This past Sunday, I went hiking with one of my very best friends, Casey. She's lives right beside Fridley's Gap, a great hiking and camping spot near Broadway, VA. Fridley's Gap is part of Brethren Woods, a popular summer camp for adolescents, so it's got about fifty bajillion trails embedded in its geography. I actually met Casey three years ago at a mennonite summer camp called Highland Retreat. (Best camp ever. Sign your kids up*.)
When she first set eyes on me, I was lugging the biggest week-long camp bag you'd ever seen. It was huge, absolutely ridiculous -- you seriously would not believe. My mom had to borrow a wheel barrow just so we could get it from the main house to the cabin.
Camp began. I was officially coined as the chick that over packed, which I was okay with -- so long as people didn't assume I was an unapproachable diva. So, I'm outside Redbud cabin, editing my latest 8th-grade spin-off fan fiction, when Casey comes up to me: "Hey, whatcha-doin'?"
I promptly explain that I'm in the midst of revising my latest work. She's extremely interested, surprisingly enough, and asks if she can read it. I say yeah, sure, what the hell. Couldn't hurt. By the end of the week-long camp, she'd read the entire thing and started her own novel.
The rest of the summer, we emailed back and forth, sending each other everything we'd written and getting/receiving feedback. We still do it, after three years, though our styles have changed in accordance with our changing perspectives. She's an exquisite writer.
When I told Casey of my research project (this very website, fyi), she was immediately interested. I asked if she'd go hiking with me to help me get started on the whole video-blog aspect, and she was totally for it. She helped me IMMENSELY by doing the talking, picking a perfect hike, and, mostly, by being her awesome, dynamic, nature-loving self.
Seriously: If I could name one person under forty (this means you, Pammy) who has an immediate and personal connection with nature and her surroundings, it would be Casey. I'm not saying she's a country girl, born and raised; I'm saying she's an old soul with an appreciation for the earth and its resources. She knows the Shenandoah Valley like the back of her hand and loves everything in it, which is something only a handful of people can say--another is my mother, whose family has been there since the 18th century.
Okay, onto the hike!
When we were getting ready to drive to the site, Casey's father said to us [me], "Now, girls, you could take that fancy black car [my car] to the gap, or you could take my truck--a good ol' fashioned stick shift!"
I informed him that my fancy black car happened to be a stick shift, one which I drove over the river and through the woods, up the 60-degree hills, to sixth gear and back again, practically into the depths of hell, just to get to Casey's house. Thank you very much. But seriously, Casey's dad is the best, and I am grateful that some people on this earth have an appreciation for stick shifts (they come in handy if you're looking into the grand theft auto business). He also warned us of the snakes, because they hang out around rocks this time of year, and Fridley's Gap has enough rocks for every starfish in Bikini Bottom.
Casey and I head out. The last time we went on this hike, it took us upwards of three hours because we biked from Casey's to the gap, which didn't seem bad at the time. But when I was driving I was like, "Wow. I'm impressed with my past self."
On our way up the gravel road, Casey catches me up on her artistic endeavors, I catch her up on mine. And eventually, as all our conversations go, we end up talking about camp: Midnight capture-the-flag, the 9-mile hike up to Tiger Rocks**, the exponentially attractive, too-young-for-me camper we nick-named "Cato" from the Hunger Games. No matter how hard we try, all roads lead to camp: the origin of our friendship and our home-away-from-home. (One of these days, I'll publish a series of camp stories--and I'll call it... Camp Stories.) As we get further into the topic, Casey reminds me of something that Mellanie, one of our camp counselors, said; something about getting a "spiritual high" whenever she was at camp, and having to watch it fade away when she went back to normal life. It was kind of bitter sweet, hearing Casey repeat it. And regardless of the kind of "high" you get, be it spiritual, natural, or any variation thereupon--anyone who's ever been to camp (particularly Highland Retreat) knows what I'm talking about. I wonder why life can't always be as perfect as it is during camp. But then, if it was, camp wouldn't be so special.
