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A week after the morning when Kathy had come pounding on my door, drug me to the Agnes Gorge trailhead, marched me through the woods, which flared up excruciating flashbacks, to the precipice where we found Olivia teetering over a terrifying drop, Kathy decided it was up to the two of us to keep an eye on Olivia. That included keeping Olivia occupied. She came up with the idea of the three of us going on a hike together. Not an easy hike, like Agnes Gorge, but a challenging hike. Kathy described a place called McGregor Mountain. The hike was seven miles with an elevation gain of seven thousand feet, over two thousand meters—a relentless and steep hike.
The morning of the hike, I got up before five, showered and dressed. Hiking shorts, wool socks—directions from Kathy—a T-shirt, a cotton, button-up, long-sleeved shirt to cut the sun or wind. Proper hiking attire to make me look like I knew what I was doing. Which I did not. My natural habitat was all things water—rivers, lakes, ocean. Not mountain trails climbing steeply through forest to what I understood was a rocky, hostile summit. Still, if Kathy and Olivia did this all the time, it was sure to be a breeze.
I filled a daypack with a canteen of water, a nice lunch of peanut butter sandwich from the kitchen, nuts, and an apple. I laced up my hiking boots—this would be a great chance to break them in, as I’d only used them once, on the Agnes Gorge hike.
Kathy and Olivia waited for me in front of the office at 5:30, the sun already making its climb into the sky. Kathy looked me up and down with a slight, wry smile. “Come on then.”
Olivia sat behind the wheel of a small red vehicle. Kathy climbed in the passenger seat and looked up at me with innocent eyes. There were no other seats, only a bed in back, like in a pickup truck. Two packs were stuffed in the corner.
“Shotgun?” I said weakly.
“Too late, my man,” Kathy said. “Got that one covered already.”
“What is this little wagon?” Doubt about this whole trip wormed its way inside me.
Olivia glanced over her shoulder at me with an expression of infinite patience. “This little wagon is a Kawasaki Mule with a 454cc engine, independent suspension at the front and rear, and a locking rear differential. Four-wheel drive. It’s a workhorse that we use around here, and we need it to go where we’re about to go. Don’t worry, it’s not a long trip.”
“Where do I sit?”
Both women looked at the back of the contraption.
I hesitated. This felt demeaning, being made to sit in the back of this little wagon. It reminded me of my military service in Croatia, jammed in the back of a truck with a bunch of men, bouncing along bumpy roads in the mountains during winter, doing what seemed to be pointless drills. That memory soured the moment, so I pushed it away, threw my pack in the back with the others and climbed in. I stacked the packs up against the cab and leaned against them, folding myself up, arms wrapped around my knees.
Kathy patted me on the shoulder. “You’re a good sport, Luka.”
The engine roared to life. Olivia let it idle for a couple of minutes then put it in gear and took off. After about five minutes, I was freezing my ass off. Olivia and Kathy both wore down coats. There was no windshield on the Kawasaki, and although it was June, the morning temperatures were in the forties, and we were going at least twenty-five miles an hour.
“It’s freezing out here,” I shouted over the roar of the engine and folded my arms close to my body, trying to generate a little heat. “Why didn’t you tell me to wear a coat?” I sounded peevish but couldn’t help myself.
Olivia briefly glanced my direction then back to the road. “Sorry.”
Lame apology. “A friend would have said something,” I said between chattering teeth to the back of her head.
Olivia and Kathy glanced at one another. “You’re right, Luka,” Kathy shouted back. “We should have made sure you brought a coat.”
The dirt road narrowed and dropped off steeply to the river far below. The wisdom of having a compact four-wheel-drive vehicle made sense. The road began to climb and twist, then we crossed over a narrow, wood bridge and continued up.
About twenty minutes later, Olivia pulled over into a wide spot and killed the engine. A weathered wooden sign nailed to a tree stump had etched into it, McGregor Mountain Trail Summit, 7 Mi. A small, dirt trail disappeared into a forest of pine and fir trees.
I climbed out on numb limbs and jumped up and down, trying to get the blood circulating again.
“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll warm up before you know it,” Kathy said sagely, and gave me a wink.
I put on my daypack.
Kathy pulled a canteen out of the front seat and took a long swig. She handed it to me. “Better have a drink.”
I drank.
“You ready?” Olivia asked.
It dawned on me that I was at the mercy of these two women and didn’t know what to expect. But really, how hard could it be? “Ready,” I said with more bravado than I felt.
Olivia donned her pack and took off into the woods. Kathy followed and I trailed after them.
The embrace of the forest, the heady aroma of fir and pine, felt like some euphoric drug. The world turned lush green—ferns and broad-leaved shrubs and grass filled the spaces beneath the trees. Olivia took off at a good clip along a soft and welcoming trail of dirt and forest loam. The trail quickly began to climb. Like the beginning of a race where I hadn’t warmed up properly, the pace felt difficult and I struggled for breath, my legs still not quite recovered from their cramped, cold journey. It took a few minutes before my body snapped into race mode, and I settled into a comfortable pace.
After a bit, Olivia stopped abruptly, looked back with a finger to her lips, then to her ear. At first the only sound was the silent forest, but then, a faint rhythmic cooing. I inspected the trees around us, searching like they taught us in the army, for some small thing out of place, and there, blending in with a couple of aged fallen logs, stood a large bird.
“A grouse,” Olivia said in a stage whisper.
Of course. Grouse sometimes appeared in trees along riverbanks when I was kayaking, and it felt oddly comforting to see the little fellow. We trekked on past, and the grouse never budged. The trail grew steeper, and every step felt like climbing a long, endless stairway, up and up.
Olivia stopped again. “Take a look.” She pointed down at the trail in front of us, at a dark, lumpy pile.
“Bear scat?” I ventured.
“Exactly,” Olivia said.
“Very good, Luka.” Kathy chimed in.
I squatted down. “Looks pretty fresh.”
We all glanced around. “Best way to avoid a bear is never to surprise a bear,” Kathy said, and took off up the trail singing loudly. “I love to go a-wandering along a mountain track.”
Olivia joined in, following behind Kathy. “And as I go, I love to sing, my backpack on my back!”
The two of them made a ruckus that would scare any animal away, which was fortunate. I didn’t know the words to their song, but it worked. We never saw a bear, although we saw plenty of tracks and scat.
The trail climbed and wound through the forest, and we trudged on. Hours passed and the trees thinned out and the trail changed from soft and welcoming to rocky. Just a few rocks at first, and the higher we climbed, the rockier it became. The effort was strenuous but comfortable. Olivia bounded up the trail ahead like a gazelle, and I pressed on to keep up. My mind began to wander. Was I trying to impress her? It had been a long time since I cared about impressing a woman. That seemed a lifetime ago. What I had cared about in my youth was winning.
