks precariously up into a canyon, bringing us and our huge rental SUV 4,000 vertical feet closer to the summit of Mt. Whitney. The road ends in a gorgeous little bowl of civilization nestled up in the mountains, complete with summer cabins, a campground, a store with burgers and beer, and various wondrous water works in the form of ponds, rivers, and waterfalls.

After navigating ridiculously narrow campground roads, we pulled into our home site for the evening, sandwiched between lots of other campsites occupied by a variety of people- hikers, like us, camping to acclimatize before heading up the trail, families looking to spend a week in the trees, retired couples running their generator in their big ole motorhomes, and everything in between. It was certainly strange to see people enjoying campfires. This has been a dry year in the southwest, and fire restrictions have been in place for months where we come from.

   We decided that it would be infinitely easier to take advantage of our huge SUV and “camp” by just sleeping in the back. That would allow us to pack our backpacks today with everything needed for an early start tomorrow. While initially bummed that we had to be upgraded to this huge beast (gas money), it turned out to be a comfy home-chariot on wheels. We laid both the middle and back row of seats down, leaving us a huge, comfy sleeping platform that accommodated Kevin’s 6’5” tallness! After testing out our cozy digs, we tied up our hiking shoes and left for some Whitney Portal adventuring.

We set out from our campsite and took the trail passing by towards the Whitney Portal Pond. This hilly trail took us through some gorgeous wooded areas, following the raging river and crossing it several times with small footbridges. The trail lead us to a gorgeous pond, reminiscent of a reflecting pool, nearby the Whitney Portal store. Deer were grazing in the picnic area, people were discussing the trail conditions in the store, and all was right in the world. I was reminded in this moment of a song I once heard at a street fair in Farmington, MI. The Reflecting Pool- Steve Schriemer

    While wandering through the picnic area, we came across a HUGE waterfall. Being unsatisfied with the view from the bottom, we began climbing up steep, crumbly surfaces ranging from granite to dirt to moss. Upon climbing a couple hundred vertical feet, we saw that we were still nowhere near the top of these falls. We enjoyed the cool spray from the water cascading over smooth granite. How refreshing, invigorating.

We spent the rest of our evening preparing dinner, packing our backpacks, and stuffing everything into the provided bear lockers to prevent bears from eating us or our stuff. Not only do bears just steal from campsites, they have really upped their theft skills and also enjoy breaking into cars (which apparently happens quite often!) After readying everything for our hike the next morning, we went to bed pretty early, although I can’t say that the butterflies weren’t keeping me up for a while. This hike has had months of planning going into it, from gear purchases to airline tickets to permits. A lot has gone into this. No pressure, or anything.

Setting Forth- June 13, 2018

5am. The alarm is ringing relentlessly at us. Kevin rummages around, finds the phone, and turns it off. I laid in my very cozy bed (okay, is an inflatable sleeping pad in the back of an SUV a bed? I think so) for about 5 minutes before forcing myself to emerge from my sleeping bag. That is pretty good time for me. Knowing we already had our bags packed and didn’t have much in the way of prep for the morning helped.

We planned for a nice, early start to avoid hiking up sunny switchbacks in the heat of midday. By 6am, we had stashed all of our scented items not going on the trip with us in bear lockers in the hiker’s parking lot. Bears really have a hankering for our deodorant and cheese sticks, apparently. We threw everything we could into our styrofoam cooler and our 10 cent walmart bags (Oh California, and your ways… why does no one warn you to bring your own bags to Walmart!?), labeled them with our name and return date, and then set off for the trailhead, which has a literal wooden portal that you walk through to begin your trek.

Before setting off, we stopped for the obligatory picture, and of course, to weigh our backpacks. I have always wanted to use one of those hanging scales to see how heavy my pack is. I usually suffice for weighing myself on my scale at home, and then weighing myself wearing my bag (but...math). Coming in at about 32.5 lbs, I was pretty pleased. It was about 6am and the sun was already coming up. Here we go!

The trail begins with some gradual switchbacks, seemingly leading us in the exact opposite direction of Mt. Whitney. Switchbacks have a way of throwing you off a little bit- they can be kind of mind numbing, while at the same time, making life easier for you at the expense of a little extra distance. After about a mile, we were treated to a gorgeous river crossing before passing into the John Muir wilderness.

I always wondered what the Sierras would look like in real life. Is it possible that they are really as beautiful as they look in pictures? Can these mind-bending alpine lakes, sheer cliffs, and towering trees really be all that I expected? As I marched on into John Muir’s personal church, a cathedral of pines, I considered the scenery around me. It really IS beautiful… but have all my travels turned me into someone who is no longer surprised by anything? In that moment, I longed for the days when I lived in Cortez, and stared awe-struck each day into the beautiful mesas of Southwest Colorado, constantly asking myself if any of what I was seeing could possibly be *real*. I’ve seen a lot of very real beauty, and while these places do not become less beautiful, that fleeting feeling of sheer amazement, that sense of being tiny in a grandiose world, comes to me less than it used to. As my mind wandered, I looked up to the sheer cliffs on either side, thinking of how they remind me of Zion, but gray.

Before long, we are hiding in the shade of a pine tree from the heat. I checked the GPS on my phone, and we were nearing Lone Pine Lake already!! This hike, thus far, has been less steep than I had spent months imagining it would be. The picture below shows the route we had hiked up until this point..

Leaving the trail to meander downhill towards the lake, my inspiration was renewed with an absolutely gorgeous view. There on the shores of this pristine, glasslike alpine lake, there were six teenagers scheming about what to do, while their proud dad-like person watched quietly from the side. All six of them wound around the shore of the lake to a huge boulder jetting out into the water. The fact that they were crazy enough to jump into an alpine lake at 8 in the morning invigorated my senses. Listening to them scream and cuss as soon as they hit the frigid water was quite entertaining! Kevin asked the older man if he planned to jump in. He said, with a twinge of nostalgia in his voice, “I’ve done it before, but not this time.” He continued to watch his kids (and maybe their friends, I don’t know), laughing on the shore, with a look that said more than words. Sharing nature with your loved ones can be so powerful.

After walking (uphill) back to the trail from Lone Pine Lake, we encountered some water on the trail. One section had lovely log bridges that allowed us to cross a swampy area without being (at least) ankle deep in water. Following that section, the trail passes through a gorgeous, life-filled meadow with a stream running through it. The stream, swelling with snowmelt from high up in the Sierras, could not be contained to its river banks and completely flooded the trail. There was a tiny scrap of hope of keeping my shoes dry by rock hopping, but soon the rocks became so small and far between that I just succumbed to the fact that my feet were going to be soaked.

I didn’t pull my phone out to take pictures of the flooded trail, but here is a picture below of the trail when it is not flooded (courtesy of californiathroughmylens.com)

We slogged through the flooded trail, knowing we only had about a mile until Outpost Camp. For my own personal mentality, I need to know the next landmark on the trail and how far it is until that point. Before long, we passed the sign signifying the boundary of the “Whitney Zone” (ooh, ahh, fancy!). Beyond this point, you need a permit to be there. We felt pretty legit with our pretty pink tags on our bag. Kevin commented on how fabulous it was that we were not inundated with crowds of people on the trail- the permitting system, although a pain, actually did a pretty job of ensuring that this wilderness trail actually *felt* like a wilderness trail, and not a bad-crowd day at Zion. (Can you tell I’m not fond of crowds?)

After switchbacking a couple more times, we came into Outpost Camp- a big, open, rocky area with a massive waterfall to the side, featuring campsites with fun, rocky walls built up around them. It also featured a few more water crossings, which for a person who is challenged with maintaining proper balance, was of course, super fun. I stepped off a rock and directly into the river at one point, filling my shoe completely with icy, fresh, water that was probably snow the day before. Luckily, that meant I had an excuse to stop and relax at Mirror Lake, just another half-mile up the trail. :-)

Here, you can see the big waterfall on the edge of Outpost Camp. I read some stories from last year’s hikers about a missing hiker who fell to her death on a chute, which apparently was right near this waterfall.

After climbing up some serious incline, we rounded the corner to the welcoming sight of Mirror Lake. This lake, quiet and serene, was teeming with fish (which just doesn’t make sense in the middle of the mountains.. .later found out the lakes are stocked...by USFS I’m assuming?). My shoes were still squishy with water, so we crossed a log to the far side of the lake where a huge boulder laid on the shore. Suddenly feeling incredibly relaxed, I kicked off my shoes, ate some moon cheese (Moon Cheese is life, you guys.), and promptly fell asleep on the boulder. I slept for almost an hour. I wasn’t even that tired, but just so incredibly relaxed that I couldn’t help myself. The warm sun felt incredible, there was no one else around, my heavy pack was off my shoulders, and everything was just quiet and scenic.

-My resting place-

Next, onward...above treeline, to Trail Camp!

After a while of picking our way across the rocks, we came to Consultation Lake on our left. This large lake was still mostly frozen over. I read that some people camp at Consultation Lake, as it is less crowded than Trail Camp, and only about a half mile away, however, I saw no one camping there, and no real campsites jumped out at me. I also had a little bit of tunnel vision at that point- I knew we were close to Trail Camp and I just wanted to get there already!!

About another half mile up the trail, we were finally greeted by a blank, beat up sign that I am assuming said “Trail Camp” at some point. 12,000 ft elevation, here it was. I imagined this place many, many times. It would be my first time camping above 12k feet, and my first time camping above treeline (although we did make it pretty close on Memorial Day, camping at 11,700 ft but below treeline). Lots of campsites were scattered about, delineated by little rock-walls constructed by campers past. We scooted into a campsite as a group was packing up their last items and leaving it. It wasn’t too far off trail, was close enough to the Trail Camp Pond without being too close, and gave us a tiny bit of wind protection Now, down to the business of setting up camp.

Since you can’t stake down a tent on solid rock, we found little boulders to stick inside our tent in the four corners to hold it down. I made sure all my snacks and such were stashed in the bear bin, and hid the bear bin among the rocky walls. No bears to worry about here, but marmots and chipmunks were running amuck like kids at recess. I hear they have absolutely no problem chewing holes right through your backpack or your tent to get to the goods.

Now, down to the important business of finding somewhere to pee when there are no trees to hide behind, and a bunch of random dudes lounging around. I climbed up some rocks to discover some really cool campsites perched up in the boulders, overlooking where we had set up our tent. Can you see our abode in the picture below!? I climbed up over another ridge and found a quiet spot to go pee. Luckily, I didn’t need my WAG bag (SWAG bag if you’re Kevin). Yes, you actually have to poop in a bag and carry it around with you when you’re up here. Good thing, too, because, I don’t know… camping among a bunch of piles of poop doesn’t sound so awesome. It’s not like there’s somewhere to bury it up here. I even accidentally came across some gross person’s poop spot. They just left it there. Sitting on the rock. Toilet paper and everything. PLEASE. I bet you didn’t think the conversation would steer towards poop. Sorry.