As we start the hike, we start noticing things.
Water.
Everywhere.
Like, literally, it's everywhere, between my toes, ringing in my ears from the flooding river ten feet below us--it's like I'm finally living my Little Mermaid dream, except not. Casey tells me the water is so high because of all the rain we've been getting recently. Lots of rain meant lots of green, I soon discovered. It's kind of amazing, how many shades of green you find in trees when you look hard enough. Try it some time, if you ever find yourself in a forest. Or not.
When we reach the point where the trail crosses the river, I go survival-mode. I feel like Mario from Super Smash Bros, because Mario jumps a lot. And I jumped a lot. Sort of.
The next point in our journey is the swimming hole, which we did not plan for on purpose because it was too cold when we left and the water from the mini-waterfall looked like it could drown us both. Next time, Casey says, we're swimming. Regardless of the water or the temperature.
Right before the end of our journey, we come across a guy in a green tent reading a book. Smack-dab on the trail, he's got a fire pit and his stuff tied up in a tree, the whole nine yards. I secretly want to interview him, strictly for nature-exploration purposes, of course, but Casey is smarter than I and keeps me from doing so. Forgive me. I do know better than to hinder a man from his reading. Even when he is mysteriously camped out in the middle of the woods... on a school night...
Anyway, we get to the top of the trail. It was a successful hike--I took lots of pics and videos, and Casey was kind enough to humor me by eloquently hosting the hike. I was just the camera guy. Thank you, Casey.
Disclaimer: I realize that not even a quarter of this post actually pertains hiking, and I'm sorry if that's what you were looking for--but I hope you enjoyed it anyway! Be on-the-lookout for Camp Stories, an epic saga of adventure and mayhem, coming to a blog near you...
*http://www.highlandretreat.org/HR-Web/DesktopDefault.aspx
**I decided to express the Tiger Rocks hike in terms of functions/slope, because I can't draw and don't know how to work a scanner, but I got an A in Algebra, so there.
Part 1: f(x)=2
Part 2: f(x)=47x-5
Part 3: f(x)=x^2+x^3+x^4+x^5
And then back down again.
Map credit: http://www.brethrenwoods.org/BW-Web/DesktopDefault.aspx?tabid=33
When she first set eyes on me, I was lugging the biggest week-long camp bag you'd ever seen. It was huge, absolutely ridiculous -- you seriously would not believe. My mom had to borrow a wheel barrow just so we could get it from the main house to the cabin.
Camp began. I was officially coined as the chick that over packed, which I was okay with -- so long as people didn't assume I was an unapproachable diva. So, I'm outside Redbud cabin, editing my latest 8th-grade spin-off fan fiction, when Casey comes up to me: "Hey, whatcha-doin'?"
I promptly explain that I'm in the midst of revising my latest work. She's extremely interested, surprisingly enough, and asks if she can read it. I say yeah, sure, what the hell. Couldn't hurt. By the end of the week-long camp, she'd read the entire thing and started her own novel.
The rest of the summer, we emailed back and forth, sending each other everything we'd written and getting/receiving feedback. We still do it, after three years, though our styles have changed in accordance with our changing perspectives. She's an exquisite writer.
When I told Casey of my research project (this very website, fyi), she was immediately interested. I asked if she'd go hiking with me to help me get started on the whole video-blog aspect, and she was totally for it. She helped me IMMENSELY by doing the talking, picking a perfect hike, and, mostly, by being her awesome, dynamic, nature-loving self.
Seriously: If I could name one person under forty (this means you, Pammy) who has an immediate and personal connection with nature and her surroundings, it would be Casey. I'm not saying she's a country girl, born and raised; I'm saying she's an old soul with an appreciation for the earth and its resources. She knows the Shenandoah Valley like the back of her hand and loves everything in it, which is something only a handful of people can say--another is my mother, whose family has been there since the 18th century.
Okay, onto the hike!
When we were getting ready to drive to the site, Casey's father said to us [me], "Now, girls, you could take that fancy black car [my car] to the gap, or you could take my truck--a good ol' fashioned stick shift!"
