The Hike From Hell, Part I

My husband does not like the gifts that I buy him, most of the time he “re-gifts” HIS present to one of our children. The gift then shows up like an unwanted boomerang under the tree the following year. Soon my husband will be celebrating the big Five-O, unlike me; he does not prefer big parties. When I think about possible birthday surprises that I might give him, I recall an adventure that he truly enjoyed.  

Steheiken, Washington is at the end of Lake Chelan which is fifty-five miles long, it is very remote area; naturally, there are bears and rattlesnakes, no toilets or showers and no phone. There are certain unspoken requirements that all outdoorsmen/hikers know about. Being a novice hiker, I am in the dark about these unspoken rules. I MUST practice expressions of awe and delight when I manage to reach the crest of a peak. I MUST be a good sport and talk about the flora and fauna instead of endlessly muttering under my breath.  I CANNOT ask for a ride on one of the pack horses even if I twist my ankle or run into a bees nest. These are the understood rules IF I deign to hike with Craig who insists that I am in no condition to huff up and down the mountains anyway.  He, Craig will find someone who is fit and ready to climb to the tallest peak. I notice the kids seem to have other plans when he pleads with them to accompany him. Having been dismissed by the children, he asks me again, I relent and consequently regret my rash decision.

Day One

I scrutinize my new hiking friends, none of whom I know, I see they are mostly older than I am and do not have color coordinated outfits. I am unrealistically comforted by this observation. I study the guides to see if they are carrying any sort of defibulators, finding none, I decide that this hike will not be nearly as bad I am anticipating.

Craig and I have our first argument when I cannot get my sandals hooked onto his backpack, he is very anxious to get going. We mutter and curse at one another at a discrete distance from our fellow hikers and he marches off. I find him waiting around the bend with a mulish look on his face. I kindly request that he adjust his petulant ways and we continue up the trail. As I am walking in front of Craig at a brisk pace, he tells me to monitor my speed. Perhaps he is correct, as we are only climbing our first hill. We stop for numerous rests, snacks and drinks; I feel rather smug as I am not at all tired. However, we have already gone through our many liters of water. We are forced to fill our jugs with stream water, reasoning that the contamination of a small water parasite will help us lose a few pounds.

Our friends the horse flies have found us, Craig shouts that we must move quickly. I am not surprised as all bugs love my spouse; fortunately my blood is not appealing to bugs or maybe they tell their fellow fliers that I am loaded with botox and therefore a death trap. Take one sip from me and the bugs stiffen and fall off, wrinkle free of course.  Either way, it is a lucky break for me. I climb a trail fit for a mountain goat and begin to seriously regret my decision about coming on the trip...again.

We are greeted at camp by our fellow hikers who are much too enthusiastic, this is highly irritating, there is not a complainer amongst them. I had hoped to commiserate with someone about the jagged rocks and steep cliffs but I can see that I will be rebuffed and perhaps voted off the hike.

The saving grace of the day is a delicious dinner, salmon with pesto accompanied by rice and a chocolate layer cake for dessert.

Day Two

I freeze my behind off in the night while tossing and turning in a vain attempt to keep warm. I make a mental note to zip our "fart sacks" together; Craig sheepishly admits he slept very well indeed. After breakfast we hike to a nearby lake and scare the fish when we dive into the lake in our birthday suits.

In the afternoon we locate our new friends in camp and discuss our different day hikes. There is a lot of talk about "good fishing holes".  Craig is a knowledgeable fisherman and begins to ruminate about his past fishing glories. Our new friends are interested in his fly fishing technique; Craig casts his line in a showy manner and immediately hooks the bush behind his head. Somehow Craig equates this with having his manhood questioned; he slinks off in shame in search of another peak. I contain my laughter and head back to mosquito flats where we very wisely set up our tent.

Day Three 

We have been on the death march forever; I am filthy and covered in bites. I have no mirror or comb as I have packed at the last minute hoping for a reprieve. As I stumble along the path I begin to think a book I read about two fellows who walked the Appalachian Trail. One man is an enthusiastic hiker and the other a reluctant walker who packs Twinkies as his sustenance. Thank goodness I did not have to pack my own food or we would really be in trouble.

I don’t care what anyone says, it is just not fun to walk forever. Craig stops every so often to contemplate life and extol over the scenery. I trudge onward as we begin a hike to yet another peak. I am forced to climb as there are other women (older women) attempting the same hike, definite peer pressure. I rebel ¾ of the way up the mountain due to the excessive shale which is dangerous and scary. After staking out my position on the mountain at what I imagine will be a short wait, the others hike the rest of the way up the mountain.  I wait approximately one and half  hours at which time I begin to imagine all sort of nasty things that might happen to the other hikers and my husband. It is impossible to wait and I begin the treacherous climb up only to meet them coming down. I silently curse them when I find they have all been talking on their cell phones as it is the one place where the reception is good.

We head back to camp where we thankfully eat our dinner and fall into an exhausted slumber. Craig studies his map for new and exciting excursions for the next day. Self counting the days remaining on hike and dreaming of a possible pony ride down the mountain.

Shawn Underwood, a native Washingtonian, writes humorous anecdotes for newspapers and magazines.   If you are a member of the media or would like to use a story, please email Shawn.

View a list of all Shawn's stories online.