It was a dark and stormy night... Well, not really. It was first thing in the morning on July 3, 2015. I was standing by a medium sized board with maps of the trails that led down the Grand Canyon. My parents were carefully studying the board to decide which trail to take. I was chasing my brother around a small metal pole that was cemented into the concrete.
“Joe! Sarah! Come on.” My mom shouted over her shoulder. We walked over to the board where my dad told us we would be taking the Bright Angel Trail. We filled our water bottles and walked down the concrete path towards the trailhead. We decided to stop at a restroom before we hiked, so we picked a bench near the restrooms to meet at. My mom and I were the first ones back, so I sat on
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It’s getting later and we don’t want to be caught out here in the heat”. I reluctantly stood up and trudged up another switchback. My dad and I both sat down on a large flat rock and drank some water out of our filled-to-the-brim bottles. After a long swig of water, I stood up. My dad told me to pick a place to stop, so I picked a rock two switchbacks up. We hiked to the rock and sat down. A few rocks later, I caught my second wind. For those who don’t know, a second wind is when you are really tired and then suddenly...kablam! You can breathe and your legs don’t hurt as much. Anyways, we were about six or seven switchbacks away from the top of the Grand Canyon when I got my second wind. My dad however, did not get his second wind, so we walked at a steady, moderate pace. My dad and I helped each other get to the next switchback and to pick a resting place further away. On the way up the canyon, my dad and I met some people. The people we met were very kind and encouraged us by saying things such as ‘you’re almost there!’ and ‘you can do it!’. Some people said this as a passing remark as they continued up or down the canyon, but others stopped and chatted with us. I still remember these people because of their kindness and
It was our fifth day in the Philmont Scout Reservation in New Mexico, the halfway point of the trek. I as the Crew Leader was responsible for the other 11 members of the crew, including 4 adults. I was in charge, and amazingly the adults rarely tried to take over, although they would strongly advise me what to do in some situations. Phil, with the exception of me, the oldest scout and the Chaplain for the trip, was my second. Together we dealt with problems of making sure everyone carried the right amount of stuff in their pack to who had to cook and cleanup each day. The trip had gone well so far, no injuries, and the worst problem had been a faulty backpack. As I walked I thought about the upcoming campsite. Supposedly this one had running water from a solar powered pump—so had the last night’s site but the tank was too low to use for anything but cooking because the of how cloudy it had been of late. But today was bright and shinny, and hot, so I didn’t think there would be a problem.
I wonder if I should I start calling Las Vegas, Nevada home now. I’ve traveled back and forth from California to Las Vegas since I was a child. I can remember at the age of thirteen my family and I would take family weekend trips very often. By the age of seventeen I was forced to move to Vegas for 6 months right before my senior year of high school started. Since it was my last year of high school my parents decided to let me go back to California for the last three months and graduate with my friends. Since I wasn’t eighteen yet, I forced to go back to Las Vegas right the day after graduation.
The Hero’s Journey is a basic template utilized by writers everywhere. Joseph Campbell, an American scholar, analyzed an abundance of myths and literature and decided that almost all of them followed a template that has around twelve steps. He would call these steps the Hero’s Journey. The steps to the Hero’s Journey are a hero is born into ordinary circumstances, call to adventure/action, refusal of call, a push to go on the journey, aid by mentor, a crossing of the threshold, the hero is tested, defeat of a villain, possible prize, hero goes home. The Hero’s Journey is more or less the same journey every time. It is a circular pattern used in stories or myths.
It was the day of April 13, 2000. I woke up at exactly 12 o’clock because my boyfriend was to pick me up at 1 like we planned the night before. The day looked quite nice, but I was in a fowl mood. I got into a car accident the night before and had a huge argument with my parents about the car. I finally dragged myself into the shower and got ready in half an hour. Then I went downstairs, sat on my couch, and repeatedly told myself the day would hopefully turn out better than last night. At around 1:15, my boyfriend came to pick me up. We took the 5 freeway to the 57 since it was the only way I knew how to get there. As we approached the 134 freeway, my girlfriend veered to the right, taking the 210 which was wrong way and got us lost. So, we exited the freeway and got back on the right track. Then finally, before long, we reached Norton Simon.