I informed him that my fancy black car happened to be a stick shift, one which I drove over the river and through the woods, up the 60-degree hills, to sixth gear and back again, practically into the depths of hell, just to get to Casey's house. Thank you very much. But seriously, Casey's dad is the best, and I am grateful that some people on this earth have an appreciation for stick shifts (they come in handy if you're looking into the grand theft auto business). He also warned us of the snakes, because they hang out around rocks this time of year, and Fridley's Gap has enough rocks for every starfish in Bikini Bottom.
Casey and I head out. The last time we went on this hike, it took us upwards of three hours because we biked from Casey's to the gap, which didn't seem bad at the time. But when I was driving I was like, "Wow. I'm impressed with my past self."
On our way up the gravel road, Casey catches me up on her artistic endeavors, I catch her up on mine. And eventually, as all our conversations go, we end up talking about camp: Midnight capture-the-flag, the 9-mile hike up to Tiger Rocks**, the exponentially attractive, too-young-for-me camper we nick-named "Cato" from the Hunger Games. No matter how hard we try, all roads lead to camp: the origin of our friendship and our home-away-from-home. (One of these days, I'll publish a series of camp stories--and I'll call it... Camp Stories.) As we get further into the topic, Casey reminds me of something that Mellanie, one of our camp counselors, said; something about getting a "spiritual high" whenever she was at camp, and having to watch it fade away when she went back to normal life. It was kind of bitter sweet, hearing Casey repeat it. And regardless of the kind of "high" you get, be it spiritual, natural, or any variation thereupon--anyone who's ever been to camp (particularly Highland Retreat) knows what I'm talking about. I wonder why life can't always be as perfect as it is during camp. But then, if it was, camp wouldn't be so special.
As we start the hike, we start noticing things.
Water.
Everywhere.
Like, literally, it's everywhere, between my toes, ringing in my ears from the flooding river ten feet below us--it's like I'm finally living my Little Mermaid dream, except not. Casey tells me the water is so high because of all the rain we've been getting recently. Lots of rain meant lots of green, I soon discovered. It's kind of amazing, how many shades of green you find in trees when you look hard enough. Try it some time, if you ever find yourself in a forest. Or not.
When we reach the point where the trail crosses the river, I go survival-mode. I feel like Mario from Super Smash Bros, because Mario jumps a lot. And I jumped a lot. Sort of.
The next point in our journey is the swimming hole, which we did not plan for on purpose because it was too cold when we left and the water from the mini-waterfall looked like it could drown us both. Next time, Casey says, we're swimming. Regardless of the water or the temperature.
Right before the end of our journey, we come across a guy in a green tent reading a book. Smack-dab on the trail, he's got a fire pit and his stuff tied up in a tree, the whole nine yards. I secretly want to interview him, strictly for nature-exploration purposes, of course, but Casey is smarter than I and keeps me from doing so. Forgive me. I do know better than to hinder a man from his reading. Even when he is mysteriously camped out in the middle of the woods... on a school night...
Anyway, we get to the top of the trail. It was a successful hike--I took lots of pics and videos, and Casey was kind enough to humor me by eloquently hosting the hike. I was just the camera guy. Thank you, Casey.
Disclaimer: I realize that not even a quarter of this post actually pertains hiking, and I'm sorry if that's what you were looking for--but I hope you enjoyed it anyway! Be on-the-lookout for Camp Stories, an epic saga of adventure and mayhem, coming to a blog near you...
*http://www.highlandretreat.org/HR-Web/DesktopDefault.aspx
**I decided to express the Tiger Rocks hike in terms of functions/slope, because I can't draw and don't know how to work a scanner, but I got an A in Algebra, so there.
Part 1: f(x)=2
Part 2: f(x)=47x-5
Part 3: f(x)=x^2+x^3+x^4+x^5
And then back down again.
Map credit: http://www.brethrenwoods.org/BW-Web/DesktopDefault.aspx?tabid=33