Personal Narrative: The Foothills Trail

My eyes peeled open slowly and the bright sunlight flooded into my eyes, blinding me. I heard the sound of running water and felt the cold breeze flow over my body. I looked out of my hammock and in front of me was a beautiful waterfall and several towering, bright green trees. My friends whom were with me shortly awoke and we packed our things and set off on our first true day of hiking in the Appalachian mountains.

This time this trip is even longer because it took us 319 miles that made us walked for 11 days. On the 6th day, few of us heard a big clunk so we thought that something would have broke somehow. Some of us checked every single one of our wagons to see what had broke. Well right when we heard the clunk, the horse of the Cline Family had startled and stopped until the other animals stopped. So after we walked around, James Seiple found out that the tongue of the wagon had broke in half. So James Seiple started asking for help for the tongue of the Cline Family’s wagon. The rest of us came up to him to see what James Seiple wanted for us. “Help me with this tongue please, it snapped in half and I wanted some of your help.” James Seiple said. Then we all checked on our wagon to see if there is anything to fix the tongue. Then the father of the Colloni Family had grabbed an extra part for the wagon. The father of the Colloni Family came to James Seiple and tried to put it back together and the mother of the Mingo Family taped it up together and it is all fixed. Then we got back to our wagons and started walking to Fort Kearney. Later on the 8th day, a terrible hit us and the wind is gusting really hard with rain and hail. All of us got nothing to do. I got nothing to think

When I look at this picture, it remindes me of when i went hicking in the woods this weekend. I was out camping with boy scouts at a 1800 aker ranch that had a lake, longhorns, gunrange and lots of trails. As a group, we decided to chouse one trail in particular, the trai to the ranch house.

We are going on a road trip everybody! Let’s go to the Chain Rock in Kentucky; it will be so thrilling and it’s only a half mile walk there. Doesn’t that sound exciting? No, it isn’t exciting, the walk is more like a hike and it is challenging. No one that rarely hikes can even make it to the Chain Rock, because there is a massive boulder in the way so the trip is pointless, if you have those circumstances. Never go to Chain Rock, it is not worth the gas, money, or time. The trail of the half of a mile hike consisted of woods, heat, and disappointment.

The air is thinner as breathing seems more labored, the temperature cooler, even in midsummer it seems as if Mother Nature engineered the day for comfort. With each step, the civilized world pushes deeper into the recesses of the mind becoming a distant memory. Anticipation mounts, as the path all but seems to disappear into a stand of Frasier Fir trees. Passing through the fir trees brings to mind memories of Christmas and all that the season brought at that time of year. Exiting the wooded parts of the trail, the skin is illuminated and warmed, provided by the sunlight that finds the occasional break in the trees. Entering a clearing, the mountaintop comes into view appearing even more intimidating than from the view at the bottom. As the trail ascends toward the peak, prior thoughts of a strenuous trip yield to the realization of a relaxing and tranquil atmosphere. The final steps approach the highest point in the eastern United States, opening onto gorgeous panoramic views of exquisite mountain ranges and unending blue skies. Thoughts of spending an eternity in such a natural wonder pass and soon are replaced with the curiosity of what the return trip down the mountain will bring. After taking in one last breath of the fresh mountain air, the trip back begins.

In the beginning of Bryson and Katz’s journey up the Appalachian Trail, the two men quickly find out the physical toll that the hike would take on them. While Bryson was “bug-eyed, and breathing hard”

The next day, I had broken away from the chains and took a step out onto the bare land as the glowing sun bloomed from the villages. I was one step closer to alleviating the burden that lingered and dominated my headspace. Taking hesitant steps towards the labyrinthine path, I inhaled the crisp air and let it rest on my lips as I ambled through the towering bushes, the city in sight.

It was probably around 6 in the morning on March 10th when we threw our packs on, put on our skins and set off down the trail. We were hoping to catch the sunrise, in about an hour, from a weather tower at the top of the mountain. It was a hard trail, with lots of steep uphills and sheer downhills, but we pushed on at a fast pace because we were all very eager to see the sunrise. About 45 minutes later we arrived at the windy, frigid summit, we quickly took off our skins and popped our boots out of the bindings. Then we walked slowly toward the tower with our heads bent down.