After returning from my bathroom search, I laid around on the rocks a little bit. I probably ate more Moon Cheese. I don’t know. After a little bit, I headed down to the shore of Trail Camp “pond” which is a really lame-sounding name. Ponds are gross. This body of water was gorgeous, and clear, and cold. I tried to soak my ankle in the water, as it had been hurting me and swelling a little bit since Memorial Day. The water was way too cold, though, and I only made it about 30 seconds of soaking in the water. I grabbed my filter and filtered a liter of water, sitting by the shore drinking it, watching marmots, and staring Mt. Whitney in the face. After a while, two men came over to filter some water for their journey down. They had summited that morning. I spent a while chatting with them about their hike (it was sketchy), and about their lives in general. They were from Indiana. It was the second time summiting for the one man. His friend hung at Camp while the other made the treacherous climb up the chute to the summit. The guy who summited was super awesome in that he had had a serious bike accident and several surgeries just a year ago. And then he summited the tallest mountain in the lower 48 despite that. Badass.

Later in the afternoon, Kevin and I saw a group of guys coming down the trail who were all wearing Detroit Tigers hats. I called out to them, asking if they were from Michigan. Sometimes, I talk to people a little bit. I only did it because after spending so much time reading about this hike, visiting the trail report pages and scouring Facebook group, I gathered that a big part of this hike is the social aspect. People up here on this hike look out for each other, adopt trail friends to hike with, and then, in a fleeting moment, leave them at the trailhead, never to talk to again. Or, you exchange numbers and become real friends.

The social aspect of hiking is something I’ve always felt very conflicted about. I don’t seek out conversation with those I don’t know very often (almost never), and I often tell myself that going out into nature is my way of getting a break from humanity. Yet, in all the obsessive reading/instagram stalking that I do, many people who hike, particularly thru hikers who are on multi-thousand-mile journeys, share how the camaraderie, friendship, and social aspect of the trail is what they cherish the most. So, knowing this, and knowing I should work on not being an antisocial weirdo, I decided to just go for it and talk to people! That I don’t know!!

It turns out that the group was from Michigan, and it also turns out that one man in their group just HAD to summit, and split from the entire rest of his group to pursue the highest point in the lower 48 without them. The rest of the group had turned around halfway up the chute, and were wondering if, since we were kind folk from Michigan as well, would be able to keep an eye out for their friend, a bearded, tall dude wearing a Detroit Tigers hat, on his descent. He had left his water bottle and filter with them, and they wanted us to return it to him whenever he passed through.

While we were happy to stop and have conversation, that request freaked me out. I was now obsessively watching the mountain to see if he was okay and coming down. After a while, I saw a group of four slowly descending the chute in the passing afternoon, the snow getting softer and slushier by the minute. Kevin and I discussed what we should do if this tall bearded John guy never showed. No cell service. Do we find someone with satellite phone or locator-beacon and call search and rescue? Do we look for him? It had been an hour since his friends passed through. Why would they leave him? But also, is it really their fault if John didn’t want to stay with the group? The first of the four descending the chute started a glissade. They were going super fast. They glissaded down, down, down, past a ridge in front of us that blocked our view.

“Okay..” we decided, “.we will give them 10 minutes to pop out from behind that ridge before we assume his self arrest did not go so well.” About 20 minutes of panic passed Then, the person FINALLY popped out from behind that ridge! “That’s John for sure,” I declared, but I really had no idea. (Guess what? It totally was John.) About 20-30 minutes later, as he approached our camp, the sun lined up so perfectly against the mountain, I had to snap a picture.

When he got close enough, I called out to him, saying “Hey, are you John from Michigan?” Looking thoroughly creeped out, he hesitantly admitted, that yes, he was. Kevin and I explained the situation, gave him his water bottle, and proceeded to have a pretty fantastic hour-long conversation with him. He had joined a group of three others to finish the summit when his group bailed (See!? People just adopt each other out here.). We chatted until the rest of his adoptive group made their way down to where we waited. They were all day hikers, got to us by 6pm, and still had a good 4-6 hour hike all the way back down to the trailhead. John was super honest and eagerly shared his experiences and photos with us. Great guy.

After they set off for their long and grueling hike all the way down to the Portal, Kevin and I cooked and retired early. I spent a bit more time staring Whitney down, and slept with my feet pointing right towards it, much like I did for Blanca Peak on Memorial Day. Maybe it would give me good luck, I thought. Our 2:50am alarm was going to come mighty early. All groups we talked to that day said to shoot for being on the chute by 4am when it is still nice and icy (so we could grip it with our traction devices better) However, most groups used crampons, rather than microspikes, and seemed pretty nervous when we said we were gonna go for it with microspikes. Let’s see how this goes. Butterflies, for sure.

-end of our first day on the mountain-

The Chute- June 14, 2018

The alarm rang bright and early at 2:50am. It only took me five minutes to get up today. I am nervous as hell. We packed our day packs, grabbed our ice axes, microspikes, and helmets. We left all the tent doors open so that if a marmot was feeling adventurous, he could come snuggle in our tent without having to chew a hole through it first.

In case you thought things happen differently at 12,000 ft, it was very dark outside. The moon was nowhere in sight either. It must have been hiding behind one of the many massive peaks surrounding us. We started off on the trail, which had gone from flooded and wet the night before to icy and sketchy in the early morning hours. The trail led us up towards the mystery ridge I talked about yesterday. The intention was to take the trail up the first couple switchbacks, and cross over onto the chute where we had seen people crossing over the day before. Well…things are easier said than done when you’re living by the light strapped to your head. We totally missed the crossover point. I still don’t know how we would have seen it.

We climbed switchback after switchback, wondering what the hell was going on, but unable to see more than ~25 ft in front of us? (I’m really bad at estimation.) We ended up on the switchbacks all the way up until the cables section- which is pretty much what it sounds like- a shelf of trail so sketchy that they installed cables on the exposed side to prevent you from falling down and going boom. The cables are still icy and questionable, a week later (although a group came through a few days ago and used their ice axes to cut a bit of a “path” to pave the way. On our way up to the switchbacks, we passed two people who somehow told us that they summited Whitney at midnight? And were on their way down? Why? Why would you summit in the middle of the night….but I was too nervous to be asking these kinds of questions.

When we realized we totally overshot and that the cables were impassible with our skill level, we backtracked down all of those switchbacks, searching for a good place to cross over to the chute. The switchbacks were incredibly icy in parts- the snow is melting off fast, and the trail is the path of least resistance.  Parts of the trail became streams of snowmelt, and before sunrise, in the cold, many of the rocks you would use to stay out of the water are a sheet of ice. Guys, I only fell twice. I only soaked both of my feet and one of my gloves. At 4 in the morning. In the dark. Yeah!

I would say it was probably close to 5 by the time we had found a good crossover spot. The very first light of the day was dying the horizon a dark red-orange.  We sat down, strapped on our microspikes, readied our ice axes, and plopped our helmets on. Here we go.

We began by crossing the snowfield where those two tiny people were approaching Trail Camp in the picture from yesterday. Although not as steep as the rest of the chute, it wasn’t a walk through the Great Plains. Along the way, we adopted two partners. They were both from LA, and both donned crampons. One of the guys asked if we were climbers (we had matching helmets). We told him no, and he laughed and said, “Me either”. I guess those helmets are a telltale sign- just like the many, many matching ice axes out on the chute. You could tell who knew what the hell they were doing, and who was out here just tryna figure it all out (like us.)

I really hated all the condescending comments from so many people online before coming, yelling at others about not doing anything to prepare themselves. If you live in California, it might be easy to sign yourself up for an ice axe course at REI, or go out and practice on your own on weekends. I don’t remember the last time I saw snow in Albuquerque, and even after driving 4 hours to Colorado for some practice, we were skunked. The southwest is bone dry this year, and it has been all winter. Oh, well.

As we were approaching the steeper part of the chute, the sun was coming up, opposite of the chute. The dark, burning purple glow on the horizon gave way to reds, then oranges, and then, a wave of sunlight which immediately began softening the snow.

Each step was a process of thrusting your axe into the crunchy snow/ice, kicking your spiky feet into the snow, checking to make sure you had traction, and so on. Over and over. I was able to maintain decent grip on the incline with my microspikes. I consciously tried to not stay directly behind anyone on the chute. The night before we left the portal, word came through of a terrifying accident that had happened that Monday. Someone was climbing the chute without an ice axe, slipped, fell, and began sliding quickly down the steep mountain. In the process, she took out two others below her on the chute, causing horrific injuries to two of the three people. I am talking smashed pelvises, crampon to the face, spinal injuries. Nothing like getting that kind of news the day before heading out for that very same chute. I kept an eye ahead of me, while also, stupidly, keeping an eye out behind me, just so I could panic at the steepness!

Our adopted climbing partners stuck with us, the younger one leading the way for the four of us. I looked over at one point to our other partner, climbing next to me. Suddenly, his crampon detached from his shoe. He didn’t notice at first, and kept kicking his right foot into the snow, wondering why he couldn’t get traction. I called his attention to this, and he got the most panicked look on his face. He positioned himself so that he could very carefully, take a seat on the steep hill to make some adjustments.

As he worked on his crampon, I kept climbing on. He took a while to adjust, and began climbing again. Boom. A few steps later, the crampon came off AGAIN. He again hunkered down on the steep slope to try to remedy this very scary problem. Within a couple minutes, he called it. He was going to descend. It wasn’t worth the risk. He encouraged his climbing partner to continue on and make the summit with Kevin and I, but being a respectable climbing partner of sound mind, declined. They needed to stick together. They summit together or they don’t summit at all. Our adopted climbing partners descended, leaving Kevin and I on the chute. Ahead a ways, about halfway up the chute, there was a large, exposed boulder to the left. Kevin asked if I wanted to try to make my way over to it to take a rest and discuss our plans.

After climbing up to the boulder, traversing the chute over to the left (I did not like that), we perched ourselves on the high side of the boulder. For a moment, I felt pretty anchored in my position. I wasn’t in immediate danger of sliding to an untimely ending. In all honesty, if our climbing partners had pushed on, we likely would have as well. We spent probably 15 minutes on that rock. I knew, in my mind, that I didn’t want to go past that point. After climbing the switchbacks to the cables that morning in the dark, and realizing how really not bad they were, I knew I could come back and make that summit in summer conditions without much of a hitch. I had been nervous about my skills, and just wasn’t 100% sure that I could get myself out of whatever I would end up getting into if we continued. I know Kevin wanted to go on, but I was frozen in fear. At that moment, I decided that I need to spend the remainder of this year working on handing my fears. There have been so many instances in life where fear has dictated my decision making, and in many cases, it has been unwarranted. I allow myself to get worked into a panic, created in my own mind. Ahh, life decision making on a mountain side. Classic.

