Descriptive Essay: Silver Birch Ranch

Colorado, known for the Rocky Mountains, is a gorgeous place to be. The wildlife filled rectangular state covers 104,185 square miles. In the black timber, it is dark and silent, not a sound to be heard. The pine trees are so thick it blocks most of the sunlight from entering, only to see about seventy-five yards in front of myself. The terrain is rough and almost straight up and down, but the elk love it because it is a challenge for hunters to see them. As I walk my favorite ridgeline in the black timber, I watch for the slightest movement and listen for the smallest crack. Watching thirteen-lined ground squirrels run around and chase each other can be humorous sometimes to watch them fall down from the trees. I wait patiently for the chance

The sun was glistening through the tall, swaying pines. To the right of the trail, a gentle river flowed softly down towards the mouth of the lake. Walking across the rickety wooden bridge, I inhaled a deep breath of refreshingly crisp mountain air. The sun beat down on me as I made my way across the bridge and back onto the well-used hiking trail. The ambient sounds of chirping birds, babbling water, and the croaks of several frogs filled my ears as I made my way around the bend. As I entered the mouth of the forest, I could see my father standing in the middle of the path, glancing upwards, taking in the beauty that had began to engulf us. “We better get going.” he said, looking back at me. “There’s still many miles to go.” I smiled and turned, taking in one last view of the beautiful creekside. Then, with determination, we set out to finish the challenging trek we had started.

We were all encouraged to choke down as much food as possible. Any kind of energy was essential. A melancholy atmosphere hung heavy as the journey progressed. Minutes walking slowly progressed into hours, the sky seemed to darken steadily. All of us were oblivious to the danger shrouded by the dim evening. Only moments after scaling a rather steep ledge did nature dice to turn sour. A deafening rumble made each climber perk up. Snow began to descend at an alarming rate. Thunder began to mic the steady beating of a drum, causing more concern among the ranks of climbers. The powdery snow became more of a risk than ever, climbing under pressure and leaving nothing to stand on. Third base was more than three hours away. Three hours wasn't possible at the rate. Snowfall this bad could be detrimental to the climb’s success. Snow obscured vision and numbed faces. Shouts and orders deemed lost in the screaming wind; people’s figure became shapeless blurs frantically shifting, hoping if they struggled against the wind hard enough, they might find someone. Of course, this was to no avail. Not a single person doubted their demise would come at this point: the stakes were high and no-one could play too well against Mother Nature. The snow crept up to knee-level, making it harder and harder to travel. Death and I were face-to-face. To some, they couldn't bare the idea of dying up here; they had families and friends, children who need parents and

I turned and watched the mountain disappear into the dust cloud stirred up by the car and had the odd feeling we'd left something important on the mountain. I wasn't sure what it was and it would be decades before I'd figure it out. We'd left two of my favorite people in all the world up there. Dad had dropped off a pair of child grubs who returned, a week later, a pair of moths that had escaped the confinement of their chrysalises. Steve and I, now unrecognizable as the worms we had been, came off the mountain like adult moths to fly away and forever leave our child-selves behind.

Nestled in a huge dip of land, in Boone, Iowa, is a tiny girl’s camp with cabins tucked into the trees called Bear Creek. Owned by the LDS church, this little piece of wilderness becomes my home away from home, five days during the summer. This collection of stories comes from the summer of 2015, and is a collage of my fondest memories from that week.

This non- profit organization encourages individuals to learn survival skills in the wilderness and take risks that require stepping out of comfort zones. The organization believes that mission trips should have an outdoor adventure and a rewarding service project. The “adventure” part of this trip was backpacking eighteen miles through Yellowstone. Our path was filled with rocky hills and unleveled ground, and by the time we got to our campground, our feet were covered in blisters. That night, our exhausted group of eight slept under a tarp held up by a pole in the middle of a treeless field where buffalo hooves were imprinted into the ground. We woke up to the sun rising over the mountain tops and valleys that were unending. And though our bodies were aching, we felt energized and

I felt the drops begin to fall, and yelled, “Hurry! Help Me get the fly on!” We hoisted on the fly, then realizing the tent was going to blow away, put in some extra stakes. The next morning we woke up, dazed by the nights’ events, but excited and ready for adventure. We began our journey into the Tetons, heading to Jenny Lake, where frigid waters dared us to jump in. We began our journey up the mountain shortly after a quick breakfast, during which a man from the next campsite over gave us some extra pancake mix, which at the moment we had no time to use, and threw in the back of the car. Little did we know the lights in the car had stayed on while we went up the mountain. I headed the trip for a while, then fell to the back, drained by trying to stay in the lead and by lack of oxygen. We had to take breaks every few minutes because of the dispersed and unsatisfying amount of air we were able to breath in. All of the sudden, like flashes of lightning, Kurtis and Allison took the

