The Trip

by Aaron Weisberg

I hurriedly walked away from my parents, closing the door behind me. Sitting on my bed, I turned to my Buck hunting knife. I’m finally going to put you to good use. No more cutting tape off packages, no more throwing you at my not so sticky wall. Your new and only function is to help me survive.

My parents had decided that they would allow me to go on a weeklong camping trip without them, and with my best friend, Joel, as long as we planned everything out beforehand. All it took was a few phone calls and we had places to stay. The first three nights were in Yosemite, and the next four nights were in Kings Canyon. Packing was exhausting. We needed flashlights, pots, pans, dish soap, bug repellent, clothes, butane tanks, flint, steel and much more..

As the last of our items were placed in our bags it was time to leave. I picked up Joel in my dad’s gray Mazda Minivan and cranked up The Grateful Dead to full blast. We were finally independent and on our own. I thought of the chores, the nagging, and the rules that I didn’t have to deal with anymore. Our only judge was Mother Nature.

As we continued on 580 East through Pacheco Pass, hundreds of windmills spun endlessly producing energy that fed the city. Won’t be needing those anymore. “How much longer do you think it’ll take?” I said.

“About three more hours,” Joel replied.

The valley we entered was all farmlands. Rows and rows and rows of various crops. Relaxed, with nothing to see, I let the words and riffs of Jerry Garcia flow through my thoughts.

“The Grateful Dead never gets old,” I said. “It’s like hearing your favorite song being improvised in a hundred different ways.”

Suddenly, my loosely hung thoughts turned into a knot. “Shit, we’re not supposed to be going to Stockton!”

“Fuck, you’re right,” Joel replied as he turned down the music.

I got off the freeway and made a U-turn. I called my dad and he told us that we hadn’t merged onto I-205 East. We quickly got back on track and continued listening to the simple chord progressions of the five-hour long, Live Dicks Picks Grateful Dead album.

Unfortunately, at around nine, we were nearing our campsite in the dark. I switched on my brights and sped around the windy curves. “Watch out!” Joel yelled. We felt and heard a loud bump as I ran over a dead, black and furry animal.

“Oops, what the hell was that?” I asked.

“I think it was a cat or a skunk, maybe a bear,” Joel replied.

We saw a lit up sign that read, “KOA: Kampgrounds of America.” There were at least thirty trailers parked side by side. We pulled up to our designated campsite and tried to be quiet as we figured out how to set up our tent. When we pulled out our greenish black tent from the trunk we each got a whiff of mildew.

“Aw weak. That smells like crap. Are we really sleeping in that?” I said.

“It’s all we have. The sun will hopefully kill the bacteria tomorrow,” Joel replied.

“All right. I hope we don’t die tonight from the fumes.”

We decided that we were going to try and arrive at our campsites before dark from then on out. I whipped out our stove and made some Annie’s White Cheddar Macaroni and Cheese while Joel went to the payphone to inform our parents that we were okay. We had made an agreement with our parents that one of us would call each night. After finishing our small but tasty dinner, we headed for bed.

Thankfully we were staying far enough away from Yosemite that there weren’t any bears. We decided we would wake up at eight so that we could get some good hiking in, and then we crashed.

As the loud ringing sound interrupted my REM sleep, I awoke, agitated. My right eye had swelled up and was bloodshot, and there was a rash on the right side of my body. Really, already?

Joel started to laugh at the grossness of my eye. “Well, time to go home,” I said sarcastically. Ignoring my irritation, we grilled up some bagels on the stove and wiped huckleberry jam and cream cheese on them and ate a side of “Tostito chips with a hint of lime.” We both got together our various facial creams and walked to the bathrooms. After brushing our teeth, we put on the last of our moisturizers, bought some ice for the cooler, and left for a beautiful day of hiking. This was Joel’s first time in Yosemite. The first time is the best.

The road was lined with Knobcone Pines and California Black Oak trees. Forests were scattered across mountains as far as the eye could see, but this was just a taste of the beauty. After about half an hour of driving through this wondrous landscape, a curve in the road turned us toward what John Muir described as the “Range of Light.” Massive granite cliffs streaked with glacier blue waterfalls surrounded us. In the distance, the top of Half Dome glistened with the white beams of the sun more beautifully than the holiest of statues. It is the grandest of nature’s cathedrals. Joel let out a deep “Wow.” Words could barely describe the effervescent feeling that was aroused in us when we entered the valley.

With the harmonization of Fleet Foxes adding to the natural high, we pulled into the Day Parking Lot. We grabbed our backpacks, took about four water bottles each, a big bag full of Trail Mix and were off to the village store. We purchased over-priced sandwiches and then walked over to the bus that took us to Vernal and Nevada Falls.