I really sadly and disappointedly told Kevin I was pretty much done, we went back and forth for about five more minutes, and then decided that today wasn’t our day. We stepped out, onto the chute, out from behind our protective rock, and began the process of descending. It is not easy. The chute was riddled with a mixture of footprints, deep holes from people postholing (sinking into deep snow, sometimes up to your hip), and deep, rutted paths made by people’s butts while glissading. Using these glissade paths for walking or side-stepping down was out of the question. They were still extremely slick with ice. Slowly, deliberately, we picked out footprints in the icy Cliffside, slowly descending. One. Step. At. A. Time.  

This was really tiring, as you can imagine (or maybe not, but take my word for it.) Once far enough down the chute that I felt like I wouldn’t 100% die if I couldn’t stop myself, I figured it was time to glissade the rest of the way. I am embarrassed to admit that this was my first time ever. I know, everyone hates those people. But, read above. What could I have done? I found a path where someone had glissaded before me, sat my butt down on the cold ice, picked up my feet, and let gravity do its thang, ice axe in hand, ready to self-arrest when/if needed. I let myself slide for about 10 seconds (or more or less, like I said, I am horrible at estimation. Especially when I am scared shitless). I got going pretty fast, which I did not like (I’m no adrenaline junky). Digging the bottom of my ice axe in as a brake was not stopping me, so I went for it. I wound up all my strength, gripped my ice axe hard, and dug into the snow over my right shoulder, flipping onto my stomach and picking my feet up. It worked! I actually stopped! #proud.

I decided that since I successfully saved myself once, I could maybe do it again. At that time, Kevin was below me. He glissaded, and when he dug in for a self-arrest, his grip was apparently not gorilla-glue level. His axe slid right from his hands, stuck in the snow while he kept going. He came to a stop below by digging his feet into the snow. I slid down to where his axe was and retrieved it. Once I returned it to him, I gave it one more go with glissading. This is where I saw almost everyone glissade yesterday, as I sat at camp obsessively watching every single person’s path. I self-arrested at the bottom to stop myself, and a random passer-by climbing up said it was YouTube worthy. Aw yeah.

A little sad, we traversed the last field of snow before coming back to where we crossed over from the trail. Taking off our crampons and helmets, and stowing our axes away, I felt disappointed in myself, while simultaneously being thankful that I am not so obsessed with a goal that I put myself or others at risk (real risk, not imagined risk.) We wound our way down the last of the switchbacks, and came back into Trail Camp.

I honestly don’t remember if we packed up right away or not. I had so much going on in my mind at the time. We eventually broke camp, filtered a ton of water, and headed down the mountain. My senses were already heightened from my adrenaline-pumping morning, and with the weight of making the summit off of my shoulders, I took the time to pause, observe, take pictures, and be as present as possible for the remainder of our time in the Whitney Zone. Here is where I was able to stop and crouch down a bunch of times to take pictures of the beautiful little flowers sprouting up everywhere. Crouching down repeatedly wearing a 33 pound pack is fun. You should try it.

As we made our way down, I again thought about how my experiences the last few years have shaped me as a person. I used to dream of grandiose places. No joke, I would spend hours scouring Google Earth, combing the surface of our planet, zooming in on places that looked like they might be something other than the flatland forests I grew up in. Years ago, I vividly remember coming across Mono Lake on a random Google Maps exploration. The lake looked abnormal from high up, so I zoomed in, got the name of the lake, looked it up, and went research crazy. Now, I thought about how I would have never imagined that I would be descending the tallest mountain in the lower 48, a mere couple of hours from that insane lake I discovered by chance on a map years ago.

Fast forward from exploring the world through my computer screen. I am now doing it in real life. Not because anyone told me to or anything. But because I made a series of choices that allowed me to do all of this. Additionally, the pure luck of having an incredible partner who wants to do these things with me has changed my entire life for the better. I also cannot leave out the fact that I was privileged enough to be raised in a good family with the ability to go into ridiculous debt to get the degree that allowed me to pursue a teaching career out in the mountains in the first place.

I then think back to the very start of my trip through the portal- worrying that my experiences have been so frequently humbling and frankly, unreal, that I have become somewhat numb to that pure feeling of exhilaration when you see nature in its most incredible forms. While I may not be able to go back to how things were when I came to the mountains for the first time, I think I can make a conscious effort to allow myself to continue to be humbled by nature. There are still so many beautiful places in this world that I have yet to experience. While every work of art/nature may not knock me flat on my ass, or make me feel like a speck of dust in the universe, I learn something about myself in almost every walk with nature. And while I may have failed at my goal this time, perhaps I needed to fail to realize that I still need to let nature humble me. And, while I may have not made that summit, I was able to spend two days in the wilderness, experiencing new and gorgeous forms of life, rock, water. I will take these memories with me everywhere I go, until I come back for another taste, and hopefully, a summit. It won’t be Mt. Whitney that I conquer, but rather myself.

PS- When we were about 1.5 miles from the trailhead, a SAR (Search and Rescue) helicopter flew over us directly towards Mt. Whitney. That helped me solidify and be at peace with my decision to call it (although it turns out it was just some a-hole who activated his personal locator beacon just because wanted a ride to his car from Trail Camp???)

See ya later, Whitney. Through the portal we went again, back to life that’s not in the clouds.

[trekwithcraig]

How to Trek Colombia's Lost City (La Ciudad Perdida)

Hidden in Colombia's deliciously green jungles lies an enticing secret. A secret unknowingly swallowed up by forest for 1,200 years, speckled with gold, jewels, and human sacrificial sites. Its ruins are 650 years older than Machu Picchu, and have only been publicly accessible in the last few decades. Known as the Ciudad Perdida or the Lost City, this ancient site is one of Colombia's most remarkably concealed gems. Reaching these epic ruins is no simple feat. River crossings, steep hills, and tropical heat make the four day hike here a gruelling one. Despite being accessible to tourists for the past 10+ years, the Lost City is still surprisingly under-visited. One thing is for certain, those who make it here are left in awe.

Colombia's Lost City: An Overview

The Lost City was built by the Tairona people who first created this settlement in 800 A.D. Spanning over 12,000 square meters (129,167 square feet), the city was once home to an estimated 2,000-4,000 people in its peak. This is thought to have been the Tairona's biggest city, and was the epicentre of economic and political activity. The Tairona were an advanced civilization, with a political structure and impressive engineering skills. Evidence of the latter lies in the complex bridges and drainage systems built to ensure the city withstood heavy rains. Stone-lined paths and staircases snake about the terraces, storehouses, ceremonial and feasting areas. All of this is but a fraction of what we know existed here. Only about 10% of the Lost City has been uncovered, further cloaking these ancient grounds in mystery.

The Tairona were skilled craftsmen and spiritual people. They practiced meditation and made symbolic offerings. Shamans were important to maintain natural order, sometimes even making human sacrifices to do so. Stunning gold jewelry, intricate gold idols, and colorful beadwork have all been uncovered throughout the ruins. The Tairona are said to have worn feathered headdresses, shawls, and jeweled chest ornaments. Today, much of these artifacts can be seen in museums throughout Colombia. I highly recommend doing this, as the detail and intricacy is astounding, further enriching one's understanding of the civilization behind the Lost City. The Museo del Oro (Gold Museum) in Santa Marta, as well as in Bogota, both have fantastic collections.

Like many indigenous South American populations, the Tairona were wiped out with the colonization of the Spaniards, most likely due to smallpox. Their disappearance left their entire city to be swallowed up by the forest for centuries. Today, their nearest descendants, known as the “Kogi”, continue to live traditionally in huts without electricity or running water. You may encounter the Kogi people while entering the Lost City, as we did.

The Lost City trek: What to expect

Swimming holes, thick and humid jungles, and breathtaking views are found throughout the hike. The grande finale – entering the Lost City – is an anticipation-filled experience in itself. After three days of steep trekking through humid forests, you reach its entry point – a steep stone stairway. It's comprised of 1,350 stones, built and once trodden on by the Tairona themselves. Farmers, potters, curious children, and even shaman would have once stepped foot here. It is magical to retrace their steps. After a steep venture up, the lushness of the Lost City is revealed. Much of the hand-carved stone terraces, which once housed huts and structures, are engrossed in moss and plants. It is eery, beautiful, and reminiscent of other nature-engulfed ruins like Machu Picchu. The Lost City is further explored on foot with your guide who will explain various areas of significance. That includes sacrificial sites, stones with engravings, and the various terraces and plazas. Besides the spectacular ruins, the scenery en route to the Lost City is majestic. Sweeping mountain views, colourful butterflies, sputtering waterfalls, and gorgeous rock pools (which you can dive into) are just some of what's in store. Hike difficulty The Lost City trek is a 44km hilly hike that takes 4-6 days to complete (round-trip). The journey begins with a bumpy 4WD up a mountain to the start of the hike. There is only one trail in and out to the Lost City, meaning that you will retrace the route. The first three days of the tour are generally inclining (approaching the Lost City), and the last two are declining as you return to the start. The only difference in tour duration is the amount of hiking completed each day. We did the 4-day (shortest) option and found it was fine, and this is a popular option for travellers. In terms of difficulty, this is a challenging hike. General fitness is required, and there are steep hills throughout. Ultimately, an elevation of 1,100 meters (3,600 feet) is reached. Climate-wise, it is hot, humid, muddy, and buggy. There are several river crossings (i.e. you will literally walk through rivers), so you will get wet. If being hot, fatigued, sweaty, dirty, and bug-bitten is a suitable trade-off for you in exchange for incredible landscapes and ancient ruins, then you'll find this hike well worth it (we certainly did!).

Sunrise over the mountains on the trek Accommodation, food & water Accommodation throughout the hike is humble. There are small open-air huts with dirt floors, simple bunk beds, and hammocks inside, both of which have mosquito nets. Most tours have 10-12 people, so the sleeping area is small and quiet (imagine a rustic hostel dorm set in the jungle). Cold showers are available at the camp on the second day, though river swims are available on day 1 of the hike. Food is provided on all tours, which is usually three meals and two snacks per day. It is home cooked Colombian food, such as stews with rice and salad. Filtered water is available at each of the camp sites, so you can refill at each station. You should carry 1.5-2L each day to be well hydrated.

When to go

Colombia has warm weather year-round, so the Lost City trek can technically be done anytime. The dry season runs between December and March. Temperatures are slightly lower during this time and there is less rain, making the hike's several river crossings easier. On the flip side, this is the busier season, increasing the number of tourists on the trail. The rainy season (April to November) can involve anything from a light drizzle to torrential downpours. Rivers will be fuller, sometimes raising the water as high as one's chest, so keep this in mind.

Getting there

The closest city to the starting point of the Lost City trek is Santa Marta. It is accessible by bus or car transfer from nearby major cities like Barranquilla and Cartagena. Bus Colombia is well connected by bus. For example, you can get a bus ticket online from Medellin to Santa Marta from $38 USD, or from Bogota to Santa Marta from $27 USD. Bus prices can sometimes be negotiable outside of peak season. A gentle, “Hay discuento?” will reveal if you can get a better rate. To purchase tickets, go to the nearest bus station or buy ahead online on Busbud. Flying If flying into Colombia, the nearest major airport to the Lost City is Cartagena. Use Skyscanner and select “Whole Month” to visualize the cheapest dates to fly. From there you must transfer onwards to Santa Marta.

