The Sacredness of Cairns

The heavens opened up.

Nearly exultant, now suddenly soaking, Leo paused with one foot stretched forward, resting upon an outcropping of granite. A freshly formed stream of water flowed underneath, making a bridge of his leg.

Ahead, the whole trail resemble a swamp. Water flooded the path, with interspersed stones of stepping size, and bare mud as likely to hold a foot, as to sink said foot three feet deep into muck. Along the side of the overflowing path were solid embankments, and off the trail thick grasses, colored vibrantly by the fresh fall of rain. Like a coat of gloss paint, the rain brought life to the world beyond the trail.

This paradise for eye and foot beckoned. No soaking of sock, no view of endless drudgery. In the comfort of the trees, aside the path, the feet of millions had not traveled, no ground had they rent and mauled. To avoid the solid trail of humanity, worn by ages and multitudes, traveling by causeway, packed together and always within reach of one another. Escape into a wilderness of explorable wonders, beautiful in its solitude and expanse.

Breathing in and out, exhaustion and anxiety as one, Leo hesitated and then stepped onto the mixture of lush grass and soggy pine needles. Scattering oak leaves to the left and right, he slogged along. The wet mess of the forest floor seemed to cling to his leather boots, wrapping tendrils around his laces. Undone, he sat upon a rock to retie them, only to discover socks as sodden as a towel tossed into a full bath. Along the laces, tiny burrs, pain inflicting unrepresentative of size, pricked fingers and thumb in what become a laborious endeavor to remove them.

Eventually with enemy defeated, laces were redone. The extended effort had developed into an prolonged rest, and Leo felt better for it. Yet time passed, and the summit stood somewhere ahead: unconquered. Trying to understand his situation, he made an attempt to predict the weather, but it came to nothing. Oddities he had never seen before strained his optic ability. The rain falling through the branches of a hemlock tree seemed to wink at him, while the wind that blew between a cluster of maples whispered his name. A patch of leaves as wet as any other swirled and danced a few feet above the ground before settling. His experienced brain could not perceive any reason for these phenomenon, labeled it extraneous data, and discarded it. With only the obvious examinations Leo discover no chance of reprieve in the weather.

Unsure and wet he checked the trail to his left. Had it improved? He saw no sign it had. He considered returning to it anyway. The value of challenge and all that. Or something else. But he didn't really think about it. Only an attempt to assuage whatever hovered beyond his sight.

Five minutes of hiking later, torn by branches and certain he had brushed against poison sumac, the trees parted and bare rock stretched to the summit. From behind the clouds, the sun strained, struggled, and suddenly flared, warming chilled skin and damp hair. Though a novice hiker is certain they see the peak, can judge the distance, and ascend in a sprint, an experienced wanderer knows many falses and fakes mark the climb. Trails lead into declivities and cols that disorient, deceive, and deprive one of the sense of direction.

And Leo couldn't find the trail. It wasn't worth the risk of ascending without it. Did he hear voices to the right? Voices meant people, other hikers. But he found none. While praising the sun, he cursed his foolishness. Losing his grip on his heated head, he plunged into the trees along the transformative edge of the altitudinal zone. Eventually, and with a steady effort of investigation, leg work, and pleading he located the trail half an hour eastward. All Leo's effort expended he trailed up the rock path, placing hand upon cairn after cairn with care.

With steady plodding, one, two, and three false peaks were crossed, and on a better day they might still have offered some consolation. But though the sun had broken through, hanging high above in an oasis of blue, the rest of the sky was clouded over.

At last Leo was certain of the final ascent. It was here, a hundred feet up. One step, two step, up, up, up. A shortcut on the east edge of the trail, no hesitation, not with time already lost. Nearly there, a step upon wet lichen, full like a sponge from the recent rain, and falling. Leo stretched out his arms, searching for the trail he had twice abandoned. He saw the nearest cairn, but it was just out reach. He tried to curl, to protect his vulnerabilities, but his whole body crashed against the rough and wet rock. Sprawling, blood in his eyes, in his mouth, and undoubtedly other scratches upon his body, he waited.

“Get up.”

It wasn't his voice, and with a moan he turned onto his side. With another he was on hands and knees. Drip. Drip. Red liquid fell from his face to the rock, forming spots that dispersed across the moist surface. He crawled until he knew he was at the top. There was no where to go, and no one to see.

“Look up.”

He could almost see something, when the flash of the sun passed through the rain just right. A figure of inestimable size. Smaller than a lady bug, or larger than the mountain, it didn't matter.

“There are rules,” said the wind, and the rain, and the sun.

“Of course.”

“You've forgotten them.”

“But I should've known them.”

“They aren't some harsh eye for an eye, or red in tooth and claw punishments.”

“Uh.”

“This is for show.”

“It's a good one, though the view could be better.”

“Don't attempt to conquer. Visit, relish, enjoy, but remember yourself.”

“Why?”

“Mistakes.”

“And now?”

“Remember the trail gods.”

Then they sat next to Leo, and he knew they were many. In silence they sat as the world turned. The rain relented, the clouds receded, and the view he had hoped for was unveiled. The beauty of the wooded valleys of his childhood, and the aches of his body caused him to shed a few rain drops of his own. But, the deepest pain he felt was the loss of solitude. Expanding out of the west edge of the mountain range was a deep gash of a coal mine. Twenty years ago the mountain has been pristine. The investors had found coal. And though it had yielded its dark gold, already it was exhausted. But the scar would last longer than the mine's life.

He realized he was alone. Or as alone as he could be in such a place, surrounded by nature.

Standing to descend he realized his face ached, but no longer bled. Touching it gently he discovered no cut or scrape, only a lingering tenderness.

With a tentative smile, Leo's eyes lingered on the vista spread before him. Aware of all the beauty within sight, he knew there were further travels upon which he would venture. Down river, up the mountain, and upon the trail where it existed.

With a refreshing sprightly step, but and a reassuring soreness he began to descend. Before he could go far, he met an old friend. It was not any mammal, bird, or amphibian, but the cairn he had failed to steady himself upon, having approached it as he did, from the wrong perspective. Vaguely he noticed a few splotches of red disfiguring the pristine granite at his feet, but of real concern was his friend. Careworn, a precariously piled collection of motley stones, it was in need of repair. Sitting for a few minutes Leo rebuilt the structure, and then stood, ready to go. But there was one last thing. To show his appreciation.

He stared intently at the shrine of the hiker. The all knowing, limb protecting, and life saving guide.

He bowed.