My internal alarm has been working
pretty great lately, and it didn't fail me when it woke me at 6:02.
From then until seven, when Pa Cooper arrived, I was preparing myself
and my bag for the adventure ahead.
After a quick prayer, we took the
shortcut out to the construction farm road. This shortcut goes out
behind my apartment, crossing through two growing fences. The locals
will cut a branch off of almost any tree, stick it in the ground, and
eventually the branch grows where it was shoved in the ground. How
great is that.
Taking a right at the farm road, a
left at the paved, a right just before the elementary school, and a
right up a driveway, we soon found our trail. The trail was overgrown
so much in certain parts, that we were, I'm sure, not following it
perfectly for much of the way until we reached the ridge. Soon after
beginning, Pa Cooper cut a nice straight tree and then shoved it in
the ground. That looks like a great walking stick, but he must be
marking the trail somehow, I
thought to myself. After that one he cut another, and kept it. We
made it to the first muddy part of our adventure, always heading up,
and Pa Cooper asked where my hiking stick was. “Ah, so it was for
me!” I told him my lame excuse for not grabbing it, and he handed
me his. Looking back over it all, as he said at that time, he didn't
really need his.
We
reached the first part of the ridge an hour after starting, 8:00, and
I received my first great view. The closer we came to the ridge the
higher the angle of incline, until it was a near 90-degree incline.
If it were a rocky mountain, it would have been mightily nerve
racking. However, it is a muddy, shrubbery-covered mountain, and I
was going up a path that had plenty of literal, and therefore, mental
padding along it's narrow sides.
“Don't look back, Travis, until you reach a safe standing place,”
was
what I sang to myself then, and many times after. Again, this was not
too bad, mostly because of the availability of things to hold onto.
Other times, such as the steep places, not part of the ridge itself,
involved plenty of false holds, like those dead vines, roots, and
trees that I mentioned in a previous blog. Don't be confused, though:
Tofol to Okat was a piece of cake in comparison. On that trip we were
generally using only our feet. On this trip I remember thinking to
myself, more than once, that I could use another hand. Even with
that, due to the false holds and sometimes overly-muddy conditions, I
would have slipped if I wasn't so sure-footed. I must give much of
the credit to that hiking stick, though. I don't think anyone– and
I hadn't before– has truly used a hiking stick for it's full
potential until they've done a hike like that.
I
said before, in the aforementioned blog, that we hiked along a ridge
that didn't have much play room on either side. A great amount of the
following hour and forty minutes was, until we reached our
destination, very similar to that. Sometimes it would widen out,
sometimes get really small, other times we would be going on a
rounder part, but in general there was always something to grab on
the way down (if it was so needed). It was also not wet like that
last trip. Of course, wet is a relative term, because the dirt is
never fully dry here, not like back home. As well, I think that it is
more clay-based, so that it sticks together better, unlike the dirt
that used to get in my eyes if someone was climbing above me.
One
thing that I haven't mentioned, that is really rampant in the
mountains, is the ferns. They are everywhere and with so many
different kinds, some being tree-sized. At one point, where the ridge
opened to the air and turned, it was covered by smaller ferns, a
different kind than what grows among the trees. The ferns themselves
were what made up the ground, if that's what you could call it, that
we walked on for about forty feet. It was really spongy, and … it's
actually hard to explain. It wasn't like a wet sponge, but a dry one.
The ridge was turning to the left, and our trail followed it left
slowly, until we had to slide down this sponge about ten feet. It was
as if it was all one big fern covering that part of the ridge.
We
continued on, most of the time under the cover of trees along the
ridge. We encountered, and walked through, five banyan trees, with me
staring in wide-eyed wonder at each one. At our third banyan tree we
took our first break. I had brought some food along, and we enjoyed a
couple tangerines that I had picked on Friday. Up to this point I had
been vaguely aware that sweat was dripping from my nose at least
every few minutes. Both my shirt and shorts were recognizably soaked
through with sweat. In fact, the bottom half of my shorts had that
sheen that board shorts get after being out of the water for a couple
of minutes. I had a good laugh about that, since I have never sweated
quite like that.
Soon
after this stop we did some more mountain climbing, and reached the
caves of unimaginable sincerity and beauty. No, sorry, that was a
lie. But they were quite awesome. At the time of the Japanese hold
of the island during WWII, the Japanese built a small network of
tunnels in different mountains to keep watch on the beaches around
the island. They are made out of knobby-looking concrete and tall
enough to walk comfortably inside of. The network that I was able to
see had tunnels going both up and down in elevation. One tunnel, the
only one I didn't explore because I couldn't see (I lamely forgot my
flashlight), had stairs in it, and we passed the entrance to that
about twenty or so feet up.