Where to stay

Santa Marta Santa Marta is a small colonial city located along Colombia's northern coast. It is home to a small variety of bars, restaurants, and beaches. There are several hostel, hotel, and AirBNB (as low as $10 USD/night for a private room) options here suitable to various budgets and travel styles. We stayed at the bright and spacious Drop Bear Hostel (read reviews here). Drop Bear Hostel

Owned by a friendly Aussie, this vibrant hostel is set in a rustic Colombian mansion. It has a swimming pool, games room, restaurant, bar, pool table, cinema room, large kitchen, and hammock lounge. Those wanting some screen time can make use its computers (there is also good Wifi throughout the hostel). It's slightly removed from town so that it is a quiet paradise, but still has proximity to the beaches and city. Pricing: $9-$13 USD/night dorms (varying sizes), $20-$44 USD/night private Book here – Read reviews here Cartagena A fairy-tale like city nestled on the sparkling waters of the Caribbean, Cartagena is not to be missed. Speckled with brightly colored colonial buildings, even a wander through the streets here is stimulating. Cartagena's Old Town is a UNESCO World Heritage site, teeming with stone-brick walls and cobblestone roads. The city is a delight to explore at dusk into nightfall, as its street lamps romantically illuminate the colonial buildings and stone walls.

There are a dizzying number of hostel, hotel, and AirBNB (around $20 USD for a private room) options on hand here. We stayed at Hostel Mamallena (read reviews here), covered more below. Hostel Mamallena

Quaint, vibrant, and clean, Hostel Mamallena is a great option for a central pad in Cartagena. Basic breakfast is provided and the staff are friendly to help with any queries you may have. Dorm and private rooms are tidy and have air conditioning too. The backyard chill area and bar are great for socializing with other travellers at nightfall. Pricing: $14 USD/night (8-bed dorm), $41 USD/night private Book here – Read reviews here

Booking a trek tour to Colombia's Lost City (Ciudad Perdida)

A guided trek to Colombia's Lost City is the only way to visit the site, as it is sacred indigenous land now protected by the Colombian government. You can book tours online in advance with instant confirmation on Viator or G Adventures, or in person at your accommodation or tour company. When you do book, request an English speaking guide (if you don't speak Spanish), as this will majorly impact your overall experience and understanding of the site. If that's not possible, the guides will often ask a bi-lingual member of the tour to do the translating (this happened on our tour), so it's unlikely you'll miss too much.

What to pack

Firstly, pack light. When you're hiking through humidity and heat that's as thick as pudding, every bit of weight adds strain. We packed 2 day hiking outfits each (plus nighttime wear) and alternated drying them. You will become dirty/sweaty within minutes of putting your clothes on each day, so it's up to you whether you want to add bulk for the sake of clean options. Some hikers wash their clothes in the river and hang them to dry in between (though with the humidity, items never fully dry). For tips on travelling light, be sure to check our men's and women's packing guides. Note: if you're travelling with much bigger bags, it may be possible to store extra luggage/items at your Santa Marta accommodation if needed (check in advance – Drop Bear Hostel let us!). Here is what we recommend to pack for the Lost City trek: Clothing 2-3 quick-dry tops (tank top or t-shirt) 1 long sleeved shirt (for night) 1 pair pants or leggings (for night) 2-3 pairs of socks 2 sports bras 4 pairs of underwear Hiking shoes (we used running shoes) Sandals or flip flops (we wore flip flops) 1 bathing suit Rain jacket (mainly for wet season; we didn't use ours as it was hot and dry) Hat Toiletries Toothbrush & toothpaste Deodorant (ESSENTIAL!!!) 1 fast-dry towel Small first aid kit (Bandaids, hydrocortisone cream, Polysporin, Immodium) Insect repellent (DEET-containing is most effective, you can buy a soap-like version in Colombia called Nopikex. Natural alternatives include citronella, eucalyptus, tea tree oil, etc.) Sunscreen that is waterproof and sweat proof Miscellaneous Water bottle (we use the Platypusas it folds flat. Pack extra empty bottles if you don't have a large one already, you'll need 1.5-2L per day) Camera Portable charger Sleeping bag liner (on our hike there were bed bugs in the bunk beds; a liner does reduce the risk of bites, otherwise wear at least 3 layers) Rain jacket Flashlight and/or headlamp Waterproof backpack cover (we love our Deuter bags because they come with these!) Dry bag (very important for keeping electronics etc. safe during heavy rains and river crossings) Cash: the camps sell chocolate bars etc. in the evenings if you wish

The Thrifty Gist

The Lost City Trek in Colombia is an incredible trek. Booking a tour is required (check G Adventures or Viator for instant online confirmation, or book at your accommodation) Pack as light as possible, as you will be carrying your luggage on the trek A visit in dry season is advisable (Dec – March), but shoulder seasons are still okay Pack all essentials (refer to packing list above), as you will have no stops at shops on this remote trek Author:

JEN AVERY Jen is a five-foot-short fireball with an itch for adventure. Besides travel, her shameless vices include wine-fueled nights with good company, road trips to remote places, and squealing at adorable elderly dogs. (Also: COFFEE!). Read the full article

[travelingnowhereandbeyond]

“We inter-breathe with the rain forests, we drink from the oceans. They are part of our own body.” – Buddha

The eastern most edge of Captain Daniel Wright Woods Forest Preserve in Mettawa, Illinois, is home to winding trails forged by deer through dense trees and bushes whose bark and leaves vary as wildly as the shapes of gravel in a pond. Decaying logs, a single creek, squirrels chewing walnuts, bright green moss covering gray stones, vines strangling already dead trees, drapes of ivy, and white star flowers filling green and gold meadows also claim it as home. As it is not part of the main park, it rarely draws human visitors, but it was three minutes on foot from my house when I was in middle school. It was my forest. Every day after school, regardless of weather or season, I visited until dinner time. I hiked those familiar trails, and sat on logs, but always observed, belonged, listened, and sensed my surroundings.

In summer, when the humidity hits, cicadas emerge from their homes in the ground to shed their brown shells. One day, during the summer of the seventeen year cicada, I watched a daddy long leg crawl over a prairie trillium, with its burgundy diamond bloom and three dark green mosaic leaves. Something else moved on a tree branch nearby. Stunned at first, I almost left in disgust, but closer then I looked and realized what it was. A seventeen year cicada was pushing out of the top of its shell attached to the bark. I sat on the ground and watched.

So odd, ugly, and beautiful. First, its white head with bright red eyes and black dots- fake eyes, then the white body and translucent wings that uncurled. It struggled for a long time. Finally, it rested, hatched and still clinging to its shell. The delicate and vulnerable state of that cicada amazed me. I had witnessed something I’d never see again. Like so many things I noticed and learned in the forest preserve, I could not explain its significance, but I knew its beauty and power.

“If we could see the miracle of a single flower clearly, our whole life would change.” – Buddha

Many years later I had a pet dog, as many people do. He was a black miniature schnauzer with two large ears- one curled back and one curled forward- a stubby tail, a white chest, and a tendency to talk too much. He was my best friend and companion for 12 years. Together we hiked through slot canyons in Escalante, camped in Zion National Park, visited The Wave in northern Arizona, leapt into the Pacific Ocean in San Diego, ran through fields and forests in Daniel Boone National Forest, and forged through the high desert of Saint George, Utah with thick sage and tall juniper trees, red rock cliffs, orange sand, darting lizards, and gray jackrabbits as large as schnauzers. We observed nature as we went, often sitting side by side, taking it in and simply existing.

“In life we cannot avoid change, we cannot avoid loss. Freedom and happiness are found in the flexibility and ease with which we move through change.” – Buddha

The day he died I was moving to South Korea. Since he was older and ill, I decided to leave him with my parents. He disappeared into the darkness in my parents’ backyard at 3 am. When we couldn’t find him, I still left, spending the 15 hour plane ride crying. By the time I arrived in South Korea in the evening, it had been a full day since my parents had discovered him passed away under his favorite tree. When my mother told me this as I lay in my foreign apartment, it was if I had already heard it. I just knew it, but this knowledge did not make it less painful. And tears were painful. Still, life moved on. In South Korea, it was the beginning of the semester in late August, so I was thrown into the chaos of starting a new job at a university, in a new city, in a new country. My grief would have to wait. Or maybe I could get over it gradually, so I thought.

Uam Historic Park sits on a ridge of hills that skirt the east side of Daejeon, South Korea. It is the gateway to a system of trails that lead out of the city’s valley into a vast forest and around the Daechong Lake for several kilometers. One can walk this entire ridge around the valley of Daejeon, should one be so ambitious, and some are. The park itself holds enough significance to draw thousands of visitors at all times of the year. It houses a school from the 1600s of a renowned scholar, Song Si-Yeol, with numerous buildings, a meditation pavilion, a temple, a lily pond, and a library museum within the secure walls. Before arriving in South Korea, I had researched the park and its network of trails extensively. Hiking would continue to be my favorite past time, no matter where I was. Like any good traveler and expat, I set the first stones for the steps to comfort and home.

Every Sunday morning, and any other day possible, I visited Uam Park and continued out on the forest paths that weaved up the mountain. I also found numerous other trails intersected each other. The entrance to one was a quick, steep walk up the hill behind my apartment. There was no excuse for not visiting the forest. Also, the chaos of the new job, and the pungent, raw city mirrored the chaos brewing inside me from avoiding my grief. Only the forest brought peace. It was familiar. Tree branches snapped in the wind. Leaves brushed each other. Dirt, plants, scurrying insects, pink flowers. Green grass, and green leaves all smelled the same. My lungs filled with fresh air and my legs burned from exertion.

And new sights gave new pleasures. Light green bamboo with feather leaves grew in clumps along the ancient wall of the park. Wooden signs in Korean indicated trail lengths. The burgundy Buddhist temple with its green painted roof sat at the top of the hill, just above the pond. Behind it, the trees rolled up the mountains. Along one of the trails above the park, there is a resting station covered by a yellow tarp under which travelers can sleep in cots, drink from the natural spring, or eat at picnic tables. Such familiar and novel pleasures patched my wounds, if only as distractions. I stayed there for hours. I wanted to live under a mound of ivy.

“Every life has a measure of sorrow. Sometimes it is this that awakens us.” – Buddha

But, one cannot live in nature when one has other responsibilities. So Daejeon city continued to stir emotions, but slowly, like a melting icicle. At the sound of a schnauzer barking from a passing car at the local market, my heart pounded, then I cried. At mentioning to my friends that I once had a dog, my stomach churned. At realizing I could stay at coffee shops as long as I wanted, feelings of remorse and guilt surged up my face, as if my blood and tears were lava. In dreams he was in danger from a snake or a flood, and I was unable to save him.

