Butte Mountain: A Short Story

Seth and Twist trotted behind me. We drifted up the trail past mountain laurel, sagebrush, and small pines for almost half an hour then finally made it to the top of the ridge. I could see into the wide rift below. It was craggy, thick, and wild. The ground was littered with fallen twigs, decaying maple leaves, and brambly, green shrubs.

We sat down on the trunks’ roots and threw rocks at the base of an oak right in the middle of the large path. We then sat for a while, then walked up the at least seventy degree path, using all our energy to push ourselves up the path. Halfway the ground leveled up for a small sitting space. I looked across the miniature valley where the camp was located.

Pockets of wild forest still remained to be explored and the construction sites with half-finished homes provided endless opportunity for curious minds. We slipped like a pair of miniature ghosts in and out of locked gates and fences designed to stop adults and were seldom slowed down by anything. We got a rude surprise one day while traversing a familiar landscape subtly changed by a recent heavy rain. The firm brown earth of the previous day was still brown but not so firm. We ran lightly over the brown surface until its unfamiliar sticky quality brought us to an unwilling stop.

On the very first day, I injured my ankle, but I refused to back down in spite of the tougher-than-expected terrain. I wedged sticks vertically into my boot to support my ankle, and continued hiking on the unpredictable terrain. On the fourth day, I hiked through hail, high winds, and ice over the optimistically named Blood Mountain. I arrived at the base of the mountain with frost on my clothes, weak legs, and tears on my face, but my resolve didn’t waver. In fact, I didn’t truly consider ending my hike until I hiked all the way to Pennsylvania.

The trip was a huge risk-taking experience, for he knew people have died climbing mountains. But “at the age of twenty-three personal mortality - the idea of [his] own death - was still largely outside [his] conceptual grasp; it was as abstract a notion as non-Eucilidian geometry or marriage.” (page 136) He closes off his story by saying the Devil’s Thumb “taught [him] something about what mountains can and can’t do, about the limits of dreams. [He] didn’t recognize that at the time, of course, but [he’s] grateful for it now.”

The trees had a deep, rich chocolate brown bark, speckled in the leftover rain that seemed to catch the light perfectly;like tiny stars.. The leaves were just starting to accumulate in immense piles that would soon be for jumping into and the bitter or should I say frigid negative twenty degree weather gave you a sneak peek at what the weather would be feeling like within a few months. It all stood as still as a statue, causing you to just pause and admire the intricate surroundings. As we started up the great and looming hill I noticed a little red and black polka dotted friend on my shoulder. “ I shall call you Fred” I said as I looked down at the newly named Fred perched on my shoulder.

Tom Ryan had hiked as a kid with his father, so he knew the basic wilderness rules. On top of that, there was a fee of sixty-five thousand dollars to be guided up the mountain. Due to their inexperience the climbers going up Mount Everest died. They were behind schedule and they had a certain window to get to the top. One man was on his third trip up the mountain and had never reached the summit before so he told the guide that he did not really care what happened to him, he just wanted to get to the summit.

I glanced behind me and only see the thick brush and shrubs, i slow down a pace to catch my breath but quickly pick up speed. I am so close to the field i can smell the sweet aroma of Poppy and buttercups. As i break through the trees i see a group of people coming from up ahead, i notice a tall man wearing a uniform at the top of the hill. I quickly duck

There was a slight cool breeze at the top of Mt. Cardigan during mid Fall, the landscape was a beautiful painting made by the earth and sky. I could see blue ponds reflecting the clear sky like a giant mirror, some trees had begun to turn orange, yellow, or red, while other trees still held on to their green. It was a very popular day to hike and we had a spectacle of thirty plus people watching to see what our daring plan was. Three of my friends and I were out of place on this mountain because we did not come up with a dog or even hiking boots on.

Loren Eiseley explores the theme of the journey of dark descent in collection of essays called The Night Country, particularly in his essay titled “The Places Below.” Along with this comes the imagery of darkness, of “the night country,” which gives the volume its title and unifying theme. The “night country” into which people descend is described as a series of dark caves, tunnels, labyrinths, tombs, basements, and hidden passages by Eiseley. Per Eiseley, we will be drawn to the darkness because: You will be drawn to it by cords of fear and of longing.

Night on Bald Mountain by Russian composer Modest Mussorgsky (1867) was written in 1867 during the Romantic period. This orchestral tone poem was inspired by Nikolay Gogol’s short story “St. John’s Eve” which chronicles the witches’ pilgrim to Bald Mountain to await the arrival of their lord, Satan. Mussorgsky’s A Night on Bald Mountain is a very dark piece which uses several musical elements such as dramatic contrast of dynamics, pitch, chromatic harmonies and discords to create an exciting and twisted story. It is a beautiful work that depicts the style and characteristics of 19th century Romantic music.

Ever since Moon Shadow was a little boy he wanted to go to the Golden Mountain. But his mother didn’t allow him to, only his father would leave home to work in the demon land. Growing up his mother would never answer any of his questions about the demon land. But the reason she would never talk about it was because she was scared. Finally after a while his grandmother started to feel sorry for him and told Moon some things about the Golden Mountain.

Just before reaching the top, the mist dissipated and sunlight shone through, guiding me to my destination. Such enchanting experiences completely altered my view of the outdoors; I soon began forcing my family to go with me on adventures. Once I left the crowded areas of Yosemite, exploring the more obscure hikes, nature encircled me, opening my ears to the little details. A pollen pod bursts as it reached the floor, sap glistens as it hardened on bark.

The sun places a strange orange glow over the hopeless deaths from the cruel city created. I start sorting through the piles of different items. I look at the old movie player, choosing to take the unusual object down last. I check to see what was in the boxes before throwing them through the small hole on the floor, hitting the hallway below with a thud. My eyes are drawn towards a cardboard box already taped in the corner of the attic.

Do you ever experience daily pressures that don’t seem to go away such as stress, anxiety, or even just nervousness from your job, school, or just life in general? If so you’re not alone it was recorded in 2011 that 22.7% of Canadians 15 and older reported that most days where “quit a bit or even extremely stressful” from daily life activates (Statcan.gc.ca, 2013). I would fit that category most days myself being a university student and a Part time worker with due dates and what seems like never ending bills. I like to use visual escape to relieve my day to day pressures, by visiting many areas in Nanaimo that make me feel more relaxed and ready for the next day. Areas such as Sugar Loaf Mountain, Pipers Lagoon, and Swy-a-lana lagoon offer