Hiking as an Object Lesson: Part II

So, after our hike in the Smokies, I told Marty that if I ever hiked again, it would be a day hike with new boots.  I would remember to break them in and tape my feet before putting them on.

Many moons ago, long before children, we took a trip to Jellystone (a.k.a. Yellowstone) National Park.  Marty wanted to hike in the Tetons, so I obliged him.  What could possibly be any worse than our Smoky Mountain debacle?  We packed up our backpacks with lunch, water, and Power Bars. 

After we crossed Jenny Lake by boat, we arrived at the trail head.  Now this was going to be pretty.  We were in a beautiful valley by a beautiful, swiftly-flowing mountain stream.  The Tetons towered majestically over us and I was in awe.  Many pictures were taken.  My feet were taped and comfortable in their soft boots.  I knew a soft bed awaited me at the end of the day.  This wouldn't be too bad after all.

Marty and I walked along eating our Power Bars.  I sang the Happy Hiker song and meant it.  (I don’t have the best voice, but really, I don’t care.)  It was a good day.  I was full of energy and spunk.  Not sure how long the trail was, but that was ok – until we got quite a ways along and out of the blue, horse flies the size of horses decided I was lunch.  Didn’t bother Marty.  I must have smelled like eau de toilet water or something, because they started biting hard.    Know why?  We brought no bug spray. What the hey?  How do you forget bug spray when in the wilderness?! 

Ok, party’s over.  Hilary has reached her limit.  There was no way of getting away from these behemoths and I couldn’t walk fast enough to keep them off.  I told Marty I was done.  Before I go further, let me tell you that our mothers appropriately named us The Bickersons.  Yes, we bicker a lot, mostly to pester. But we are also both strong-willed and easily butt heads.  Neither of us back down.  So right there, in the valley of decision, our voices ricocheted off the mountains in a bicker-off as people hiked by.  Marty thought it imperative that we get to the end of this particular trail.  He felt we were almost there.  I wasn’t concerned about the distance to the trail’s end and felt that we could have truly been some distance away.  No matter.  I was done.  I offered to meet him back at the trail head.  Marty would have none of that.  So we continued our “conversation” until he huffed, “Never mind, then.  We’ll go back.” 

I didn’t get that.  Go touch the sign and meet me back at the trailhead.  Big fat hairy cow deal. I was fly-bait and they weren’t touching him.  Enough.  So we turned around and headed back, stopping to eat our lunch along the stream that roared louder the closer one gets.  Our canteen dangled from a branch into the water to keep it cold.  There were several ginormous, flat boulders on which to sun ourselves as we ate.  Now this was livin’.  Couldn’t hear anything because of the soothing thunder of that river.  And no horse flies. 

When we finished lunching, Marty badgered me (lightheartedly) to place bets as to where we were on the trail, and when we got back to the trailhead, he was going to prove it to me by showing me on the map.  Nothin’ doin’, said I.  How would he know where we were?  We did pester each other back and forth at that point, certain that our internal compasses were each correct.

We crossed the lake again and emptied out of the boat to find our car.  Marty walked me over to the map of the trail head, pointed to a spot on the trail where he estimated that we stopped, and said, “Ha!  See?  We were almost there!  We could have done it!”  “So what!” said I.  Really, for the love of Pete.  So what.  (As you may have ascertained, we are about as identical as a cat and a dog.)

Connect the dots of the bugs biting to my blog about bugs getting up the nose of sheep.  When my friend and I talk about things really getting bad, we tell each other the bugs are biting.  Where is the bug spray when ya need it, we ask in exasperation. 

Anyhoo, here are some nice, commemorative pictures.  (This was my scrapbooking effort back in the days of the craft's infancy.)

I am still not seeing that cheesecake. 

Part III:  The part where the real lessons kick in.