Then, finally, after two months, I was comfortable in my new home. The grief over the loss of my best friend of twelve years, who died too suddenly, struck me then, but it brought guilt with it. One night I woke crying from another nightmare where his death was my fault. I was sweating, panicky, and alone in my one room apartment with the marvelous heated floors. Frequent hikes were not strong enough bandages for the raw wound that was now hemorrhaging. I could not go on this way.

“You need to do something to commemorate him and let him go, like a ritual,” my close friend wrote me from The United States. She was right. Also, I had been avoiding confronting the pain, hoping it would go away, but no longer. I devised a plan and carried it out.

“There is the path of fear and the path of love. Which will you follow?” – Buddha

On a sunny, autumn Sunday morning, I headed into the forest above Uam Park, to a spot overlooking the lake. He walked with me as I stepped silently over roots and dry brown leaves, past outdoor exercising equipment, and the relaxing station to the top of the hill. This hike and this forest was the only thing I knew would heal me. But, I knew we never truly get over the trauma, the grief, the guilt, the pain; that is not realistic. Laurence Gonzalez reminds us in his book, Surviving Survival, “…it’s important to realize that we don’t get over it. We get on with it.” In another sense, we let go so we can make space for other things. These ideas are profoundly Buddhist. I was desperate to get on with it and make room.

The elderly population of Korea loves to hike and they were out as usual. Respectfully, I nodded as I passed them, and they smiled and returned the respect. So many people still relish the forest for the same reasons I do and did. It brings comfort to know this. Exercise produces chemical changes that can offset depression. Even the color green soothes. South Korea, along with many Asian countries, respects nature as a place to literally bathe, replenish, cleanse, and destress. Forest Bathing programs are popular, Forest Therapy centers as well. Daejeon has one tucked at the base of Mt. Bomunsan in the south.

So atop that hill I sat, unable to speak, on a rock and looked down the slope of the trail. In fall one can see what was once hidden. So many thin, new trees surround their elders. Some leaves still cling, then swirl down at the mention of a breeze. Finally, I spoke to him. I recounted what I thought were my sins- neglect, greed, and selfishness. I forgave myself, and remembered him fondly. Many words I hadn’t scratched on that paper came out. Then I ripped up the letter and buried it in a hole on that hill. Ever after, when I would walk up that hill, part of him was there and a portion of me too, so the forest had become more sacred than I intended. The ritual recognized the physical realization of grief, and the guilt. The wound was healed, but the scar remained. When I cried, it was lighter. The impurities had been drained and the emotion flowed through my body like the clean mountain spring below our special spot.

“In the end only these things matter: How well did you love? How fully did you live? How deeply did you let go?” – Buddha

For years I had found desert trails in Saint George, Utah, comforting, all of those with him. Before that there were forest trails in Indiana, and parks with pavement and manicured grass with him. Many years before that, there were the life renewing forests by my house in Illinois. In Uam Historical Park, I learned why temples in South Korea are found on mountain tops, and hillsides, tucked away from the chaos of civilization. They rest in the safe, quiet wisdom, and sanctity of ancient forests. The simplicity of nature can be emulated. Forests are full of miracles as every day as the emergence of a cicada from its shell, or the healing of a grief stricken human.

(Uam Historical Park and the forest trails. 2017)

  Getting on with It: How a Southern Korea Forest Heals “We inter-breathe with the rain forests, we drink from the oceans. They are part of our own body.”

[vivianbates]

George Himes Trail in George Himes Natural Area, Portland

George Himes Trail explores a small patch of forest in Southwest Portland between Interstate 5 and Terwilliger Boulevard. The single-track trail rises to a view over Johns Landing and the Willamette River toward Mount Hood before looping through woods bedecks in licorice ferns, moss, and English ivy. The top of the loop touches a picnic area in George Himes Park. Without additions, George Himes Trail is 1.4 miles round trip. If you take the early spur to a view of Mount Hood and venture into the picnic area in George Himes Park, the hike will be about 1.5 miles round trip with 400 feet of elevation change.

Begin from the top of SW Iowa Street, a block west of SW Corbett Avenue and 1/3 of a mile west of the Willamette River in the Johns Landing neighborhood of Southwest Portland. The start of the trail is like a secret waiting to be discovered, with little more than a stone staircase tucked between houses. A “SWTrails 3” sign provides the initial clue that this staircase is part of a trail. (“SWTrails 3” is a route through Southwest Portland on roads and trails that begins from nearby Willamette Park.)

The start of George Himes Trail

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Launch up the steps past another reassuring sign from Portland Parks and Recreation that indicates that you are entering George Himes Natural Area. Push through an arch of trees and rise into a ravine cut into the West Hills. Switchbacks and staircases take you up toward bridges on Interstate 5 and SW Barbur Boulevard that span the ravine.

While hiking under the freeway isn’t the most appealing, don’t get dissuaded. After 125 yards, you will come to a junction with a spur that doubles back to the right. Though it doesn’t look like much, take this spur out to the north side of the ravine, walking 100 feet to a surprisingly good view out over Johns Landing and east toward the Willamette River. On days that are clear, the view of Mount Hood from this easy-to-reach overlook is excellent.

The spur to the perch over Johns Landing

Mount Hood across the Willamette River

You’ve hiked a tenth of a mile and enjoyed the hike’s broadest view. Now return to George Himes Trail and continue hiking up the ravine. Pas under the southbound lanes of Interstate 5 and up more steps to an older trestle bridge under Barbur Boulevard.

George Himes Trail passes through the second bridge

The trail passes through one of the trestles supporting the street and enters the forest. Walk up the green canyon to the right of a small, seasonal stream.

George Himes Trail

The road noise fades as you walk about 0.15 miles into the forest where the trail curves to the left and drops across the bottom of the ravine and rises up steps to a junction. This is the start of the loop on George Himes Trail, 0.37 miles from SW Iowa Street (or 1/3 of a mile without the spur to the view of Mount Hood). You could take the loop in either direction, but it seems best to turn left at the T-junction, following another “SWTrails 3” sign to hike clockwise around the loop.

Steps up to the junction at the start of the loop

After turning left, George Himes Trail rises into forest that seems to grow greener with moss and ferns. Cross a footbridge, 0.05 miles past the junction where the trail curves around a draw in the hillside.

Rise to the east until a switchback sends you west and up to a junction, 2/3 of a mile from the start, just below a picnic area in George Himes Park. To immediately continue with the second half of the loop, bear right. Otherwise, stay to the left and enter the picnic area.

The picnic area in George Himes Park is well shaded, with half a dozen picnic tables, but no views. However, if you walk down SW Nebraska Street, which runs along the side of the picnic area, you can get another look at Mount Hood. Signs for “SWTrails 3” show the route heading west across SW Terwilliger Boulevard.

The picnic area at the top of the loop

Leave the picnic area, return to the junction and head north on the next stretch of George Himes Trail, crossing a slope below Terwilliger Boulevard. After 0.2 miles, the trail actually pops out of the woods and meets the sidewalk along Terwilliger Boulevard. Turn right, walk 70 yards, and find a dirt trail leaving the sidewalk. Turn right to take this trail down into a depression on the inside of a bend in Terwilliger Boulevard.

In another 50 yards, you will come to another junction. Terwilliger Trail continues to the north. Turn right once again to hike down into the wooded ravine on George Himes Trail.

Looking down on a bend in George Himes Trail

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Descend eastward through one bend to take George Himes Trail back down to the junction where the loop began. Turn left to go down the ravine for the final 1/3 of a mile back to the trailhead.

The lollipop loop on George Himes Trail is less than 1.5 miles round trip if you don’t explore the picnic area. Alternatively, if you start at the picnic area and hike just the loop without the stretch of trail up from SW Iowa Street, this hike could be just 3/4 of a mile round trip. For something longer, use Terwilliger Boulevard to connect to Marquam Nature Park, just to the north.

Dogs are welcome on leashes, but bikes are not allowed. Street parking is available and no fee or permit is needed to hike George Himes Trail in the Tualatin Mountains (also know as Portland’s West Hills), so get out and enjoy this short hike!

To get the trailhead: For the interchange of Interstate 84 and Interstate 205 in Northeast Portland, take I-84 west for 5 miles. Merge onto I-5 South and drive across the Willamette River. Take exit 299A, with signs for Route 43 toward Lake Oswego. Pass below the interstate and bear right to merge onto SW Macadam Avenue. Drive south for 0.9 miles and turn right on SW Iowa Street. Drive 5 blocks to the end of Iowa Street at a T-intersection with SW View Point Terrace (which dead ends to the left and right). George Himes Trail starts on the west side of SW View Point Terrace across from SW Iowa Street.

Trailhead address: SW View Point Terrace & SW Iowa Street, Portland, OR 97239 Trailhead coordinates: 45.49825, -122.8392 (45° 28′ 47.45″N 122° 40′ 40.33″W)

from hikespeak.com https://www.hikespeak.com/trails/george-himes-park-hike-southwest-portland/

[konnl]

Preview Chapter 1 - Mental Damnation Reality

Read the sneak peek of Mental Damnation: Reality.

Enjoy the excerpt of Chapter 1: Soft-Skins below. Order the novel today.

Chapter 1

Soft-Skins

Thick red liquid oozed down the grey, mangy fur of a wolf. The animal lay on its side against a moss-covered tree, eyes glazed over and ears lowered. Flies began to swarm around its body. Each irregular breath it took was followed by a wheezing noise as blood pumped from the torn flesh around its neck. There were bite marks around the animal’s throat—clear indicators of an attack by another beast.

Whether the animal had engaged in combat with another wolf, or possibly a larger predator, was not important to the father and daughter who had discovered the dying creature and now stood mere meters from it. No, unfortunately the fate of the wolf had been sealed and now the question remained: What does one do with a dying animal?

“Killing and death are common things, my Krista,” the father said, looking down at his daughter through the slim pupils of his yellow eyes. He got down on one knee, extending his brown, scaly claw to stroke the top of her head, which was covered densely in long, thin, black and navy feathers. “Both in the animal kingdom and in ours.”

“But you always say killing is a wicked deed, Father. So all animals are wicked?” The little girl blinked a couple of times, staring at her father’s large, crested head.

“Yes, I did say that. The animal world is different than ours, their intentions less sinister. Killing is a regular part of our lives for the wrong reasons.”

“Because of the humans?”

The father nodded, his small nostrils flaring. “Yes. Because of the humans.” He got up to his feet and pulled out a dagger that was sheathed in his belt. “Animals understand the natural balance of our world … unlike those who are deemed ‘civilized’. Come now, we must offer this animal mercy.”

“How?” the girl asked, following her father as he approached the whimpering wolf. “You’re not going to kill the poor thing?” She stopped in her tracks, grabbing hold of the tip of her thin brown tail.

“I must, Krista. There are only a few scenarios when you will find yourself in need of killing.”

The wolf’s eyes looked over to the approaching reptilian and snarled weakly, exposing its teeth. It didn’t even have the strength to lift its head. The wolf’s breathing rapidly increased, and it coughed with the effort.