On we hiked towards the cloud cover, passing by crystal clear ponds and fields of snow, left over from the winter before. As we gained elevation the temperature dropped and a wind came up out of the south, forcing us to stop after a few minutes to put on our extra jackets. We did our best to stick to the center of the ridge from that point onwards. If it hadn’t been as wide, we would have had to turn back for fear of being blown off the edge. The worsening conditions made continuing difficult, but we did so nevertheless.

In Eagle River, Wisconsin June of 2006 my parents and I made the 30 minute drive from my brothers camp, Kawaga, to mine, Chippewa. I was seven years old sitting in the back seat of this car thinking about how my brother, Max, loves his camp so I would too. However, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. We arrived and my parents stopped the car to take a picture of me in front of the big red rustic sign “Chippewa Ranch Camp” it said. As we drove down the long dirt driveway it finally hit me that I was about to get out of this car and not see my parents for an entire month. I couldn’t even spend the night out I would call them to pick me up at midnight from my friends homes, how in the world was I going to survive four whole weeks of

For many individuals Camp Cosby means a lot to them, but for me there is so much value to the place I call home. Camp Cosby has been a huge part of my life even before I was born; therefore, I feel that it is necessary to help ensure that Camp Cosby is a successful place. I took a significant amount of time away from Cosby to not only grow and develop as an individual, but also to give Cosby a time to change. After years away from the place I was passionate about I feel the need to make sure that I am a part of bringing Camp Cosby to a new beginning. I want the best for Camp Cosby and for every individual that has ever felt the same. The benefits of working at Cosby for one summer have been life altering, and

Every year, The Barn Wesley Foundation provides us with the amazing opportunity to experience a connection with God at Timber Creek Camp. We are blessed to enjoy three days at the camp and share a unique, bonding moment with all of our peers from Perkinston and many students from other colleges who also attend the event. I have been able to attend this event twice, and each time has proven to be a wonderful adventure, helping each and every one of us surpass our difficulties and leave our burdens on Christ.

As the sun’s nutritious rays fuel my body; sweat races down my back and accumulates into the threads of my cotton t-shirt. I peer over my neighborhood park fence and gaze over the spacious scenery. The track field was well in shape, free of small debris and ready for a test run and light jump activities in the sand-pit. Soon enough the high temperature fills my head, leaving me in a state of allusion. Images of my friends and I sporadically unfold in front of me and unto the track; as if being placed in a desert mirage. I feel a sense of peace and eagerness surge through my body, while the images continue to appear. Then, a whisper comes into the mix saying some sort of gibberish. Stepping a bit more cautiously then I regularly would I walked

Finally, the long anticipated 11 months of waiting to return to my second home were over. Ever since I was a child, Heart O the Hills Camp was my safe heaven. One month a year I had the opportunity to grow up making the greatest memories at the most beautiful place in the world. There is no better sight in the world than lying on the warm tennis courts surrounded by my closest friends, gazing at the patterns of the illuminating stars above in the crystal clear, mesmerizing hill country sky. Those tennis courts where my friends and I gathered on almost every night was a symbol my care-free childhood. Having the freedom to do what I wanted, whenever I wanted, with no real consequences was one of the perks of being a camper.

Before I knew it, it was late at night and almost my bedtime. I made my way, up the stairs to the loft, slowly dragging my feet up each huge log stair from being so tired. I finally made my way up to the loft although the only light source was coming from one-single lit candle downstairs on the kitchen table. As I pulled the covers off the tiny twin bed, it was extremely hot, so I decided

The night before we began our journey to Orlando, I didn’t get much sleep. My eyes were wide open like an owl most of the night, tossing and turning under my cloudy soft comforter thinking about what awaited me the next 24 hours. I have always been interested about what it would be like to go on a roller coaster, but I hated the feeling of weightlessness like a balloon. I even hated going on elevators, just the thought of all that force sent a shivering sensation throughout my body that made me agonizingly uncomfortable. Nevertheless, there was a roaring lion fearlessness within me that wanted to indulge on this endeavor. In the morning we pack the family SUV as if we were sardines in a can and headed out to Islands of Adventure.