The trail was packed with foreign tourists, who snapped us back into the reality of society’s presence, but the hike was gorgeous. It was a six-mile loop that was mostly uphill, but it wasn’t very steep until we climbed next to the waterfalls on switch-back rocky stairs. The stairs became wet and slippery from waterfall spray as we went higher. It was a strain on my hamstrings but the breeze kept me cool and content. The moisture in the air massaged my swollen eye and reduced the redness. As we neared the top of Vernal Falls, there was a narrow path and rail along the edge of the cliff we had just climbed.

“I’m pooped,” I said, out of breath.

“Yeah man. Did you see that cute blonde girl a little ways back?” Joel said.

“Yeah dude. She was a total hottie,” I replied.

“I think she was Norwegian. We’ll talk to the next cute girl we see.”

After taking a quick water break we jogged to the Emerald Pool that was located right above the waterfall. We hopped from rock to rock until we found a spot where we could put our backpacks. Without hesitation, I took off my shoes and jumped in.

“Woooooo!” I yelled as I gasped for the air that had been knocked out of me by the ice cold water. “This is too cold,” I said as I got out of the water and sprawled myself over a rock. Joel was still taking off his clothes and decided that he would swim later.

“I’m starving. Let’s eat,” Joel said enthusiastically.

I pulled out my sandwich and ran my fingers around a warm Natural Light beer. “Want a beer?” I asked

“Yeah, sure man.”

As the low dosage of alcohol soaked into my bloodstream, I lay back trying to make sense of the fluffy clouds while interpreting the meaning of nature.

Why do I feel so much more at home here than I do in Berkeley? Is it because of the primitive genes in my body that have run through countless generations of ancestry that have lived in the wild, or is it just my personality…? After contemplating questions with no answers, we got up and headed to the top of Nevada falls.

We pulled up to our campground before dark and were pretty exhausted from the waterfall hike. “So. What’s on the menu for dinner tonight?” Joel asked.

“I believe we have a nice bowl of Annie’s Mac and Cheese served with a side of root beer,” I replied.

“That’s my favorite.”

After our meal, Joel brought out his guitar, and I brought out my harmonica, and we played various songs ranging from Bob Dylan to Steppenwolf. We finished our playing and let the insects take the encore while we got some rest.

The next morning we had to pack everything up because we were going to move to our new campsite that was closer to Yosemite. We said our goodbyes to our temporary home and moved on.

Because we had been so exhausted from the previous day, we mostly drove around Yosemite, checking out the various beautiful spots we could get to by car, such as Glacier Point. From seven thousand, two hundred and fourteen feet above sea level, it was a stunning view of the valley. When we found our new campsite after our self-guided tour, we met a British couple camping next to us. We all made a campfire and talked of their travels around America while we cooked up some tasty chicken flavored Top Ramen.

In the middle of our campfire, three buses full of French students pulled up to the campground. As the teenagers got off the bus, Joel and I noticed something peculiar.

“Dude, all those women are ridiculously fine,” I said.

“I know. How is it physically possible for that many cute teenagers to end up in our campsite?” Joel asked.

“ I don’t know, but we should talk to them.”

We left our dimly lit campfire and walked to the bathroom.

“ Hey, so where are you guys from?” I said casually.

“Je ne comprends pas,” one of them replied.

“Well that answers the question,” I said to Joel as we walked away disappointed.

We said our goodbyes to the British couple and drifted off to sleep knowing that we were to travel to Kings Canyon the next day.

We hiked Yosemite Falls in the morning and enjoyed the king snakes that crossed our path as we headed down the mountain. Red to yellow, kill a fellow. Red to black, good for Jack. The rhyme rang through my head as I remembered my dads words of wisdom, so that I could figure out if a snake with yellow, black, and red stripes was poisonous or not.

My sweaty body glowed pale as the suns rays ran its fingers through the trees onto me. As we neared my car we decided to take a swim before the long drive ahead. The Merced River sent shivers among every cell in my body. I scrubbed the dirt off my body and enjoyed the numb sensation that made the temperature of the water neutral. Once I finished my natural shower, I sat on the riverbed and listened to the gentle harmonies of the water working with and against each other.

The yell of a kid broke my meditation and I signaled to Joel for our departure. We slowly waded our way to the car and we each felt a sadness. We watched the trees blur into farmlands while exiting the park and said our farewell to the all-natural friend that had housed us and loved us as much as our parents do. It was time to move on to a new place; a place that we had neither been to, nor even seen. The wild lands of Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks.

Hours upon hours of boring landscape passed by in a flash. The flat landscape turned into mountains and the farmlands turned from small bush to massive Sequoia Trees. There were no other cars driving on the road and it was so deserted that we weren’t sure if we were going the right way.

“This is a lot different from Yosemite,” Joel said.

“We’re in the ghetto of wilderness.”

“Yeah man, we’re in the cuts.”

Finally, we pulled up to the National Parks Information site, paid the fee, and entered the forest. Twenty minutes into the drive, we drove into a smoky haze.

“Mmmmm,” I said. “Smells like forest fire.”