“Either as a favour to end one’s suffering…”

The father moved swiftly, dashing on all fours, dagger in hand. His long tail swayed side to side, aiding in his movement. He skidded on his knees before coming to a stop and plunging the dagger up into the animal’s skull from the lower jaw. The wolf gurgled once and twitched before the body relaxed and all movements stopped. Blood seeped down the dagger onto the reptilian’s hand.

“…or in self-defence.” He looked over to his daughter. Some of his scalp-feathers had been displaced by his quick movements and he brushed them back with his free hand. “Remember that.”

Krista nodded and stared at the wolf’s corpse while her father pulled the knife from its skull. She felt her heart sink, knowing that the animal was now gone forever. Her father was right, but she had a hard time grasping the concept of taking another’s life. Removing a living being from the world seemed like too much power. A horrific act. “Yes, father,” she replied.

He stood and wiped the blood off the blade against his knee-length green trousers. “Ideally, save your claws for self-defence. Use a weapon for more accurate execution when ending one’s suffering.” Pointing at the ground beside Krista, he added, “Pick up the berries. Your mother will need them for dinner.”

The little girl’s eyes widened. She had completely forgotten about the woven basket filled with berries that they had harvested! She snatched up the basket by its arched handle. The fruits were native to the pine forest: sweet, purple, and covered in lumps.

“Come now.” Krista’s father extended his hand, and Krista grabbed it.

The two walked slowly past the corpse of the wolf and back onto the rough dirt footpath. “Father, what if I don’t want to kill?”

Her father let out a hearty chuckle. “There will come a point in time when you will have to.”

“What if I don’t kill in self-defence or helping a suffering one?”

“I pray to the spirits you do not have to. However, I will never lie to you.” He looked down at her and smiled, tight-lipped.

“Do you think I will have to kill the humans?”

“Humans are a much younger race than us vazeleads, aging quickly and processing the world at a rapid rate. It causes them to think drastically, jumping to conclusions. Thinking at this speed worked as an advantage to defeat the draconem.”

“I don’t understand why they hate us so much.”

“The humans? I don’t think it is so much hate as it is fear. Their paranoia turned them into the very thing that they opposed after they ended the Drac Age.”

“What’s that?”

“Racial oppressors.”

Krista frowned. She found it baffling that there were such terrible things in the world; she only wanted everyone to get along. As far as she was concerned, the world had plenty of space for everyone. “I wish we could all live together.”

“The humans see us as a threat. They think we are allied with the draconem, hence their paranoia.”

“But we’re not, are we?”

“No, Krista, not our village. The other villages overseas in Europe? I cannot speak for them. Harmony with the humans is just not an option. We live in a time of bigotry and you need to prepare to fend for yourself.”

“I don’t want to kill, Dad. I want to have peace.”

“As do we all.”

“Killing sounds like the opposite of peace. I won’t be a part of it.”

“Your passion is warming to hear, my dear daughter. There are things at work that are much larger than you or I. Some of the Drac Lords survived at the end of the Drac Age, and the humans are continually looking to hunt them down. Our kind were not meant to be dragged into the dispute between the draconem and the humans. We are simply suffering the consequences for our minor physical resemblance. I can only hope that the spirits will guide us through this.”

“We’re not a threat to them. I wish they could just see that.”

“It’s not so simple, my daughter. Unless you can peel off your scales and pigment your skin to look like theirs, they will remain suspicious of us. They will never accept us as vazeleads.”

Krista and her father continued down the path leading out of thick wilderness. It was a good hike from their home and well worth the journey to gather the berries. The fruit served as a delicious dessert after their dinner. Plus, Krista enjoyed having one-on-one time with her father without her pesky little brother getting in the way. It was a special father-daughter time.

Lately she could tell her father was ill at ease. She couldn’t fully grasp all of the events going on between the humans and her people, or throughout the Kingdom of Zingalg, but she knew her dad. It took a lot to throw him off his typically calm and collected state. Plus, this wasn’t the first time recently they had discussed killing. There was a reason he was lecturing her.

As they passed the last couple of pine trees and moved through some shrubbery the two stood at the top of a grassy hill, looking down at their village, which was about four hundred paces away. The small round wooden huts were aligned in rows all around the town, complete with backyard gardens. Just beyond the town was a river with a footbridge. Stretching from the riverbank were a couple of docks where the townsfolk would catch fish.

“We truly live in a paradise.” The father smiled. “I never tire of exiting Kuzuchi Forest to see our town.”

“Zingalg is very pretty,” Krista agreed.

Truthfully, she had not explored the continent very much. She was way too young, only about ninety years old. She had a lot of growing up to do before she could venture out on her own. Krista was much better off learning from her elders, as her mother would say.

Oh, no, Krista thought. Mum. She swallowed heavily. “Dad….” She spoke softly.

“Yes?”

“Before we left, I completely forgot to grab the clothes off the drying racks. Please don’t be mad.”

The father shook his head. “Nonsense; it’s not a big deal.”

“It is to Mum.”

“Nitpicky details.” He winked at her. “I’ll have a word with her.”

“Thank you.” She smiled.

The two finished hiking down the slope, leaving behind the massive wild forest at the base of a large mountain. Looking back to the trees, Krista could see the steep dark grey rock face behind them: Mount Kuzuchi. Krista had never been beyond Kuzuchi Forest to see what was up the mountain. It remained as mysterious as the low clouds that shrouded its true height.

In no time, the two of them reached the bottom of the grassy hill. The footpath they walked on was now much wider and covered by gravel. Villagers busily walked up and down and across the road, completing their daily tasks while the sun was still shining. Some carried tools, like axes or hammers, while others hauled barrels filled with lumber or grain. A number of villagers were making exchanges with bakers or cooks so they too could return to their homes and prepare for dinner.

“I miss days like this,” Krista’s father commented. “This was the normal: a self-sustaining community of tradesmen and farmers.”

“Yeah.” Krista nodded. She knew her father was referring to the increased trading with the blacksmiths of the town for swords and shields, thanks to hushed rumours about the humans. Nowadays, their people spent their days practicing with their new weapons instead of enjoying time with each other.

The blacksmiths used to only make basic tools for their village. Now, with the new weaponry, high tension was radiating throughout the town. No one was sure what, if anything, the humans were planning to do to their people, where they were, or when. The one thing that was certain was the fear that the unknown created.

Krista’s father led them through the crisscrossing roads, moving around pedestrians and back to their home hut. The round dwelling was made of logs and animal hides forming two circular rooms; one was the living quarters and the other was the kitchen and working area.

“Just follow my lead and do not worry about your mother.” Krista’s father squeezed her hand once more before letting it go and he stepped into their hut, pushing aside the red linen curtains that draped over the front entrance.

“Muluve, we’ve returned from the harvest,” he announced.

Krista followed close behind him, nervously fidgeting with the handle of the basket she held. She never liked upsetting her parents. Her mother got exceptionally displeased when things she asked to be done were not.

Krista picked up on the scent of cooking lentils in the room and eyed the entryway, where her father kept some of his gardening tools on the wooden dining table alongside the stack of unset plates. Next to them was a set of painted wooden blocks that belonged to her brother. The table was multi-purpose – or, as her mum would say, a mess.

The dirt floor had several thick black rugs over it to help soften the space. Wooden shelves were carved against the curved walls. Beads hung from the ceiling just by the kitchen counter, helping to divide the entrance from the cooking area.

Muluve stood on the other side of the counter, hands on her hips, a wooden cooking spoon in hand. Her face, the hue of sandstone, was etched in a scowl. Her blue scalp-feathers were messy and some draped over her green eyes as she stared at her husband and daughter.

“Kristalantice Scalebane.” Muluve spoke in a stern voice. “Where have you been?”

Krista swallowed; her mum only ever used her full name when she was mad at her. This isn’t good.

“She’s been harvesting berries and learning about the challenges of life,” Krista’s father said with a smile, leaning down and grabbing the basket from Krista.

“Yes, I know, Scalius. She was not supposed to leave until all her chores were done…” She looked down at Krista. “…and she knew that.”

Krista looked away while putting her hands behind her back. “Sorry.”

“She can take care of them now while dinner is cooking.” Scalius stepped over to his wife, placing the basket on the counter. He gave her a quick lick across the cheek with his thin black tongue before stepping towards the doorway leading to the next room. “I’ll be reading while she does.”

“Wait.” Muluve gently grabbed her husband’s arm and he paused in his steps. “We need to talk.” She looked over to Krista. “Dear, can you watch the lentils for me?”

“Why can’t Salanth do it?”

“Your brother is out back taking care of the chores you left behind.”

Krista frowned. I swear that little brat is the favourite. “Yes, Mum.”

Muluve left the wooden spoon on the counter and followed Scalius into the extended room through the doorway, divided by another red linen curtain. Their lowered, muffled voices could just barely be heard from the kitchen.

Krista moved past the counter, grabbing the spoon as she went. She stepped closer to where she could see the stone stovetop with the pot of lentils boiling over the small fire. The doorway beside it was curtainless and opened into the backyard where her brother was presumed to be. She caught notice of a wooden footstool beside the counter. She had to use it anytime her mother needed her to help in the kitchen. Krista hated having to rely on it. If she were taller like her father, then she wouldn’t have to carry the footstool around like a crutch.

When I’m older, things will change, she thought while dragging the footstool beside the stovetop and stepping onto it. Then I can do what I want, and reach what I want without help.

Krista began stirring the pot of green lentils, moving the spoon clockwise. Some of the bubbles in the pot dissipated, and she was careful to avoid the steam. Learn one task at a time. She was decent at cooking thanks to her mum, but she could always learn more.

Krista’s eyes widened as she heard her mother exclaim the word, “What?”

Scalius hushed her and spoke a sentence too low for Krista to pick up.

What is so important that they are whispering? Krista thought. Curiosity got the best of her and she got off her footstool. When I am older, there also won’t be all these secrets.

Krista carefully crept closer to the doorway leading into the living quarters and leaned her earhole as close as she could to the red linen fabric without brushing up against it. A small sliver between the wooden doorway and the cloth allowed her to see her parents on the other end of the room. Muluve had her arms folded, one hand stroking her neck. Scalius held her arms with both hands.

It was difficult to hear over the fire and boiling water, but Krista focused intently as her father spoke.

“…Like I said, the Council of Just have sent the Paladins of Zeal and the Knights Union to round up other villages.”

“That is why our people are making weapons?”

“Yes. A few of the people know, and the rest are following out of fear.”

“What are the humans doing with the other villages?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled.

“We need to get out of here, then. Why are we still here?”

“Not so quickly, my love. It would be foolish to get up and run. We are as safe as possible here by the base of Mount Kuzuchi. No one comes here.”

Muluve exhaled through her nostrils, her tail coiling around her ankle. “I don’t like sitting here.”