As we rush to get back on the train before it leaves to go down the mountain, we can see the fog and wind decreasing, and the clouds opening up, revealing a beautiful blue sky. Before we reached the bottom of the mountain, the weather had completely cleared and we saw the summit perfectly. It was the best weather we could have asked for, not a cloud in the sky and we could see for miles all

“ALL ABOARD!” the conductor yells out over the intercom, as we are finding our seats on the Pike’s Peak Cog Railway. The kids and I were ready to see the top of Pike’s Peak. The train takes off slowly and begins to pick up speed as we make our way up the mountain. Our ears begin to pop the higher in elevation we reach, my son grasps my hand and squeezes as hard as he can, his hand is sweating and I can almost feel his heart beating through my hand. Mesmerized, we stare out the window at the tall cliffs, mountain ledges, rock formations shifted by nature, little waterfalls throughout the mountain, and then, there it was; the one thing we all wanted to see, “SNOW!” My son shouts out. About 10,000 ft. in elevation, still making our way to the top, the snow laid out over the mountain sides like a white cotton blanket. I have never seen something so beautiful in my 28 years. Pine trees with snow covered branches, dark brown rocks poking through the snow, if you look closely you can see animal tracks left behind in the snow. Finally, an hour and fifteen minutes later, we have reached our destination. 14, 115 ft. in elevation, we are at the top of Pike’s Peak.

This is considered the hardest hill of my run. In all about four mountains made up a difficult six mile trek. I complained loudly as cramps attacked me from inside. In my mind, I thought when perseverance strikes, I can achieve anything. It was a fight for the end but I defeated Mother Nature. She wasted all of my energy, killed dreams and satisfied me. The view on top of Hawk Hill was breathtaking and absolutely wonderful. It rivaled postcards and brochures alike. An official picture facing San Francisco was sent to my family. They commented on how athletic I am and encouraged my

The main destination of the seven hundred ninety six mile road trip was Crater Lake National Park. I had been there once before in the Spring of 2011 and made my first memory of being in snow that accumulated on the ground for more than a millisecond. However, this trip was in July. A completely different, breath-taking experience. As my parents and I were approaching a viewing area in our blue Prius, the stunning scenery had me in a state of pure awe. The seemingly infinite hues of green of the trees and brush were over-whelming and the steep slope of Mount Mazama was vertiginous. We parked at Watchman Overlook and stepped out into the cool, crisp, and thin air that was scented of pine trees and anything but pollution. I quickly retrieved my jacket from my nest in the backseat due to the cold, yet calming, wind and the under seventy degree Fahrenheit climate. I rushed to the splintering wooden safety rails as fast as I possibly could in order to take in the deep, crystal blue lake and picturesque mountains lying on top of a sky full of cottonball clouds.

My legs sore from hiking for several hours straight, my back aching from the 30 pound backpack I was carrying, I trudged up the hill towards our next rest stop, kicking up dust the whole way. I was on a 4-day 50 mile backpacking trip in the sequoias. I was backpacking with 14 other boyscouts and several leaders. “Only 2 more miles everybody!” one of the leaders called out. At that moment everybody let out a sigh of relief, however, we failed to recognize the little amount of sunlight we had left.

The road winds a few more miles till you near the lodge. Buckled down with water, a camera, and wearing the proper shoes you walk toward the trail. Something catches your eye, and with a turn of your head, there it is. The lodge overlooks the most incredible view, one that could only have been created by God. The lookout reveals mountains of trees with an unforeseeable future. After admiring the beauty, the trail calls your name. It starts out wide and covered with gravel, without a moment to think the terrain changes. You start to walk down the mountain, the gravel turned to dirt and with the help from the dew and rain it was mud, and the mountain grew a little steeper with every breath. Later, you

The smell of the pine permeates the air I breath as I climb up the mountain trail with the excitement of a child exploring new and exciting adventures. The buzzing of mosquitoes intensifies near a slow moving stream I reach down with my hand to pick some of the western yarrow growing near the trail. I have been told that it acts as a natural repellant. I chew on some of plant, flooding my mouth with an almost pleasant, bitter-sweet flavor. This hike up Red Ridge Mountain feels completely removed from the world in which I grew up. We are miles from the nearest car or road, over 8500 feet above sea level, and I am hearing sounds of nature that I have never yet experienced. Before reaching the summit we set up camp. We brought almost nothing, not even tents, and we are learning to build a lean-to shelter for the night. The adults check the construction of our lean-to's before we start a campfire. Our camp was set up and we sat down for smores and dinner. Finally I climb into my sleeping bag, feeling proud for the shelter I created with limbs, leaves, and only a small amount of twine from my pack. I was ready for a great night’s rest, listening the orchestra of natural sounds, and the more still I got the more new instruments I was able to hear in this great symphony; the chittering of bugs and the rustling of nocturnal animals was the music that finally lures me into slumber. I am suddenly jarred out of sleep as the earth starts to shake. The leaves rustle, and my entire