I can remember everything from that day and still think of it often. The first area we went to after entering the park was a small clearing about a mile from the entrance. It was situated at the base of two mountains. When we arrived a small stream that was flowing down from the mountains, and hiking trails along with an information center. We ventured out on one of the shorter trails, it was beautiful along the trail as it snaked in and out of the trees on the way to the top of a mountain. Small animals such as mice and chipmunks were everywhere. The trail was about a mile long but the incline was steep and going up was difficult and slow.
It happened around the time families are home sitting around the table together, laughing together, making memories together in the warmth and comfort of their own home. This is something my family would be doing at home too, but on this evening we decided to go out to eat, so Sizzlers it was! As we sat there stuffing our faces I was thinking about how much food we consume, how much food we waste, just how much of everything we had. It was in that moment when I got the memory of a mission trip I went on a couple years ago...
It was probably around 7 in the morning and the sun wasn’t rising just yet. The first part of the hike consisted of dry dirt,
My life intersects with Into The Wild because I never had a good relationship with my mom or stepfather Dan who was 21 years older than my mother. So I “escaped” to Columbia much like Chris did from his own reality. Dan would drink every day; you would rarely see him without a drink in his hand. His drink of choice would be either whiskey or beer depending on what he could afford. You could always tell when he was smashed and when he was I was the person he wanted to tear down with his words the most. I remember one night after my grandma just had surgery and she was staying with us my mom asked me to cook. I told her I would. I then went outside to check what I was grilling and I knew Dan was out there intoxicated.
“Hey kids come on get in!” My dad yelled across the parking lot. Reilly, Olivia and I were going camping with our dads just for the weekend. We got in the car and began our 2 hour drive to Hocking Hills. It was a boring drive, and we were cramped in the back with all of the camping gear, tents, food, clothes, bedding. Eventually we got to the campground and set up our tents. It was a nice cozy little area. We had woods all around us except in front of us where the car was. Reilly, Olivia and my tent was in the middle of our dads’ tents. After we had everything set up we did some exploring in the woods. We didn’t know what secrets it held.
Halfway into the hike, I was feeling fine. I pulled out my peanut butter granola bar because I was feeling a bit peckish. Nikki gave me a thumbs up. I thought the granola bar would help with my energy but I was wrong. I started to feel sluggish. Nikki started to notice. “Drink some more water,” she urged. I had already drank about 2 liters. I saw a precipitous, steep hill ahead. We ascended all the way up non stop. I couldn't take it. I broke down. I cried because of my weakness. I cried because I was an outcast. I cried because I knew that was the only way for me to get some relief. I did it in front of everyone and the guides tried to comfort but I couldn't help to think that they all probably thought I was a weakling. But I didn't
I walked through the woods not knowing how amazing and crazy this afternoon would be. But I could tell something wasn’t right. The way the trees moved the way the rocks were positioned. Something just wasn’t right.
The weight of the car pressed down on the bottom half of my body with massive force. It did not hurt simply because adrenaline pumped through me. All I could feel was the weight of the car’s hood pushing my body farther and farther into the ground. My lungs felt clamped shut and air would neither enter nor escape them. My mind was buzzing. What had just happened? In the distance, on that demonic road, I saw cars driving by completely unaware of what happened and how I felt. I tried to yell but my voice was unheard. All I could do was wait. Wait for someone to help me or wait to die.
How would I feel I someone I loved died? It is not a question that most people ask themselves frequently, but it is one that often comes up when they read or hear about a notable person that has passed or was killed, or even just a news story about a woman who lost her son. I had the unfortunate experience of discovering what that felt like firsthand.
It was in July, and we wanted to go camping. I asked my dad if we could go up to our family's cabin in Elk Springs, which is near Montrose. He agreed, so Chase, Tyler and I, all sixteen years old, packed our stuff and were ready to go camping. With excitement, we jumped into Chase's truck, and took off to the woods.
I am by myself wearing my blue jeans and an old flannel shirt. It is cool outside but I decided to leave my gloves at home, feeling comfortable with my warm shirt and my sturdy boots.