“Packing and running has no benefit to us either. The Council of Just brought the world out of the Drac Age and the Kingdom of Zingalg will listen to them without question. This whole land is a human dictatorship.”

“What if we set sail? Leave Zingalg and head for Europe or the seas in the northern west? They remain unknown.”

“How could we sneak across this continent? The mountain is too high to hike across, and anywhere else there’s too much land to cover. We’d be on the run for months.”

Muluve nodded. “It leaves me ill at ease to remain here, simply waiting.”

Scalius stroked her scalp-feathers and nodded. “Me too, but for the good of our children, keeping a low profile is our best chance of survival.”

“How can you be certain the other tribes are being taken?” Muluve asked.

“Some of the other villagers and I caught notice during our hunts. We witnessed with our own eyes the knights and paladins herding our kind. They had them shackled, bruised and bleeding, like cattle. They were too far from our village to be our own; the humans had to be raiding the other villages.”

“Impossible! I thought the humans were past the use of slavery?”

“They claim to be, since the end of the Drac Age, but who knows. Those dogmatists lack any sort of reasoning beyond saving their own skin.”

“So what are they doing with our people?”

“I don’t know.”

The two stood in silence, both staring at the ground.

Krista swallowed heavily. It was a lot of information to take in. What does that all mean for my family?

Muluve spoke, breaking the silence. “I need to check on dinner.”

“Of course,” Scalius replied before grabbing hold of her, embracing his wife with a kiss, tongues coiling for several moments before letting go.

Uh-oh, Krista thought while Muluve marched towards the doorway. She scurried away from her hiding spot and rushed over to the stove. Quickly she got up onto the footstool and placed the wooden spoon into the pot and began to stir again. Some of the lentils were now stuck to the bottom of the pot from the lack of motion.

Oops! she thought.

“Thank you, my dear,” Muluve said behind her. Her claws gently grabbed the spoon from Krista’s hand and she began to stir. Her mother’s stirring stopped and she pressed the spoon against the bottom of the pot, pushing several times before stirring again. She knew the lentils were sticking.

Krista stepped down and scratched her head. Normally her mother would have commented about Krista’s mistake – this was out of character. Mum and Dad are both not normal right now.

“Kristalantice, can you please cut some of the potatoes? I washed them but I haven’t had the chance to slice them.” Muluve pointed at the counter dividing the kitchen from the entryway.

“Sure.” Krista hadn’t even noticed the potatoes earlier. I probably didn’t see them because I am too small. She walked over to the counter, dragging her footstool with her, placing it on the ground and stepping onto it. Moments later, she heard footsteps stomping behind her.

Glancing over, she spotted her little brother dashing through the back entrance and around the kitchen, screaming in joy. He rushed past the counter and into the entryway where he plopped himself on a stool beside the dining table, resting his arms on the surface. He grabbed hold of a couple of his wooden blocks and began fidgeting with them.

“Salanth, you finished folding the laundry into the basket?” Muluve asked.

The little boy nodded and smiled at his mum. He didn’t use words yet. He was much younger than Krista; his scalp-feathers hadn’t even grown in yet. Salanth was easily amused by stacking blocks and running around squealing.

Give him a few decades and he will be fluent in speaking. Krista remembered some of her earlier childhood memories before Salanth was born; she’d never been as hyperactive as he was.

Boys.

Screams erupted from outside the hut and brought everyone to a sudden halt. The sound of clanging metal and marching steel boots stomping on the gravel filled the air. Krista was midway through slicing a potato when she glanced over at her mother, whose eyes were wide open.

“Krista, grab your broth—”

Before Muluve could finish her sentence, three humans dressed head to toe in silver armour barged into the room through the front entrance. Their deep red capes swayed as they rushed into the small kitchen – the Knights Union.

Krista dropped her knife, watching as one of them swiftly grabbed her little brother by the head. He was small enough that a hand could easily grasp his entire skull.

“Humans!” Muluve hissed. “Give back my son!” She snatched up a large butcher knife from the counter and began to dash towards her child’s abductors.

Before she could make it around the counter beside Krista, another knight appeared from the back entrance.

“Mum!” Krista shouted. Everything was moving too fast for her to comprehend.

Krista gasped as the man caught Muluve’s knife-wielding hand in midair. He yanked hard, turning her around. The human struck her in the muzzle with the blunt end of his broadsword, shattering her bones on impact. Muluve dropped the knife and fell limply to the ground, knocked out cold as black blood began to seep from her face.

Scalius burst into the room, pushing the red curtains from his view. He quickly scanned the scenario: his son held by a human, his wife on the ground bleeding, and his daughter fear-struck. He let out a deep roar, neck vibrating as the sound burst from the depths of his throat.

“You’ve made a grave mistake, you arrogant soft-skins!” Scalius charged on all fours towards the three men who stood in the entry. He leaped into the air, front claws forward, snarling. Before the knights had a chance to react, he tackled the one to the far right, his claws lunging into the steel plating of the man’s helmet. Blood splattered from the open wounds like juice, as if he were puncturing a fruit.

He pulled his claws from the corpse while lashing his tail at the other men. The sound made a crackling noise, prompting the men to step backwards.

The knight who had entered from the back rushed over to aid his comrades, leaving Krista alone with Muluve. She got off the stool and lay down beside her mother, pressing her forehead against hers. “Mum!” she cried, shaking her head with both hands. Muluve did not respond. “Mum!” Krista repeated.

At the cries of another man, Krista glanced up. Her father had sliced open another knight’s throat, and red liquid sprayed wildly in all directions from the wound. He did a quick spin, avoiding the back-entrance knight’s sword thrust. Scalius finished his motion by slashing downward with his claws onto the knight holding Salanth.

The attack shredded the knight’s armour from head to waist, ripping through his eye, lips, and chest. The assault caused the man to drop Salanth and the little boy scurried away.

All the ruckus caught the attention of more humans, who rushed into the hut. It was hard for Krista to count how many there were, but the new swarm of beings blocked her little brother from making a clean escape towards the kitchen.

I have to do something! she thought, still holding her mother while glancing around. What could she do? She got up and grabbed her footstool. There had to be a bigger knife somewhere – the potato-peeling knife was too small and flimsy.

There are only a few scenarios when you will find yourself in need of killing … in self-defence. Her father’s words replayed in her mind.

She slid the stool over to the stove where they kept a drawer of cooking tools and eating utensils – she knew her mother stored the knives in there. Her claws were nowhere near as sharp as her father’s yet; she was far too young. Besides, he’d told her to rely on them only for defense.

The new attackers charged Scalius with their swords drawn. Krista’s father lashed his tail at one of the men’s ankles, coiling it around his leg. Scalius pulled on the man’s limb, knocking him to the floor, causing a heavy thud. The other men were too close to avoid and one knight thrust his blade, piercing it into Scalius’s stomach. The third man swung his sword at Scalius’s neck but the reptilian managed to grab the knight’s arm in midair. The second knight pulled his blade from Scalius’s gut and prepared to thrust again. Krista’s father kicked the man in the chest, sending him stumbling backward.

The first knight got up off the ground and rushed at Scalius with his sword in the air, ready to strike. It hacked into his collarbone; he yelped in pain and released his grasp on the third man’s arm. The three humans overpowered Scalius with their swords, slicing him from his neck down to his thighs, blood spraying from his body like a fountain.

Krista saw the men move away from her father’s bleeding form and back towards her mother – way too close to Krista. One of the humans stepped forward, grabbing Muluve, still unconscious, by the scalp-feathers, dragging her back by the dining table.

Krista ducked to make herself as small as possible; she was still high enough to see the scene, and still scrambling through the drawer. Fork … butter knife … no!

Lifting Muluve’s head up, the knight raised his cold steel blade to her throat and carved into her scaled skin. The sound of flesh, then bone, and flesh again resounded in the kitchen with each slice into her neck.

Krista’s brother screamed and tried to run from the dining table, past the distracted men and towards Krista. A man cut the toddler’s sprint short with a swift kick to the side of his head. Salanth was thrown into the air and collided with the base of a shelf. The impact of the human’s steel boot against the child’s face left the man with a bloody footprint and the boy limp on the ground.

Krista reacted in horror. This has to be a bad dream.

She slipped off the stool and onto the ground. The humans hadn’t seen her yet, but she realized that she would be next. The men were now inspecting their dead comrades. It was only a matter of time before they noticed her.

Just then, she heard a voice hiss out. “Over here!”

Glancing towards the sound, Krista saw a boy – one of her people, not much older than she – standing at the back doorway of the kitchen leading to the backyard.

“Quickly, before it is too late!” he urged.

She didn’t know whether it was a blessing or dumb luck that this mysterious boy had found her, but it didn’t matter. Her survival instincts kicked in and Krista ran outside to join him. Looking back, Krista could see the men still bent over their fallen allies and examining the room.

The boy reached out for her hand, and Krista grabbed it. “They won’t notice us. We are safe,” he said.

The two ran beyond the backyard. The Scalebane family’s garden was small, but somehow they’d always had enough to eat. Krista and the boy sprinted into the alley as fast as they could. The dirt track between rows of huts stretched on for blocks. The village was filled with the sound of screams, metal clanging, and the splintering of wood. Smoke rose from the flames that consumed some of the nearby huts.

In that moment, Krista clued in: she had left her family to die. “My family, they’re….” She wept. I shouldn’t have left them.

“Mine is, too,” the boy replied. “I lived a couple huts down from your own. The humans came for us and I ran out of there as quickly as I could. I heard screams from your hut and saw you on the stool from the back entrance. I’m lucky I found you when I did.”

“Thank you.” Krista wiped the tears from her eyes and studied him, noticing his long scalp-feathers that went down past the base of his neck. He wore a simple grey tunic that draped over one shoulder, leaving the other bare. “What’s your name?” She found it odd that he’d lived so close but she had never seen him before.

“Darkwing Lashback. You?”

“Krista Scalebane. Kristalantice.”

“Wish we met under better circumsta—” Darkwing stopped mid-sentence as he stared into the distance. Krista followed his gaze: the alley’s exit, only about four huts down, was blocked by five men in gold plating, marching towards them armed with maces and spears.

“Paladins! Back this way!” Darkwing spun around, pulling her along.

But the path behind them was now blocked by two knights wielding bloodstained swords. The men from Krista’s home had somehow followed them.

Krista felt her heart sink. “What do we do?” she asked.

Releasing her hand, Darkwing raised his arms in the air. “Put yours up, too. Let them take us.”

“But we have to defend ourselves! That’s the only time to fight,” Krista said, thinking of her father’s words.

“Notice what happened to our families when they did?”

Krista felt her stomach turn inside out. Her new friend wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean she liked the fact that she had to step down. Her father said killing was needed in self-defence. Darkwing is right, though. They’re too strong and there are too many of them.

Obeying, Krista raised her hands and accepted defeat with tears running down her face.

…

…

Thank you for reading!

Mental Damnation: Reality  is available April 19th, 2017

Order today on Amazon Kindle. If you’re in Edmonton on this day, join us for the live reading and launch event.

