Mom's First Hike
A first-person narrative short story
After my first full week of work, I was eager to spend some time unplugged and moving. The boys decided to try their hand at trout fishing, so I had a free afternoon to explore a nearby 3 km loop that promised a waterfall and a view of the ocean. I donned a standard athleisure outfit, tied up my newly purchased waterproof shoes for the creek crossing, and threw in a 20 oz bottle of water for pre- and post-hydration. After all, it was only 3 kilometers.
The 40 minute drive wandered through green pastures, past an old schoolhouse, over single-lane bridges and along dirt roads. Despite the fact that it was a sunny Saturday on a holiday weekend, there were only about four vehicles in the car park. I greeted one family wearing boots and trekking poles coming off the trail who commented that it was a bit windy at the top but very dry. “No need to worry about moisture!” Great, I thought, as I didn’t have any gaiters to accompany my waterproof shoes. The creek crossing should be easy.
As I stuffed my car key in the tiny pocket of my running shorts, I stared at my water bottle. My good friend J knows that I am a camel who drinks rarely and only when thirsty. There is no way I would need water on a 3 km loop on a 60 degree day. However, I thought to myself, how embarrassing to be that American who got lost on the trail and didn’t have any water with her. So I grabbed the metal water bottle in one hand, cell phone in the other (to take pictures, of course), and set out on the trail as if I were going for a meander in the Laguna Hills.
I quickly passed a solo hiker who looked like he was setting out on an overnighter: long pants, boots, 20L pack with a tripod strapped on, sun hat and trekking poles. Now my good friend J also knows that I am not a user of trekking poles. I have perfectly good knees, solid balance, and don’t mind a bit of a scramble when needed. The hiker’s look of concern as I passed him inspired an internal smirk. It’s only 3 km, buddy, I’ll be just fine.
We had heard that Kiwis hike differently: switchbacks be damned, they just walk straight up the hill. Can confirm. This is great, I thought, I’ll actually get a workout on this short walk. I soon encountered a few steep bits that required a bit of scrambling, which was obviously annoying with a cell phone in one hand and a metal water bottle clanging the rocks in the other. Oh well, lesson learned for next time! I laughed at myself.
I crossed a rocky gully that was dry as a bone. So much for the creek crossing, I scoffed. As I climbed up the other side, I was annoyed that the Department of Conservation had apparently forgotten to advertise the detour to the waterfall. Nevermind, I’ve seen lots of waterfalls before.
Deep in the forest, I heard some rustling in the underbrush. No predators in New Zealand! I told myself. Just some flightless birds or maybe a weasel. Then I heard something heavy run across the rocks below me. Something heavy with hooves. I had forgotten about the wild boars. Was that boar attack around here?!?! (Not very near, as it turns out, but also not very far.) It sounded piglet sized, so I continued on, occasionally hollering as I have done countless times in bear country, having no idea as to whether or not announcing your presence would deter or invite an angry boar.
As I approached the top, I could see bits of the ocean through the trees (not much of a view) and the wind began to pick up. I secured my hat tighter and stepped out of the trees to discover a very narrow path that looked quite cliff-like. Crossing it would have been far less nerve-wracking if I had more than 2 fingers on each hand to grip the rocky wall, as my water bottle sounded a buoy bell warning to every creature within a half mile radius. On the other side, I scampered up a grassy hill towards a sign, annoyed that it had taken me 40 minutes to complete the first half of a 3 km walk.
Wrong. I had completed 1/3 of the distance and 1/4 of the estimated time in 40 minutes. I stood at the not-top of the windy hill, wondering how on earth I had taken so long to traverse a single kilometer and realizing that was the easy part of the hike if the next bit was supposed to take three times as long. Now I am not a quitter. I am not one to be bested. I still had time and daylight to walk for another 2 hours. But then wisdom tapped on my shoulder, pointed at my water bottle and cell phone, and told me to try again another day (with a backpack.)
I passed the concerned hiker as I descended. It’s lovely up there! Only time for a short walk today though, as I scrambled down some tree roots on my rear end and he leaned on his trekking poles to let me pass. Along the trail, I paused to listen to birds, heard deer walking through the leaves, and definitely identified a tuft of boar fur (confirmed by the hunter husband.) It was not much of a workout in the end, though my mind certainly felt better.
One kilometer of steep downhill revealed something else: my knees may be a bit older than I’d care to acknowledge. Maybe I will try out some trekking poles next time, J. Maybe.
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😲 Great story. Love your writing. How is your new job?