One
thing that was seen before this point, and further on up until we
reached the first peak, was some very interesting trees. I had
forgotten my walking stick after stopping for a picture, and caught
up to find Pa Cooper sitting and eating something. All around were
perfectly straight trees, not showing any branches until higher up
the trunk. All along their trunk– not like a blanket, but spaced
out, up and around–were small, fire-engine red fruits. They were
perfectly round with a large, round seed inside (two seeds with the
bigger ones) and grew in small bunches, starting at one and then on
up to at least bunches of ten. It was so strange picking fruit off a
tree trunk as if you were simply picking cherries. I grabbed some
once I was through with my moment of awe, and they tasted similar to
one of the local apples, giving a cottonmouth feeling, slightly
sweet, but mostly good for their water content.
“Wow, what are you doing? That is pigeon food. Did you ask the pigeons?”
“...
No, but I didn't hear you ask,” I responded. He proceeded to
jokingly make some bird sounds. Every time after I made sure to thank
the pigeons.
As
the elevation increased, the bigger trees decreased and the smaller
bushes and ferns took their place, covering much of the ground except
the worn trail. We had to squat-walk multiple times to get under
various tree parts in the way, both living and dead (roots, branches,
trunks); three times we walked across a root or fallen tree to cross
a dip in the path. Again, as we came to the first peak, we were
climbing closer to ninety than forty-five and the view became better
and better. When on top of that, the path changed quickly to
beaten-down ferns and there was even regular grass. We discovered, on
the way back, the old cellphone antenna that someone had put up.
Nature had said no to that idea, and it was now, literally, part of
the path.
We
walked down from this peak towards the second into, what looks like
from down here, a small bowl. This was a thinner part of the ridge,
and I am not sure how to emphasize how much it was completely covered
by ferns. Possibly, it would help to say that if it weren't for Pa
Cooper, I wouldn't have been able to tell where to walk exactly. It
would have been a bad idea to fall here, but, because of the fern
network of support, I would have been able to catch myself quite
easily. I planted my stick at the beginning of the bowl so that it
wouldn't hinder me for the last bit– all hands and feet.
When
we came to the second peak, we walked down to the right of it,
literally walking next to the side of the peak, with our feet level
on the ferns. I was decently nervous because the ferns were
the path, and I'm not used to trusting plants like that when I'm
looking down on the world. It works, though, because they grow so
thickly. We finished our ascension by climbing our last, padded,
near-vertical path.
We
emerged, around 9:40, almost as if coming out of a porthole or
trapdoor. The view was amazing, all the way up there at 1946 ft. It
was blessedly overcast, with the sun shining on the important parts
down the mountain, and it passing over us now and then. We stayed up
there for about thirty minutes, eating tangerines, a cucumber,
Japanese onion rings, rice triangles, and usr
pie, and trying to spy on people with my small pair of binoculars.
The tide was low, which allowed an even better view of the
surrounding reef from the edge of Tofol all the way over to Walung. I
haven't summited many mountains in my time, so I tried my best to
soak all of this in– except the sun– as much as I possibly could.
There
was a metal pole stuck in the ground– Who in their right mind would
go through the effort to carry that up there?– with an old,
weather-worn sheet tied to it. I didn't recognize it as such until Pa
Cooper said it, for it was gray-white and shredded. He took it down,
tore a rectangular section, and made it look like a flag again. With
that finished, we headed down.
Under
normal hiking circumstances, or what I am accustomed to, hiking down
is easier. In this case, it is not all that much easier. The padded
parts that I mentioned on the way up were probably the easiest on the
way down, because, for the most part, we actually slid down those on
our backsides. The rest of the steep, muddier parts were not so easy,
though. Obviously, the hands can't assist as much when one is facing
away. Also, the slippery parts become more slippery, because you are
contacting them with greater force than on the way up. Unless, of
course, your muscles are working great for you, and you are better
able to control how much force you are stepping with. Normally, I do
great with that. Unfortunately, forgetting to eat breakfast–
literally in my excitement to start– was finally catching up to me.
Couple that with the fact that we summited more than two hours faster
than previous trips of his, my legs were starting to suffer from
fatigue.
I'd
be lying to you if I said that the mentioning of an upcoming stream,
that we were taking a different route back, was a huge motivating
force. The further we went, the more fatigued my legs became. My
right leg was taking more of the heat– I was favoring it because of
the left-toe issue. I was also not wanting to stop until the stream,
because I knew that my legs might decide to turn in early; I wanted
to get there as soon as I could. In fact, to affirm that belief, at
some point I started to recognize my right leg shaking whenever I
paused for the briefest of seconds. In the least, I knew that my body
really needed that water.
At
some point I recall telling Pa Cooper, “My head is on fire right
now,” because whenever I tilted my head towards my chest I would
notice an extreme heat in my head. I also know that I was sweating
plenty again.
“What
do you mean?”
“I
am so hot right now, that if the temperature randomly became very
cold, I would create enough steam to cover this mountain,” and we
had a good chuckle. I am still convinced that I could have filled at
least a room with the steam, though.