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Mount Kenya

February 21, 2017

On Saturday, after rounding in the morning on male medical ward with Janet while Clark battled the credit card/debit card/cash/bank/chip-card debacle, Luke and I prepared to leave Chogoria to hike Mount Kenya. If you read our safari adventure you might have heard of our hired guide, Dunsten. So long story short, we had already given him a downpayment to take us up Mount Kenya prior to going on safari – and this guy had been recommended by Sergei from a hike he went on the previous month – so we went with it. His company was called something like mountain trekkers so we figured it had to be better than the safari. And it was – I can glowingly recommend Dunsten and his crew for mountain trekking as we had a great weekend.

Day 1

We met Dunsten and his six porters/cooks/drivers/what have you in the grass in front of Clark’s house. They had a safari vehicle (go figure) that was a bit worse for wear, but ran. The whole group of them watched as Luke and I walked up (joined by Clark who came to see us off) and then I proceeded to talk business with Dunsten and debate costs (details not important). We eventually agreed (in front of everyone) and jumped in the vehicle, fitting all eight people and our gear inside - two in the boot with all of the backpacks. We picked up someone in town who wanted a ride to the National Park, so now there were nine of us. The road up the mountain was similar to the one we had taken with Leonard to find the waterfall a few days ago – at times narrow with potholes and obstacles. At another time, the road was newly made and completely smooth with water pipes running alongside it in the dirt as if the road was not yet finished. The car did not have power steering so the driver wrangled the steering wheel  back and forth. The door that I was sitting against did not seem stable so I spent the ride gripping the seat in front of me as we also didn’t have seatbelts. All of the “the guys” debated loudly about various topics in Swahili so Luke and I just watched the sights go by. Once we reached the Mount Kenya National Forest (the electric fence wire strewn to the side allowing open driving to and from the forest), the road was graded and relatively well maintained but pretty steep. At one point Dunsten got out and did something with the engine before we went up a large slope. The forest on either side of the road had a lot of bamboo and we saw several small animals scamper to the sides, including monkeys. Dunsten said that the forest had water buffalo, hyena, some predators (but few and far between), birds, elephants, etc. At one incline the car stopped and Dunsten said that Luke and I were to get out to hike the last few kilometers for acclimation to the altitude. We hopped out and met Elijah – one of the crew that had been riding with us (turns out he is Dunsten’s brother-in-law) – and we hiked up the remainder of the distance to the cabin we were scheduled to stay at overnight at “the Bandas.” Luke and I had started taking dexamethasone the previous day – this is a generic steroid that people with lung diseases or inflammatory conditions take when they need a boost to their systems and can be used to combat altitude sickness. We did okay with the altitude – we were certainly huffing and puffing but as soon as the ground levelled out our breathing and heart rates slowed to normal (without the acclimation we would likely have higher resting heart and breathing rates to compensate for the decreased oxygen available at higher altitudes – this makes your body work harder just to maintain status-quo).

The cabin was simple wood with concrete footers and a concrete fireplace – we were given a bedroom with twin beds and a bathroom that was no frills. The shower leaked all day (which perhaps kept it from freezing in the cold temperatures on the mountain) and the toilet didn’t have a seat – which is common in public bathrooms in Kenya. The temperature was cool - maybe in the 60’s –but I was comfortable in a t-shirt with a thin long-sleeve over shirt and running pants. Luke was in shorts.  The porters/cooks set up in the next room to cook dinner and brought us out some tea. Elijah gathered us to go for a walk around the Bandas to see some of the animals. He walked us up to a fish hatchery, however there was no one around to show us the place – so we wandered a bit around the large cement drums that supposedly held 1,000 fish each and I snapped some shots of a large grey heron that must find some way to get past the hodge-podge wire coverings. We went to a few overlooks and saw waterbuck. At another overlook we heard loud noises in the woods so we sat down to see if any large animals would emerge. Several water buffalo descended out of the forest but the noises continued and we highly suspected an elephant (known for chomping down trees for a snack). While sitting on tufts of dried grasses, the weather changed and a rain cloud appeared overhead. I remember saying “looks like a rain cloud” but we continued to wait for the suspected elephant. We felt a couple of drops and decided to start walking back. Shortly thereafter, the sky opened up and it began to downpour so we ran for cover under one of the other cabin porches. Eventually we figured we needed to run the rest of the way in the rain as it did not look like it was going to stop anytime soon. Soaked, we returned to the cabin to be chuckled at by the other porters. We changed our clothes and sat around in the small sitting room next to the kitchen as people came and went all speaking Swahili. The temperatures dropped with the sun and Elijah lit a fire in the fireplace. Dinner was soup for appetizer with mashed potatoes, a vegetable stew, and fresh fruit for dessert. Initially, we didn’t know that the soup was only an appetizer – so we were stuffed by the end of dinner as we had eaten dinner portions of soup. The evening was spent sitting around the fire – Elijah joined us for some of the time and Dunsten for another portion. They were taking turns between their own meals. In the kitchen next to us was a constant discussion and people kept coming and going – it was like a clown car once we realized how small the room actually (there was only 1 chair we realized the next day). Eventually the party left the kitchen and the cabin was left to Luke and I. We hung up our wet clothes to dry by the fire and eventually went to sleep as we hadn’t thought to bring any entertainment with us (to lighten the load of hiking). The night was cold and the rain kept coming and going – so loud on the tin roofed buildings.

Day 2

Morning came early and the cook came at 6am to start boiling water and making food. We got up, packed our hiking bags (to be carried by the porters) and sat down for breakfast, which included fried eggs, toast, and a kind of pancake vs thick crepe. And tea, of course. Once we were all packed and ready, Dunsten led Luke and I toward the next destination. The day was cloudy with patchy sun. I kept switching from being too hot to too cold depending on whether the sun was out or we were going uphill. We walked through some pretty varied landscape – from dried grasses to green forest with huge trees dangling what looked like Spanish moss. There were fragrant bushes lining many of the roads that smelled kind of like rosemary and spearmint. I tried to figure out what many of the plants were but they were all strange and Dunsten only knew the names of a few, which he would share when he knew them. The large trees were “argoria”? And looked like huge Cyprus trees with thick wide spanning branches. At one point we made a turn off to go view a scenic lake and headed uphill. The climb was steep and slow – at one particularly steep area we realized a SUV with a small fishing boat on top of it was coming up behind us. Several guys got out of the vehicle and walked up the hill as the driver of the vehicle somehow drove that SUV up some of the most rugged and steep road that I have ever seen. He even waved at us out the window as he passed and then quickly put two hands back on the wheel. We met the guys as they walked past us – some ex-pats from Scotland/New Zealand/Canada was the vague explanation that I got. They were adventuring this weekend. Sounded like they had previously summited the mountain and were here for what I would assume is ‘bro’ time. We continued the slow climb after they had re-entered the car once it had passed the worst of the bad road. The lake was very picturesque in the dried grassy fields. Luke and I ate a snack and tried to enjoy the nature (minus the car load of guys across the way setting up for fishing camp). Dunsten the led us onward instead of back towards the way we came, saying we were going to take “the scenic route” to the camp. We walked farther along the lake, past some designated camping sites, and up around the hill next to the lake. The path was at times easy to find and other times was non-existent and so we bushwhacked through some of the foliage. The dried grass tufts were tricky to walk through as the ground was obscured by the grass – you never knew what lay beneath. A hole? A rock? Sometimes you would trip yourself with the grass if you stood on the end of it and tried to pass your other foot, hooking your toe. If you stepped on the dried grass tuft your foot would fall off the edge of the very sturdy tuft. I got far behind Luke and Dunsten several times trying to maneuver my path. We bushwhacked down a slope and I almost fell several times, grabbing on to various bushes to stabilize myself. We walked along a river for a while and my arms got sore from brushing against the bushes that stood on either side of the animal trail path – I felt like I was training to be a linebacker by the end of the trip from the number of times I had to push past the branches. As my hangry level rose we continued to bushwhack toward lunch. At one point Dunsten had us jump across a river at a arbitrarily chosen point after winding along the edge of the river, stepping in mushy spots and falling over tufts of dried grasses/avoiding thistles. Luckily we reached the camp shortly thereafter and they had lunch ready for us (or at least tea). They had set up a tent for us as well as a picnic table-ish area covered in a masai cloth. After lunch we set up our sleeping bags and mats (borrowed from Cyrus and Christina- thank you!) and set things up assuming it would rain during the night.  

After a short break, Elijah took us on a walk to visit the nearby sites. First we visited a waterfall. We stood at the top of the waterfall – mere feet away from our shoes – and watched the water gush over the top. The path to the bottom of the waterfall was immediately next to the waterfall – meaning if you veered off the path a few inches to the left and stepped on the soft grass that “edged” the path – you would find yourself immediately at the base of the waterfall. At one point a cedar tree that had its roots at the base of the fall was a left sided hand-hold toward the top third of the tree. We clambored down roots, back and forth along the edge, and made it to the bottom in one piece. The waterfall was so lovely with the spray moistening the surrounding foliage and making it lush. The sun was out for the time being and lighting up the greenery. Once we had taken some photos and enjoyed the scene, we scrambled back up the slope and headed to “the caves.” The pathway to the caves was also exciting but less vertical. I will mention here that Mount Kenya was originally a volcano – not currently active – so the rock is all post-lavaflow. The caves consisted of crumbling lower lava flows that were pulled out of the cliffs by water flow. One cave had a small waterfall at the back of it with a large vertical crack through the roof – we did not explore this cave for fear of falling rock. The larger cave was dry but had a huge chunk of the roof that had fallen down that now created an island in the floor of the cave. People camp in the cave as evidenced by their trash left behind as well as old burned coals. Luke and I wandered up through a crevasse in the mountain cut by a small river/waterfall and enjoyed its wind tunnel effect on our hair. We slowly made our way back to camp, enjoying the temporary sunshine warming us up.

At camp, and at various points on our trip, we met several other travelers like ourselves. There was one group of French-speaking ladies who were taking breaks from their families for a ladies weekend on Mount Kenya. They are ex-pats living in Johannesburg, South Africa that met each other through their children, who all attend a French-speaking school while their husbands work/are stationed there. They were very friendly and surprisingly loud by French-people standards, and would often provide most of my entertainment during the trip. Another couple included a pair of friends – one had a South African accent (white) but was living in a nearby town here in Kenya and her companion was a Jordanian man that was visiting her for the time being. The French ladies had a group of porters, cooks, and a guide similar to us, whereas the friend couple had just hired a guide and a porter – and were otherwise doing their own cooking etc.

After dinner but before bed, Luke and I joined our porters/cooks next to a small fire that they made to keep warm. The temperatures were likely in the 50’s. We didn’t speak Swahili so the two of us sat there for about an hour listening to the group chat without us – but everyone can appreciate a warm fire silently and we had been welcomed over by Elijah, no one seemed concerned that we were there and not participating in the conversation. The stars were out and beautiful before we went to bed.