toils and trials of class essays

My toils lately have been put into the forms of essays and various other bits for my books. Here's one I just spent the past couple of hours on for my Expository Writing class...read it, I swear it's good (hopefully). Pictures aren't included but there are text boxes where they're supposed to be...give me a break people...I've been at it a couple hours and it's 1:28 in the morning. I'm getting up for work at 6:15 AM.

The Efforts of Elevation

Several times over, I have traveled up and down Route 116 to Mt. Holyoke College for classes, pleasure, and work. Whenever passing the parking lot for the Notch Visitor Center, I always wondered as to why I hadn’t yet taken the chance to hike the trails back there. The main problem I usually face is that many of my friends aren’t active enough to actually go and do something involving physical endurance. That, and none would last the distances I like to go, or would slow me down. These thoughts passed through my mind as I drove solo, giving myself excuses for why I hadn’t bothered to text or call anyone to go out with me. The biggest truth of the matter was I liked to walk and hike alone, especially in the woods. It’s something I’ve done for years as a child, growing up with the High Point State Park as my backyard in New Jersey. The only thing that set me on edge about being by myself was that I was unfamiliar with these crisscrossing trails and the terrain; if something should happen, such as my foot slipping on some wet leaves as I traveled down a slope possibly off the trail while exploring a better view, then no one would ever know. For some reason, despite my cautious tendencies when venturing alone, I hadn’t told anyone where I was going; I simply picked up my stuff and went.

On the way, listening to the radio, excitement bubbled within me until I parked my car and started my exploration. Among other tools, I had a camera in my pocket; I wanted to actually record some of the things I saw. I had no idea where I was going to go, except that I knew I didn’t want it to be some thirty-minute walk through the woods that left me wishing I had gone further. After picking up a map from the visitor’s center, I set out to follow the trail that led up to the peak of Mt. Norwottuck.

Starting out, I felt like a fool walking by myself, stopping at every cross section to make sure that I was going in the right direction. No one else I passed had a map in hand; I was the only virgin climber of the mountain that I could see. The trails were a little confusing, especially at the beginning. My first stop brought me to an area that warned me of falling rocks and debris. Signs reading “Danger” and “No Trespassing” lined the road the closer you got to yellow, barren hills that were designated as restricted areas. Despite my curiosity and tendency to ignore such signs, as I do many times in the backwoods of my hometown, I carried on in the opposite direction. The terrain seemed doable, but I was especially glad that I had worn my boots. The protestation I’d encountered when putting them on that afternoon had been cumbersome as the leather fit tight and cold around my feet, but I had managed to coax them on and lace up so I could prepare for my unknown journey. The paths were rocky, full of slate and chipped flakes that clicked against one another with every step I took. It was so unlike the soft, grassy, or moss-covered dirt that I was used to, and I immediately knew I was in for it.

My legs pumped as the slope immediately shot upwards into a forest that smelled of autumn decay as it hovered in a state between life and death. Nothing could be seen through the dense walls on either side of the path. Even as I paused to look out into the valley, the trees blocked my view of what lay below. With the climb and change in elevation, my breath came hard as my heart began to pound against my chest. I wasn’t tired, but I was definitely getting a workout. The brisk, fall air was no match for my body’s ability to burn and sweat as I ascended up steep, dangerous slopes. Taking great care, I walked over a mass mixture that took form in shades of gray; bulky and flaky bits of rock shifted under me, and I was sure I could seriously injure myself should my boot slip in the slightest.

On the way I passed various people, but also noticed that it wasn’t a journey for the light of heart. A mother carrying a toddler on her back smiled as I commented on her companion’s assistance in her endurance. Her chuckle and response, “It’s harder on the way down,” made me smile, but I wondered how it could possibly be harder to carry someone down a mountain than up. I would later retract that disbelieving thought. After passing her, though, I was climbing with my hands and feet, leaning forward as much as possible and keeping my head low as I made my way up the steep and narrow rock path. Roots jutted out into it. The path, a small canyon carved into the hill from years of rainfall and erosion, twisted and turned its way up till you reached more level ground. Time seemed to pass by so quickly, but it had taken me under an hour to reach the top of Mt. Norwottuck. After all of the stops I had made to check out the scenery and check the map, I felt like I had made pretty good time going at my leisurely pace.

Accomplishment filled me as I stood on top of a mountain I had never conquered before. After wondering the whole way when each slope would be the last, I had finally made it. As I took in several deep breaths and wiped sweat from my face, I was able to finally see the result of my efforts and glimpse a tiny world below my newfound kingdom.

