Don V Standeford
December 11th, 2012, 06:00 AM
Billy crawled up the hill, sweat from his brow cold upon his face. He gritted his teeth and aimed for the butte, which was really only a place in his mind. The trail seemed to be a thin piece of string that kept disappearing and then reappearing till it finally ended an almost invisible wisp. Billy stopped, searching the ground for some sign of where the others had climbed. The truck would be somewhere near, probably up. He shivered as he headed up alone, without the trail.
Piles of unburned slash above Billy's head blocked his progress. Old rotten stumps; their roots felt slippery as he crawled up past them. Wet tufts of green grass-covered over the dead trail as if following it themselves. Billy suddenly realized, as far as seeing anything above him, he was lost. He could follow the creek back down, but it would only get him further from the truck, though he might be found tomorrow.
Billy looked up at the steep hill, frightened. 'I'm not staying here the night,' he thought. Courage came. He started forward again. His strong toes dug into the thick dirt of the mountain. 'I'm going to make it up this time,' he thought. But all he managed to do was slip and slide. And after five or ten minutes he crashed to the twig covered ground.
Billy lay panting, tied up in slash. 'Yeah, I'm lost.' The sticks directly above his head looked like the interwoven branches of trees. He was scared, more scared than he'd ever been in his life in the quiet streets of the city. His hands trembled as he tried to decide what to do. He decided to find the trail again. Several attempts at scaling the mountain led to an all-consuming rock-face, a patch of wood too thick to see, He buried himself in a valley next to a strong-looking tree and sighed. He hadn't wanted it, hadn't picked it, but this was his spot for the night.
Billy looked downward. He could scramble to the right and descend into the canyon where the ridges and creek supposedly met. It seemed quiet down there. He couldn't believe he'd just climbed from there. His pants were freezing. 'I'm lost,' he thought. 'Before I didn't know the meaning of the word 'lost,' but now the word is a hammer in my head.'
Billy pictured all the other scouts standing shivering on the landing somewhere way above him. They'd be talking about where to go to find him, if they even missed him at all. Wasn't there some kind of roll call last year after that hike? He hadn't paid attention. That's what his problem had been this time; he was in this jam because he hadn't paid attention. A song he'd heard somewhere, probably on his father's radio on the way to fishing. 'If you don't give me shelter, oh, I'm going to fade away.' Billy almost started crying as he thought of his father. He looked at his watch, straining to read the time. 'I'm going to survive,' he thought, 'even if it kills me.'
Billy heard a lot of noises that night as he shivered, but the worst was that of the cruel freezing wind. He battled against it as if he were at war with nature. But he didn't move from that tree. That's where he'd decided to make his stand. All night long he clutched the tree and the log next to him, curling up into a ball. 'Is there anything,' he thought, 'that dad would've told me I should have done?' But of course, his father would've told him not to get disconnected from the group. Billy shivered. 'I've underestimated the cold,' he thought. 'If morning doesn't come soon then I'm going to die.'
He tried not to think about the negatives. Still he wondered if it would be painful to freeze to death.' How cold was it anyway? It was certainly close to freezing outside his little fort. The ground was cold and wet around him. 'Perhaps if I pull some of this dried slash over me I can shut out the cold wind.'
Billy tried to pull the slash down, but it seemed to clump together so it weighed too much to pull. 'O.k.,' he thought, 'if I can't get the slash to come to me, then I'll go to it.' He pulled himself deeper into the pile and hugged tight to the dirt.
Billy vowed to cling to the frozen wood as if it were a life raft. It seemed his body would shiver itself to death. But dawn brought the sun, first on the hump that ran up the mountain to his left, then into the shadows of the crevice. The great divide; he'd survived a wet miserable night. Morning, to Billy, had never felt so warm, the sun shining down on him in its brightest smile. After a night like that, he was glad just to be alive. But that gratitude to a higher power soon settled down to gratitude to his self for thinking his way through the situation.
'Surely, when Mr. Jergins sees I've managed to survive all night in the forest, he'll think I'm the brightest in the pack.' This truth brought a smile to his face, and he stretched out his arms, looking down at the base of the mountain where the crevice and the creek and the broad hump of the mountain met to jump in several courageous leaps to the valley. 'Been to the valley, didn't die,' he sang to himself. 'Been to the valley, didn't die. Still don't know the reason why. Been a long day and one mighty long night. I've been to the valley and here is I.' He was hungry.
