The climb was wonderful.  The air was clean.  The sun was shining.  Birds
were singing.  Everything seemed so beautiful.  It was incredible.  Great to be
alive.
     I seems I had been climbing this mountain for years.  Even at the base,
when I had started, were scenes of great beauty.  There were fields of grass and
wildflowers.  Deer ambled through the woods.  Streams flowed along, some with a
gush, others ambling lazily.
     But up here in the high country was such incredible splendor that I walked
in awe.  I came across a crystal clear lake shimmering little jewels in the
sunlight.  A waterfall flowed over rocks with a roar, intricate patterns
spraying refreshing droplets.  An alpine field of lush green with streams
criscrossing in a meandering maze.  The hush of the still woods on a warm
afternoon.  Little animals scurrying, insects buzzing, butterfly wings flapping
in silent color.
     Then there were the views!  A break in the trees, or stand on the overhang
of a rock and I could see for miles.   The whole world seemed spread out below.
The woods, and rivers, and fields, and farms, and roads, and towns all laid out
in a clear picture of existence.  It all fit together so well.
     I circled around the mountain angling upwards.   With each break in the
trees was a view of the world below but in a different direction.  By continuing
to travel around, I reasoned that I would eventually see all there was to see if
only a piece at a time.  As my progress continued to rise I emerged above the
treeline.  The view below was clear, one direction blocked only by the mountain
itself.  Occaisional sheer rock faces kept me from continuing a perfect spiral
around in my upward path, but I still moved side to side to take in as much
direction in the view below as I could.  Then I looked up and saw the top.
     "Was that really heaven?"  It was definitely the summit.  There was nothing
above it.  It was glorious.  But there was no immediately apparent way to reach
it from where I was.  So I traveled around the side some more.  Now my attention
traveled back and forth from the superb view below to trying to catch more
glimpses of the top.  Usually the view upward was obscured by boulders, or an
overhang, or a small lone tree clinging to life in this gorgeous but bare
environment.  But more than once I caught another glimpse of the peak.  The
magnificance of it all created such an exquisite feeling in me that I climbed
upward faster with reckless abandon.
     Then I came upon the cliff face.  I studied it and noticed that it seemed
climbable.  There were sufficient footholds and handholds.   The top was
obscured by the cliff itself but the way definitely was up.  So gingerly I
stepped out, grabbed on and slowly continued my progress, my heart beating at
the thought that the peak was so near.  I was getting closer.  Soon I would poke
my head over the ledge.  After that it would be a simple matter of pulling
myself over.  I looked down.  A hawk glided past far below me yet far above the
rest of the world.  I drank in the view.  Then I slipped.


     As I tumbled and fell, I cried out in panic.  My arms flailed uselessly
trying to gain a hold and slow my rapidly increasing descent.  I smashed against
rocks, skin tore, bones broke, and still I fell.  I hit dirt and started to
slide.  Weak and in pain I could do nothing to stop or control my direction. 
There were rocks and trees on either side.  Hitting either would surely bring me
to an abrubt end.  I slid off and out from another rock face.  Down I flew. 
Then blackness.
     When I awoke I was face down in mud.  It was about 6 inches deep.  How I
managed to keep from suffocating I'll never know.  I was in pain.  Such
incredible agony that reverbrated through my entire being.  It was dark.  I was
soaking wet and cold and was unable to move.  I lapsed in and out of
consciousness.  Confusion and pain filled my thoughts.  I lay in that mud
forever it seemed.
     Finally (weeks?) I was able to drag myself up.  My limbs still ached but
they moved if stiffly and slowly.  My head spun and I fell sideways.  Splash.  I
staggered around dizzily wandering aimlessly.  Often I tripped and fell only to
get a fresh soaking and another coating of mud.  Blindly, without rational
thought or direction, I stumbled around.
     I slipped and slid my way continuously.  Things seemed hard.  Strength
seemed low.  A small hillside.  At least it was an upward direction (was it
not?)  Still the ground was wet, muddy and loose.  Stumbling and scrambling on
hands and feet I traveled.  I reached a small rise slipping up to the top only
to tumble right on over yet another cliff.  Once more to find myself face down
and broken in the mud.
     The bog stank.  And it was filled with small worms and biting insects. 
Sometimes it wasn't so muddy, more of a marsh at this point, but usually it
would then get deeper.  I must be deep in a valley.  Though I could tell day
from night the sun never directly shone here and it was always dim.  I was
totally lost.  Not the foggiest notion of where I was or which way to go.  So I
continued to wander hoping to find some way out.  Often as not my path was
circular bringing me back to a previous despair.  Sometimes I would find a patch
of land but it would be full of briars and brambles and turn out to be but a
small island in the marsh.  When I did finally find a larger stretch of ground,
the shoreline was packed with bushes.  I had to fight my way through thorns,
devils club, nettles and branches that scratched and resisted my every step.
     I had been wandering for months as I whacked my way through the scrub.  The
woods were still dark.  The undergrowth was still heavy and I was still totally
lost with no reference for direction.  I still couldn't think clearly though
wasn't quite so dizzy and confused as before.  When I started coming across
animal trails, flickers of hope dawned inside.  I would follow them for a ways
randomly choosing a direction.  Often I would lose the trail.  Often they would
lead back to a swamp.  Often they would dead end at a rock or a steep drop off
or an unpassable river.  Which way to go?
     Sure I had seen an overview of the land when I was at the top (was that
years ago?)  But there is a difference between the macro view and the micro
view.  I had seen how it had all fit together but not the individual trails, the
impassable spots, the little scenes of beauty and those of darkness.  I didn't
even know what valley I was in.  Surely, I couldn't have seen any detail of
these shadowed depths from above.
     Finally after following animal trails over and over, having hope of a
direction only to see it dashed, I came across some more substantial trails. 
These trails were small, of a type left by climbers and fishermen, but signs
that other humans had passed this way.  These too were hard to follow.  It was
easy to lose the trail in an area of heavy bushes or over hard ground.  Some
places the overgrowth had reclaimed long unused portions of trail, other places
were washed out or crumbled and rendered impassable.
     But I continued.  What else could I do?  The trails often seemed once again
as if they were only animal trails.  I still had to fight bushes.  I often waded
through swamps and mud.  I was stung by plants and insects alike.  I ached and
itched and shivered and felt generally miserable.  Often the trail would be lost
for days at at time before I could find a thread again.  But on I went and
eventually the trails grew bigger.  More substantial trails were much easier to
follow and signs that a number of people had been this way.  My hope increased.
I picked up speed.  Signs of recent use began to become apparent.  It seemed a
little brighter.  The woods were thinning.  And there ahead of me on the trail
was another person.  Someone not only to offer guidance but who would agree to
be a companion as I traveled.  I stepped out of the woods and into the light.


