All the Dynamos Within - Part One

On cold, wet days I had a habit of trekking into the woods - because no one else did. I enjoyed the privacy. The quiet creaking of the old growth trees and the stillness of the moss cleaned the wretched thoughts in my head. It snowed softly, but the thick canopy above me blocked most of it. The forest floor growled with an intense green, save for open thickets of fern and mountain grass, which the snow had enveloped in white. A small creek dribbled nearby, appearing like a shiny scar curving through the undergrowth.

Air formed as short-lived clouds in front of my face and I stood quietly with my gloved thumbs in my pockets. I surveyed the area. Two mountains ascended on both sides of me, a sheer cliff on the left and a gentle grade on the right. The lush green gully in which I stood had not changed much from when I walked it as an adolescent.

I continued to walk, absentmindedly palming the underside of my backpack to make sure it had not miraculously fallen from my shoulders. The small pack had three days of survival gear even though the hike lasted only a day. I was halfway through, hugged by mountains.

When I came up over a rise in the terrain I nearly fell flat on my face, distracted by the sudden disappearance of the trail. I ignored the entanglement of tree roots at my feet and stumbled forward in disbelief. The trail simply ended.

"What the - where the hell did the trail go?" I said aloud.

A thicket of sword ferns swallowed the path. Quickly, I deduced there must have been a mudslide years ago, which had now been colonized by ferns. But that thought seemed short-lived because the rampant footfalls of other hikers would have produced, at the very least, a sliver of a trail. Regardless, I pressed on, convinced the trail would reappear at the far edge of the supposed "mudslide."

I walked 200 meters. Nothing. Just thick vegetation and no evidence of the trampled, muddy path that was supposed to be underneath it. I looked over my shoulder, studying where the thicket had started. The strange border taunted me, but I shrugged my shoulders and walked another 200 meters. Still nothing. My pant legs were wet from pushing through ferns when I arrived at the apex of another rise.

The calm of the forest faded and confusion set in. Eyes wide, I noticed below me a juncture at which the two mountains touched. I had hiked between these mountains probably fifty times and they were never joined at any point anywhere! No manner of mudslide, or even earthquake for that matter, could have pushed these mountains together within 20 years. Besides, one side of the path always had a moderate slope. The sudden appearance of a second cliff made my head spin. Having a moment of panic I thought I was lost for a brief moment - but I couldn't be lost with the trail not that far behind me.

I inspected the area and an awful heat rose in my chest when I realized the creek was missing. The creek was supposed to run the entire length of the hike. I definitely remembered that. Scratching my head, I swiftly backtracked through the fern to where the path ended. About 20 feet from the path I found the creek again and followed it in the direction of the hike.

The creek ended just like the trail. The water flowed into a bed of ferns and disappeared. My stomach churned and I began to sweat. And then my ears started to ring. I rubbed them with my gloved hands, still staring at the disappearing creek. When I moved my hands away it occurred to me the ringing was getting louder - and it sounded more like a tune.

I heard whistling! Someone was whistling . . .