Mr. Fox: [in a cellar with many of the other animal characters] Alright, let's start planning. Who knows shorthand?
[Linda raises her hand]
Mr. Fox: Great! Linda! Lutra Lutra - you got some dry paper?
[she holds up some paper]
Mr. Fox: Here we go. Mole! Talpa Europea! What d'you got?
Mole: I can see in the dark.
Mr. Fox: That's incredible! We can use that! Linda?
Linda Otter: Got it.
Mr. Fox: Rabbit! Oryctolagus Cuniculus!
Rabbit: I'm fast.
Mr. Fox: You bet you are. Linda?
Linda Otter: Got it.
Mr. Fox: Beaver! Castor Fiber!
Beaver: I can chew through wood.
Mr. Fox: Amazing! Linda!
Linda Otter: Got it.
Mr. Fox: Badger! Meles Meles!
Badger: Demolitions expert.
Mr. Fox: What? Since when?
- Fantastic Mr. Fox
The bitter cold was alive, the wind wild and biting at my exposed face. Tears welling up and crusting around my eyes. When was the Trail going to lead me OFF this forsaken ridge?
It took me two hours to pack up and roll out of camp in the morning on account of the unpleasant cold, and since then I had been following the familiar white blazes along an exposed ridge line above Duncannon and the Susquehanna River.
Fifteen miles to get to a warm room and soft bed at the Doyle Hotel, a famous stopover for thru-hikers. I didn't know if I was going to make it. I don't mean to sound melodramatic, but... it was just so cold.
Frustration kept getting the better of me as the trail snaked up and down the snowy, rock-littered ridge. I could see the Susquehanna and the bridge I needed to cross directly below me, yet the trail continued to climb and lead me further and further away! Is this real life? You're going the wrong way! The bridge is DOWN and BACK that way! Why am I still going flippin' UP?!
Oh, I was mad.
A typical kind of madness you're bound to encounter while thru-hiking. The Trail often plays cruel, bewildering tricks on you to test your endurance. I fell flat on my back six times in two hours. The snow and rocky terrain were extremely slick on my sore feet.
Then I saw it.
An orange flash darted out just in front of me from behind a rock. I froze in my tracks as it scrambled up to a higher perch above me. And for a brilliant five seconds, a scrawny red fox stopped and stared into my soul.
He disappeared in an instant.
Like the bear I had encountered a couple weeks back, these are the moments that make it all worthwhile.
Needless to say, I had a certain song stuck in my head as I continued my descent to the frozen river below.
I love everything about this blog entry!!
ReplyDeleteHey let me know when you get to va
ReplyDeletePlease stay in that hotel where it's warm for awhile. Your journal gives me a glimpse of what it is I worry about and then I know it doesn't touch on it all. Hey, seeing that red fox was trip. It was't a "trip" was it? Ha. Love you Micah. This Auntie loves you much.
ReplyDeleteSeeing the fox must have been special, indeed. While leaving my office today, I saw a squirrel perched in a leaf-less winter bush, munching on what appeared to be the end of an apple core. I just had to stop and watch him for a little while from the sidewalk, where I nearly could have reached out to touch him (well, if it had been a Chipper sort of squirrel).
ReplyDeleteThat icy river in motion reminds me of a kaleidoscope shifting and also prompted the thought, "Not a good day to play Pooh sticks."
Love you!
January 23, 2020. Hindsight is 20-20. How do you feel today about this journey? Seeing the fox, even if just for a brief moment, was a gift. Dad and I felt like that when we briefly saw the red foxes on Prince Edward Island.
ReplyDelete