     My companion lived a simple hermetic life in a small shack at the edge of
the wilderness.  There were fields of grass and pleasant wooded areas.  A small
garden out back provided sufficient food.  It wasn't the sanitized "plastic"
life I had known before my climb but it was comfortable.  It was nice to sleep
on a dry mat with warm bedding rather than out in the cold and wet.  It was nice
to be able to clean myself and walk about without each step being a painful
unpleasant chore.  It was nice to eat regularly of tasty food rather than of
foul tasting insects and plants that often left me sick for hours.
     We kept up this life together with pleasant company and simple
conversation.  Sometimes I would ask about returning to the rest of the world. 
"Civilization, BAH!" would come the harsh reply.  Other people represented greed
and pain and hurt and selfishness and danger.
     Together we explored the surrounding area.  We climbed small hills and
mountains (though not the mountain I had climbed before).  These often had
pleasant views of the area.  There were also streams and wildflowers and little
ponds.  We would look in the water together and catch frogs only to let them go
again shortly.
     Sometimes we explored the valley I had crawled out of.  Though usually we
avoided going in very far.  Although there was much unpleasantness and despair
in that place there were also spots of quiet stillness and calm.  There were
unsuspected glimpses of beauty even in the dim light.  These were visible if you
entered the valley healthy and refreshed and weren't just wandering aimlessly
without much awareness and just the thought of getting out.
     But a few months of close companionship took its toll.  Sometimes we'd
bicker and get angry over inconsequential actions.  When we were out climbing,
we had the habit at difficult parts of passing a rope between us and helping
hold on while we scurried over a steep or loose spot.  As our annoyance with
each other grew, in our bitterness we would selfishly climb over hard spots
ourselves and watch the other try and keep up without offering a hand.  We still
brought the rope but only used it sporadically in extremely necessary moments or
rarely in a moment of the old friendship.
     One time we were out climbing a particularly steep and rocky hill.  We both
scrambled over a rock face with limited handholds and were having a hard time of
it.  We passed the rope between us for reassurance.  I started out across the
rock.  Did my companion simply not hold on for lack of caring?  Or was the rope
let go purposely?  Or was it my own clumbsiness that led me to fall?  A
combination of all three was most likely.  But fall I did.


     This time I was broken worse than the first.  I lay there unconscious for
who knows how long.  I don't know how I got there but had managed to crawl into
the shelter of a small cave.  It was dark and wet and cold and uncomfortable but
somehow it seemed like a shelter from any outside elements.  There were berries
at the entrance of the cave.  They were bland and unfullfilling and cramped the
stomach but they kept me alive.  I tried to start a fire for warmth but could
not manage so much as a spark.
     I stayed in that cave a long time.  It was an aweful existence but the
thought of venturing out into the dark bog outside was not encouraging.  But
inevitably it had to happen.  Once again I slipped and slid and fell in the mud.
Onward I forced my protesting limbs to travel.  The futility and hopelessness of
the situation overwhelmed me.  It seemed everytime that I stopped to rest that I
would not rise again.
     The delerious haze filled my vision.  The continuous feel of mud in my
clothes and on my face and in my mouth.  The aches of broken or strained bones
and muscles.  The scratches and bites and rashes and sores on my skin.  Knowing
that I would never climb the mountain as I had before there was the despair of
wondering what life would be even if I did make it out.
     But as I wandered, once again, the bog gave way to marsh, the marsh to
thick scrub, the scrub to animal trails, the animal trails to seldom traveled
human trails, and these to more traveled (but still wilderness) trails.
     I made it back to the base of the cliff I had fallen from.  I was feeling a
little better.  The plants and bushes and grubs in this area had tasted better
and felt a little more nourishing.  Still I ached throughout.  There was
occaisional confusion and lack of direction.  Hope for the future was limited. 
I made my way around the hill to the other side.  There was my old companion,
lying broken, who had apparently fallen on the way back down.