Finally,
I started to hear the sweet sound of a bubbling brook, and Pa Cooper
and I reached the tiny little thing. He told me that it was a small
shoot-off from the main Mutunte River, which was over the hill beside
us– we weren't to the paradise just yet. No matter, after he took a
short gulp from the stream and washed his face, I went down on my
hand and knees. Let me be the first to tell you that there is nothing
like putting your face full in a stream, when you are so fatigued
that your legs are shaking, and taking airless gulps of water from
it. Absolutely nothing. Normally, whenever your face is fully
submerged in water, you aren't in water that is drinkable.
One
of my favorite places to hike in Oregon is around Clear Lake, about
forty minutes from Sisters; I have hiked it every summer since 2007.
One of the main reasons that I hike it is because it is spring fed,
and I drink out of it at a part where water is simply coming out of
the rocks. The difference here is that it is freezing cold and
rushing quickly.
Back
to the brook here in Kosrae, it was running at a calm pace, at a very
calm temperature. I suppose you could say that it was the perfect,
soothing combination: cooling my face while at the same time
quenching my thirst as if I was drinking calmly out of a cup.
This
was just a short respite, and I had to get to the true resting spot,
so I stood back up and continued behind Pa Cooper. Not too long
after, we discovered that we were actually following a wild pig
trail, and the bushes closed in on us near the top. It was here on
this slope that I started talking to myself. My legs were having a
true problem complying with my commands, not to mention the lack of a
human-made path. It came to the point where the stick was no longer
helping me, but hindering me on this incline. For the last stretch,
I'd shove it in the ground, reach up with both hands, stick them into
the ground and pull myself up, not using my legs nearly as much, and
grab the stick. And repeat. I really enjoyed climbing in this manner,
using my hands and all. I can't deny that I felt pathetic, though,
the way my legs were seizing up. “Come on, seriously,” “This is
stupid,” and, “Dadgummit,” were a few of the things I said
angrily at myself.
Once
we reached the top, we were pushing through bushes for a while,
similar to if I was following a deer or rabbit trail at home. From
this point on, not many things registered except for where I was and
the path ahead. Due to this, I believe this is also when I acquired
most of the fifty cuts or scrapes along my hands, arms, legs, and
ankles. When I was asked if I wanted to follow the path along the
ridge or cut down, I chose the faster option. There was a lot of
stumbling here and very much slowing down on my part– in fact, I
know I deviated multiple times from Pa Cooper's path because I was so
far behind. Thankfully, there was another, even smaller stream to
follow down. The sound of the river was getting louder, and just
before I reached the bottom of the hill (maybe a hill in comparison
to Mutunte), as I put my left hand back to support myself, I felt
two, very sharp pains in my hand.
Very
early on, and in my previous hike, I had noticed that very large
black or gold ants help decompose dead branches of certain trees.
Simply by looking at these ants, I knew that I didn't want to come in
contact with them. Sure enough, I had put my hand right into one of
those branches, and two ants had taken the liberty to bite my hand.
The pain was indeed very sharp, and lasted for the next thirty
minutes. I call it the Kosraen Bee Sting.
I
stumbled to the river, dropped my bag, and practically fell into the
water. Again, I experienced the wonderfully refreshing taste of the
Mutunte River, and washed off what I could that I'd collected on the
trip: sweat, plant seedlings in my leg hair, dirt everywhere visible
including my face, and sweat. There was an orange tree right along
the bank, so Pa Cooper nabbed some of those with a handy piece of
bamboo. We rested there for what seemed like a very quick thirty
minutes, and then headed back on our merry way. (We took the same
beaten trail we used coming back from the Mutunte Falls two weeks
prior).
That
was by far the most exciting and exhilarating hike that I have ever
participated in. I believe it is easy to see that by how much I've
written about a morning adventure (we finished around one). I must
say that it can be bad to become too excited about something.
Obviously, I regret not eating breakfast, but that certainly made the
walking more... challenging. However, it did not help in any way that
I forgot the battery for my main camera in its wall charger.
Thankfully, I have a backup camera, even if it doesn't take as good
quality stills as the other– its video quality is unchallenged,
though. It was due to this mishap that I forgot to capture the most
important picture: the one of Pa Cooper and myself overlooking
Kosrae.
I
received a sunburn from that little bit of overcast
exposure I experienced at the top (as much as I hoped against it), my
left ankle and recently-harmed toe became temporarily worse, the
right-middle toenail is ready to be pulled off, and my whole body is
sore. Though, I do really love that muscle soreness. I can't forget
all those scrapes, either. These last two are things that make me
feel truly alive, however strange that may seem. I love being out
there so much, and I
don't get to experience that much anymore. One of the conversations
that Pa Cooper and I had was about his dream to go live up in the
mountains, away from everything, quietly living off of the land,
farming– and that's it. That sounds familiar. Perhaps he and I
will go hiking one day and disappear.
