When I woke up that morning, my head and neck ached; this turned out to be the least of my problems. With the dew-covered nettles of an evergreen tree suspended above me, sunlight sparkling off them, it took me some time to realize I had been using a log as a headrest. I found it comfortable, if one didn’t think too much about how unyielding it was, nor the ease with which I could get a splinter, and would’ve went back sleep were it not for the rustling in the cabin a few feet from me.
Groggy, I pulled myself up. Early as it was, I was freezing, though fortunate enough to be wearing jeans and a green T-shirt. I brushed off their new layer of sticks and dust slowly and patiently, trying to figure out how I’d gotten here. My guess was that my friend, who had a stupid, annoying sense of humor, had arrived in the night (a day later than promised). He had seen me sleeping in the cot and had decided to play a little prank. At least, that was where I remembered I had last been, and I had forgotten to bring any blankets with me, so of course I would be wearing my regular clothes. That was all my tired, foggy mind could come up with, and I was content with the explanation.
I stretched, pulling my shoulder in the process, and looked around. It was a lovely scene – made of imposing, thick trees towering up into the sky, partly blocking the view of deep purple mountains. A small creek trickled a short distance away, passing over smooth rocks. While I walked among the fallen nettles (treating it as a minefield; they were nasty), I tried to distract myself from a growing nervousness by focusing on the smell of pine and the distant cries of birds. Soothed by the beams of light shooting through the trees, I found and walked along the dusty path leading from the small wooden outhouse to an ordinary-looking log cabin.
The shuffling noise continued as I approached the place. On the outside, everything about the cabin appeared normal – suspended on posts, composed of huge logs, a small chimney poking out from the top, a porch with scratch marks on the steps…ah. Now wary, I took a cautious step onto the stairs, grabbing onto the battered railing as I stared down at the marks. After taking a small leap, as one of those steps had been crushed by great force, I was in front of the building. The door was unharmed, though slightly ajar. Also, it was almost off its hinges, as though somebody had tried to open or close it quickly. As awakened memories of what happened last night started to filter back into my mind, I took one last look at the rest of the space (including the porch swing, where I had spent the previous sunset eating a bag of potato chips) and cautiously pushed open the door.
Beyond the massive furry creature trying to push its way out of the spare closet, the inside was a mess. Boxes had been thrown about and broken, contents spilled out onto the floor. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw my camping gear torn up and scattered by my bed, where something heavy had rested. My books, in another corner, were untouched, but the same could not be said for the food that I had brought with me. A few drained, crushed soda bottles and emptied bags of chips surrounded the closet, where a small tub of ice cream now rolled out. As I recall the incident, a strange moral comes to mind: and that was when I realized why people don't put ice cream in the closet.
I was tempted to start screaming, but whatever was stuck stopped moving and growled. The entire cabin shook as my heart somersaulted and collided with my stomach. Clutching my chest, I finally collected what was left of my courage and tip-toed across the cabin. The bear, as I now determined, was truly and utterly trapped, and had perhaps been stuck overnight. As such, it was simple enough for me to grab the box of books, snatch the neighboring music player, and beat a hasty retreat from the room. Admittedly, after stumbling across the nettles again, I did have to return to grab a pair of shoes and clumsily put them on, which thoroughly ruined my momentum.
Still, in a short time, I was happily sprinting down the dirt path leading from the mountain cabin towards the country road where I had parked my car. Actually, I was laughing at the absurdity of the situation, or as much as a man can while running for his life and clutching a box close to his chest. Amusingly, it took the trauma of seeing the bear for the second time to reawaken my memories of the first time. The door to the cabin didn’t have a lock, so it had been easy for bear, in the middle of the night, to smell the food scattered inside and barge in. I had woken up to see the intruder, then panicked and surprised it by shooting past it and slamming the door. When I had retreated to a safe distance, I had waited to see if it would come out again, but soon determined it was trapped in there. Afraid to return to my room and losing my adrenaline, I had decided to sleep where convenient, letting dreams drown out the memories of that night. If it weren’t for my return visit, I would’ve succeeded.
I ran between imposing stone cliffs and the wide, green valley shown in charming pieces between the trees. There was something about that contradiction between the beauty of the dawn and the horrid inside of the cabin; my laziness in the past day and my activity now; and my fear interspersed by a moment of courage that made it all the funnier. The landscape was glorious to breathe and run in, even if I was covered in sweat, my muscles ached, and adrenaline burned through my body. Fortunately, by the time I went down the gracefully sloped hill towards the gray pavement of the road, I had slowed from a sprint to a mere jog, and was sporting a less-than-sane smile as I stopped by a red sedan. From what I could tell by the waning sound of the engine, it had parked just moments ago.
The person inside rolled down the window. “Hey, sorry I’m late, but – uh…what’s up with you?” my friend looked with concern at my shaking, madly grinning figure.
“You’ve got to see something,” I said, after setting down the box and sitting on the ground, propping my palms onto the earth to hold myself up as I descended into a coughing fit. “I bet you’ll love it.”
He raised an eyebrow, but opened the car door and stepped out. In a minute, my knees finally stopped shaking, allowing me to hand the box over to him. Accepting it, he placed it within the car, and we were soon walking back the way I had come. As I reasoned, why not let him join in on the surprise, if only to cap off this highlight of my morning and the summer itself? That put me at ease.
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