A Sleeping Lady's Arm

      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.