The view was gorgeous and made for a grand picture. Even though the day was bleak and cloudy, the fall colors of crimson, sienna, ochre, and umber all blended to make a palette with the hues of green across a sea of trees and farmland. The mountain range spanned the horizon, and in the valley’s wake I was pleased to see more vegetation than human occupation. However, I was slightly disappointed. Despite how much less challenging the terrain and climb is on the Cliff Park Trails in Pennsylvania, the view of the Delaware River and my town on the other side of the banks is much more breathtaking than what I saw at the top of Norwottuck. I’ve seen landscapes before, but without the view of glimmering water reflecting back the sunlight, the sky, and the mountains just above it, the view of the Holyoke Mountain Range fell short for me. The disappointment, though, was what egged me on to take my journey further. Surely, after barely being out for an hour, that wasn’t it. I looked at my map again and a spot not too far ahead caught my eye for its name alone. I set my new destination: the Horse Caves.

Trekking down another steep, unfamiliar, rocky path made my legs shaky. It was prior knee problems acting up, and I found myself having to catch every other step as my supporting leg would give out with the resistance my body exerted to keep from tumbling down the hill. But I was excited and determined; the path I was taking was even more challenging, and I found myself hopping over rocks and using my hands more to help guide me down drops and over obstacles. As I finally came to a leveled area in the path, I looked down a slope into the woodland abyss, seeing nothing. Down the steep embankment, all I saw were trees blocking even more trees and autumn vegetation. I had already come a distance, but hadn’t found the caves.

Looking at my watch, I reluctantly began to turn back when I heard voices; echoing voices. They would have to be bouncing off of some sort of surface, such as large rocks. After a moment’s hesitation, I began to run down the slippery pathway, keeping myself from going down into the mucky leaves as I propelled down the path, knowing my final destination was ahead. When I came to stand at the top of the caves, I was sure I had reached them, but couldn’t figure out which path to take. After making a wrong turn, I doubled back and looked down a narrow crevice that led off the trail, contemplating it as I had when I first noticed it.

It’s all a part of the adventure, I thought to myself as I squeezed in between the rocks and started to, literally, climb down them. It was a short descent, and I was merely slipping through a small crack between large boulders before dropping down to a few lower rocks. It was similar to the light rock hopping and bouldering that I had done over the summer at Devil’s Den in Gettysburg, where the formations had towered over a friend and me. We slipped, slid, and jumped from one rock to another, darting into creepy crannies and daring the spirits to show themselves in the ever growing darkness.

As I descended down the crevice, my way had been off the beaten path just enough that nearby hikers didn’t even notice as I pushed myself off of a rock and landed on soft, dusty earth where I was dwarfed by the massive rocks that towered over me. There were no coves or openings within the formations that I could see, and I later discovered that the “caves” were not really caves. I overheard the hikers talking about how there were no openings to venture into, and I realized that they were merely these overhanging rocks that loomed overhead. Later, I learned that they were believed to have provided refuge to rebels during Shay’s Rebellion. It was most likely the shelter the rocks provided that brought the caves their namesake. After staring up at these enormous wonders for a bit, I looked behind me and saw the path I needed to get back up. However, it was out of the way and much less fun than how I had gotten down. So, I grasped some holds on the rocks and climbed back up to the crevice again.

The hike back up to the peak was difficult to keep track of; the path was so covered with leaves that I even lost my way at one point. Reaching the top again was almost as fulfilling as the first because I was so tired. However, there was no time for rest. I had already exhausted those spare, precious minutes, and my trek was coming upon the two-hour mark. I was far from finishing my hike, and it was then that the mother’s words came back to haunt me. The descent down the other side was the hardest part of the journey as I resisted gravity and tried to keep my feet from slipping on the unstable terrain. My body felt the wear and tear as it was jostled over every stumble and heavy step. But there was more opportunity for me to realize what was around me. I wasn’t focusing so hard on making my way up the right path, but merely following the way I had already taken. In the woods, I stopped at one point and realized that it was actually peaceful. The silence of the place was overwhelmingly delightful, and I realized that I hadn’t heard such a thing in so long. There’s always noise everywhere I live. The silence also extended to something I hadn’t realized before as I huffed and puffed up the mountain; there were no birds.

Have they already migrated? I wondered to myself. After listening carefully, I finally heard perhaps one or two lonely songs call out into the wild, but aside from that, there was nothing. The peacefulness brought me back in time to days when I hiked often, and I enjoyed the solitary time I had to myself to actually think and breathe without the suffocation of everyday life pressing in on me. It was a time to be myself, and to enjoy the journey. But more than that, there was something about it that was like a state of meditation, and the realization of that silence was as if I had been lifted into nirvana.

That feeling of escape overtook me for what felt like a blissful eternity before reality grasped me once again and yanked me back down to earth with the sound of swift footfall on the leaves heading towards me on the path ahead. I then knew that I would have to return, not only for further exploration of the rocky slopes, but so I could attempt to recreate that venture into another existence.