Down where the shadows met, deep down in the basin, if you followed the creeks, surely you'd find a pond or even a lake. Billy took his knife out and started sharpening a stick. He'd survived one night in the elements; now he'd make himself a spear, catch himself a fish to eat. Boy Scouts did have fun after all.
Piles of unburned slash above Billy's head blocked his progress. Old rotten stumps; their roots felt slippery as he crawled up past them. Wet tufts of green grass-covered over the dead trail as if following it themselves. Billy suddenly realized, as far as seeing anything above him, he was lost. He could follow the creek back down, but it would only get him further from the truck, though he might be found tomorrow.
Billy looked up at the steep hill, frightened. 'I'm not staying here the night,' he thought. Courage came. He started forward again. His strong toes dug into the thick dirt of the mountain. 'I'm going to make it up this time,' he thought. But all he managed to do was slip and slide. And after five or ten minutes he crashed to the twig covered ground.
Billy lay panting, tied up in slash. 'Yeah, I'm lost.' The sticks directly above his head looked like the interwoven branches of trees. He was scared, more scared than he'd ever been in his life in the quiet streets of the city. His hands trembled as he tried to decide what to do. He decided to find the trail again. Several attempts at scaling the mountain led to an all-consuming rock-face, a patch of wood too thick to see, He buried himself in a valley next to a strong-looking tree and sighed. He hadn't wanted it, hadn't picked it, but this was his spot for the night.
Billy looked downward. He could scramble to the right and descend into the canyon where the ridges and creek supposedly met. It seemed quiet down there. He couldn't believe he'd just climbed from there. His pants were freezing. 'I'm lost,' he thought. 'Before I didn't know the meaning of the word 'lost,' but now the word is a hammer in my head.'
Billy pictured all the other scouts standing shivering on the landing somewhere way above him. They'd be talking about where to go to find him, if they even missed him at all. Wasn't there some kind of roll call last year after that hike? He hadn't paid attention. That's what his problem had been this time; he was in this jam because he hadn't paid attention. A song he'd heard somewhere, probably on his father's radio on the way to fishing. 'If you don't give me shelter, oh, I'm going to fade away.' Billy almost started crying as he thought of his father. He looked at his watch, straining to read the time. 'I'm going to survive,' he thought, 'even if it kills me.'
Billy heard a lot of noises that night as he shivered, but the worst was that of the cruel freezing wind. He battled against it as if he were at war with nature. But he didn't move from that tree. That's where he'd decided to make his stand. All night long he clutched the tree and the log next to him, curling up into a ball. 'Is there anything,' he thought, 'that dad would've told me I should have done?' But of course, his father would've told him not to get disconnected from the group. Billy shivered. 'I've underestimated the cold,' he thought. 'If morning doesn't come soon then I'm going to die.'
He tried not to think about the negatives. Still he wondered if it would be painful to freeze to death.' How cold was it anyway? It was certainly close to freezing outside his little fort. The ground was cold and wet around him. 'Perhaps if I pull some of this dried slash over me I can shut out the cold wind.'
Billy tried to pull the slash down, but it seemed to clump together so it weighed too much to pull. 'O.k.,' he thought, 'if I can't get the slash to come to me, then I'll go to it.' He pulled himself deeper into the pile and hugged tight to the dirt.
Billy vowed to cling to the frozen wood as if it were a life raft. It seemed his body would shiver itself to death. But dawn brought the sun, first on the hump that ran up the mountain to his left, then into the shadows of the crevice. The great divide; he'd survived a wet miserable night. Morning, to Billy, had never felt so warm, the sun shining down on him in its brightest smile. After a night like that, he was glad just to be alive. But that gratitude to a higher power soon settled down to gratitude to his self for thinking his way through the situation.
'Surely, when Mr. Jergins sees I've managed to survive all night in the forest, he'll think I'm the brightest in the pack.' This truth brought a smile to his face, and he stretched out his arms, looking down at the base of the mountain where the crevice and the creek and the broad hump of the mountain met to jump in several courageous leaps to the valley. 'Been to the valley, didn't die,' he sang to himself. 'Been to the valley, didn't die. Still don't know the reason why. Been a long day and one mighty long night. I've been to the valley and here is I.' He was hungry.
Down where the shadows met, deep down in the basin, if you followed the creeks, surely you'd find a pond or even a lake. Billy took his knife out and started sharpening a stick. He'd survived one night in the elements; now he'd make himself a spear, catch himself a fish to eat. Boy Scouts did have fun after all.