Creative Writing: The Water Trail

          TODAY: a variety of metal or plastic canteens or water bottles. There also is a rubber or plastic sack that, filled with water, can be strapped on the outside of a backpack. A tube is then extended around and fastened on the front straps of the pack so that it can be periodically sucked on by the hiker whenever he feels thirsty as he is hiking.

The Florida summer of 2014 was, to describe it in a single word, hot. Sweltering, boiling, hot-enough-for-me-to-buy-a-twenty-dollar-handheld-electric-fan heat engulfed the town of Orlando and the Disney World park, drowning attendants in the thick, sultry summer air. Thousands of people and families gathered in the parks daily, which obviously wasn’t a help concerning the heat, and each person had at least one person in common with each other: obvious signs of being out in the heat for too long of a time, including sweating profusely and having a constant “I’m in the happiest place on earth but the heat makes me want to die” look on their faces. As per usual in these conditions, Splash Mountain seemed to be quite popular, offering the only

When you’re flying over south-east Queensland and underneath you are the distinctive, sinuous curves of the Brisbane River, you know you’re home. The river is why our city is here. Its waters carved the landscape out of ancient rock and laid down fertile flood plains. It’s a highway and an obstacle to passage. Even in modern times, there are Brisbanites who rarely venture across the river to suburbs on the other side. A source of food and water, transport, communication and recreation over millennia; life-giving, life-taking. The Brisbane River has many stories. This is one of them….

Once upon a time, there was a lake behind my house. Everyone always went to the lake and sat down on brown benches and fished. They always went home with big bags or buckets. I haven’t seen one person go home with a small bag or bucket!

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to go hiking with some friends, and have them tell you to walk off a cliff backwards? Well, that is what happened last summer when I went camping at Capitol Reef. It was a Monday morning when my friends and I met at a neighbor's house. After everyone stuffed all their bags into the truck and grabbed their snacks we all piled in the vehicle and started off towards Capitol Reef.

Eliza slammed the front door, her brown hair whipping behind her as she ran out of her house. Tears streamed down her face with a huge red hand mark was imprinted on it. She saw the barbed wire fence that bordered her city since The Great Attack and only hoped it wasn’t electrified at the moment… she thought of the lake beyond it, the lake always seemed to be a part of her child-hood. When she was younger, Eliza thought back, her father hadn’t minded the border. He often took her over, and to the lake, where they played for hours before returning home to a furious mother, but still, he didn’t mind. Eliza pushed the thought away, her father was dead, he was no longer a burden to her… at least, that’s what her mother had said before they got

The aliens arrive in their 2014 all-wheel-drive spaceships, wearing their Power Ranger hiking suits. They unload their magical equipment, equipment as colorful as a Barnum and Bailey Circus. They call home on the matchbox they pull from a shirt-pocket and share the view from the mountain with people somewhere, actually, anywhere on earth via Skype. Then they set out on what they know is a one-hour hike because they can see the route on Google Earth. It's impossible to get lost as they track themselves on the trail with the GPS built into the matchbox. They set up camp in five minutes, point a solar cell at the sun to charge the batteries so they can play, deep into the night, the stereo that's also built into the matchbox. The stereo, with seven thousand of their favorite songs, wirelessly connected to an amplifier the size of a pair of dice is played full blast to block the obnoxious night sounds of the forest. Until someone invents a battery-powered miniature trebuchet lure slinger, they'll still need to swing one arm to cast the shiny little lures they use to catch the

Vvvvvvvvv Rom,blurrr, blurrr,blurrr. The sound of the motor makes me anxious to go for a ride. While my feet dangle off the dock looking at the undersized, slippery, suckup sunnies trying to eat my toes. I can tasting the hot summer air, and feel the slick deck full of spiders. I hear Wallie say, “LET'S GO!.

With the grace and speed of a desert falcon sweeping across the sand dunes, Kian descended the grand staircase. Made of fifty-two, white-smoked, stone steps; he could easily have dropped to the cathedral-sized foyer below, instead, preferred to walk. With each agile footstep, he expected to chance upon a hunter or two, perhaps even members of the household staff.

She didn’t remember much from the trip back to the Canyon. She’s pretty sure that she caused more then half a dozen trees to fall, and took off some of the siding of a house that she got a little to close too. No serious damage done.

His feet dragged along the ground feeling as if he was dragging cinder blocks by his ankles. He worked his way to the bathroom, turned on the

Our story begins with 5 brave hikers, 3 men, 2 women, there names are Dave, Roger, Brodie, Jennifer and Jessica. This whole trip became possible when they all met up at a local coffee shop named piper’s local coffee shop. They went there after a good hard 3-hour session on rock climbing in athlete’s foot.

As I slowly lower my paddle into the serene black water, I glance up and take in my surroundings. In every direction, I can see more of the beautiful water, bordered on all sides by the breathtaking Canadian wilderness. It has been a couple of days since we have seen civilization and I still have not begun to miss modern amenities. My friends, some parents, and I, all of us from the St. Leonard Scout Troop, are canoe tripping as part of a Boy Scout High-Adventure program. For seven days we paddle on the placid lakes that are dispersed throughout southern Canada, carrying canoes and equipment on our backs, overland, to get from one lake to another.

Meanwhile Nick, Russ , Ron, and I were standing in the jungle of our lawn. All of the sudden,we saw some humongous water bombs. Then Ron said “What do we do Amy.”

We slipped through locked gates and fences designed to stop adults like a pair of miniature ghosts. One day we received a rude surprise while we traversed a familiar landscape subtly changed by recent heavy rain. The firm brown earth of the previous day was still brown, but not so firm. We ran lightly over the glossy brown surface until its unfamiliar sticky quality slowed us to an unwilling stop. Like that, we were immobilized in an ocean of mud, bogged down to the top of our rubber boots and reduced from explorers to helpless victims who could only hope for rescue.