Unfortunately, the fire smoke became thick and created a layer in the atmosphere.

“I really hope we don’t have to sleep in this. It would be really bad for our lungs. Plus with the combined effects of the mildew, we would probably die.” Joel exclaimed.

After another half an hour of driving we dropped down a thousand feet in altitude and didn’t have to worry about the smoke anymore. We pulled up in front of the office of our campsite. “Civilization!” I yelled.

As we pulled up we noticed the young woman sitting at the window of the office with her an oversized ranger hat. She had a slender face and there was something about her that gave us the impression that she was a true nature person.

We walked up to her and showed her our camp number.

“ O, well ya’ll are located right over that hill and to the left. Have ya’ll ever camped in bear country before?”

“No, not in a while,” we exclaimed.

“Well there has been a lot o’ sightings lately and last night we spotted a mountain lion right next to your campsite.”

“Aw weak,” we said harmoniously.

“Just make sure to take all ya’ll food out of ye car and put it into the bear locker.”

“All right, thanks.” I said as we walked back to our car. “Dude, she is the finest Texan I’ve ever met.”

We pulled up to our site that was on a slight slant and debated over a bowl of Macaroni and Cheese or a bowl of Top Ramen.

The next day, as we were coming back from The General Sherman Tree, there was a family of three bears in our campground playing in the grass. We pulled over and watched the bears roll around and frolic with each other without a care in the world.

We woke up at about ten in the morning and decided that we would hang around camp all day, with the exception of getting gas and ice.

When pulled up to the gas station/ hotel, Joel and I were excited to buy some new food. He grabbed the bag of ice and put it next to the cash register while I looked around for food.

“Um, Aaron?” Joel called. “I only have twenty bucks left.”

“Aright let me check how much I have. Shit. I only have sixty left, and I haven’t paid the twenty bucks for gas today.” I replied.

“Fuck.”

We bought ice, gas and some crackers and decided that we had to eat what we had left. We had to keep getting ice every day to keep our food cold, and it would take at least thirty bucks to get back home, plus we needed more lunch food. We came to the conclusion that we would have to stay very tight with our money and would have to eat light lunches if any lunches at all. Maybe, just maybe, we could catch some food.

We pulled out our hunting knives and looked around our campsite for the perfect sticks to whittle. After finding the perfect stick, I ended up carving a crooked, eight-inch hand spear, and Joel turned a twig into what looked like a flute. Considering the fact that my spear was too blunt to draw blood, and Joel made a flute, we decided to tie our knives around long sticks. At sunrise, we were to hunt food for our lives.

We awoke to the sounds of birds and clear blue skies, the perfect day for hunting. I grabbed my homemade spear and put it in the car and set my mind in the zone. Joel swiftly shut the car door and we were off.

When we pulled up to the side of the creek I made sure to hide my key in my gas pipe because I didn’t want it to get wet. We strolled into the water awaiting the arrival of massive fish. Unfortunately, all that showed up were baby trout no bigger than our fingers. No matter. We were determined to catch our dinner. I saw one near my leg. This one’s mine. I swiftly threw my spear at least twenty miles an hour at the water and helplessly watched the fish maneuver away from it very easily.

Six hours later, after throwing boulders into schools of fish, throwing and jabbing our spears in the water hundreds of times, we hadn’t caught a thing.

“Well, I think we reached the tipping point,” I said.

“Yeah.”

While we drearily walked back down the river we saw a deer drinking from the river and eating grass.

“I wish I could do that,” Joel whispered.

“There is a bear over that hill!” yelled our Swedish neighbor. We ran up and saw two other Swedish people standing behind a tree. As we got closer, we witnessed a full-grown black bear devouring a dead deer. It looked straight at us and we couldn’t have been more than thirty or forty feet away. I could be eaten right now if that bear wanted to eat me. If it could outrun a deer, it could easily outrun me. I could make out the blood on the bears wet nose as is sat upright.

“YOU GUYS! BEHIND THE TREE! LEAVE, NOW!” yelled the park ranger from the other side of the hill. We all slowly walked backwards and left for our campsite. My heart thudded and I wondered if the bear was listening.

It was our final day and we had forty bucks left.

“I think we can make it home, and maybe even buy a lunch,” I said excitedly.

“Lets get Mexican.”

As we entered the city of Berkeley with out a dollar in our pockets, I got a headache. There were tons of bright lights and cars speeding by me. It seemed like everyone was honking their horns and I could barely make out the stars. I thought about what it would be like to live in a forest. I wake up to the sounds of birds chirping, not the sound of caffeinated people driving to work. I pictured myself taking intimate walks through endless amounts of trees, discovering the world around me, not taking the bus everyday with forgettable faces and quiet passengers. At the same time, I understood the amount of physical effort that would go into such a life and the isolation that would be involved with it. For the meantime, on my next camping trip, I would think more about a budget, a better diet, and I would build up the courage to talk to more women.