The Goat Trail
I was in a van with my parents, the bumpy road jostling the greenery out my window as we get to know the three other people (a couple and our guide) in the van. This van ride lasted a long time, concluding upon our arrival in Mccarthy, Alaska. We got out of the van and headed to the small hotel where we dropped our large packs. We walked around Mccarthy, looking at the buildings and a cool display of large mining machinery in the middle of town. After that it was getting late so we headed down to a small restaurant named The Potato where we ate a simple but delicious diner. Soon afterward we retired to our beds.
In the morning we got up and walked down to the Mccarthy Airport, which was comprised of little more than a single story building made of logs, a short dirt road that served as a runway, and a decent collection of small planes and helicopters; this was all surrounded by dense undergrowth. As soon as we arrived, my parents talked with the lady behind the counter, working out which plane we would be taking and when it would be leaving.
“Do you have bear spray with you?” the pilot asked as our small group of six people stood outside of the small red Cessna, ready to board.
“Yes, how come?” my mom responded answering a question with a question.
“It needs to be strapped to the outside of the plane,” the pilot stated. “Because if it accidentally goes off then that can be… very bad.”
“Alright ,” my mom responded, as all of the adults dug their bear spray out of their bloated packs.
Once we were in the air, the pilot showed us beautiful, steep grassy slopes marred by rivers that split in what seemed like a hundred different streams which all rejoined, and parted again. The landing site was denoted by nothing more than a stick in the ground with flagging tied to it, and this was knocked over. Once we landed I declared that I had to go to the bathroom and went over a small hill to get some privacy. After relieving myself, I was about to walk back over the hill when I spotted something small and brown. Closer inspection revealed it to be a fox. I ran back over the hill, calling as quietly as I could to the others, alerting them of my discovery. Once everyone had seen the fox we began to hike.
I noted the beautiful scenery as we hiked past waterfalls and over hills, occasionally taking our boots off to cross creeks. We hiked up, and then down the first of many steep hills. At one point in our journey we found the fossilized remains of leaves just sitting on the ground! At last, after miles of hiking, we made it to the patch of grass between to streams where we would pitch camp for the night.
The next morning we woke up early and ate freeze-dried breakfast that had been saturated by the water taken from a nearby stream and heated by a compact camp stove. As we ate, the different parties worked on what they began during the van ride and made an effort to get to know each other. After that we packed up our sleeping bags followed shortly by our tents. We then hiked, and hiked, and hiked.
We repeated this process for a few days before we arrived at a beautiful saddle that would be our campsite for the next day. While at the saddle, we took lots of pictures of the mountains in the distance. The mountains looked like the tips of blue spears that had been stabbed up through the earth until they burst through the surface carrying the snow with them. Below the mountains there was a valley with a river wandering through it. The river split reformed in many places at once giving it an appearance that resembled a snake’s nest. We slept in the saddle and in the morning a weather pattern that our guide dubbed “wintery mix” blessed the roof of our tents and the faces of anyone who strayed outside them. However, by afternoon this had cleared up and we were ready to go.
We all walked single file around and down the saddle in a direction that I had not yet explored. We found a thin trail aptly named the Goat Trail stretched ahead of us, a path through the seemingly impassible stretch of stone colored the same way the sky had been at sunset last night. The appearance of impassibility was granted to this trail by the grade of the hill it was cutting across and the loose nature of the stone. This was amplified by the fact that at the bottom of the hill the stone fell off a cliff.
The guide went first, the crunching of the stone beneath his feet like so many nuts cracking. My dad went next, choosing a higher route than the guide, but soon had to cut down the hill of loose stone as his trail came to a dead end. I followed shortly after my father, using my poles to keep my balance. I was about halfway to the rocky crag that we would rest in before the next section when my dad shouted to me, “You might want to keep your weight a little farther back.” I, in a moment of stupidity, ignored him. And what do you know, the next thing I felt was my balance shifting backwards. I quickly overcompensated and fell forward as my legs shoot out from under me. I landed on the edge of the path but slid a few feet off of it.
“Stay where you are! I’m coming!” our guide shouted.
And this, kids, is why you always listen to your parents; though it was just fine this time you never know when it could go badly.
