Wet Socks

A Hiking Memoir

It is the penultimate day of our summer vacation through Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Park. As I adjust the straps of my brand new, much-too-large camo hiking backpack, I hear murmuring from the other side of the cottage. Creeping through the dark, I press my face up against the rough oak of the sliding door. Uncle Craig’s voice emanates from inside the bathroom.

“Are we sure Riley can handle this? I know he hikes with John and Laura when they’re in North Carolina for the summer, but this is different…”

“Hmm yeah, I see what you’re saying, I’m not sure,” Aunt Margaret replies.

“You know what I mean? We’re talking over nine miles straight up a mountain and another nine back-”

“Not to mention the elevation… but let’s give it a shot, I think he’s pretty excited.”

“Okay, let’s go wake them up.”

Of course, I had already risen before the birds cooed their good mornings, before the sunlight breached the gaps in the Tetons, before Steve Inskeep’s voice on Morning Edition, and long before my eldest cousin, Sarah considered waking up.

The six of us – three cousins, an aunt and uncle, and myself – pile into the minivan, relishing in the lack of baggage and subsequent legroom. This has never been an issue for me, someone barely able to keep their head above water in the shallow end of a pool; but Uncle Craig’s long legs are thrilled. A $70 annual national park pass sways beneath the rear-view mirror. I don’t understand why we have to pay to explore nature.

Despite the enthralling nature that surrounds us, my mind keeps returning to Aunt Margaret and Uncle Craig’s discussion about me. No matter what happens today, I will prove them wrong.

Aunt Margaret maneuvers the minivan into a small gravel parking lot next to a large body of water. A scrawny dock gently floats in the wake of an incoming boat.

The puny ferry we board smells of diesel, a stark contrast to the sappy pine aroma I’ve grown so accustomed to. Mom says that diesel rots your brain, but I love the smell. The boat’s sage green hull is accentuated by a steel rail that encircles the passengers. A matching green tarp clings to a metal frame above the bow. Beneath the tarp and over the crackly intercom, the captain declares the obligatory safety jargon and moves on to more interesting tales…

“Last summer there was a bear attack on that very shore,” the bearded man recounts, vaguely gesturing toward the immense forest. “Hel- heck, last week, someone doused their kid in bear spray like it was insect repellent or something.”

Aunt Margaret turns to me and playfully widens her eyes. I’m still glad we brought bear spray.

The bearded man brings the vessel to a halt and skillfully tethers it to another dock, then ushers us off. He offers me a callused hand, but I don’t need his help. We cross over a trickling stream fed by mounds of melting snow and are swallowed by the lush backcountry. At the trailhead, a freshly painted sign reads “Lake Solitude.”

Rounding a bend less than a mile in, Uncle Craig jumps back, startled by the gentle giant grazing in a clearing in the thicket ahead. The moose, seemingly unbothered, stands seven feet tall, its antlers skimming the spruce branches overhead.

“What a perfect Kodak moment!” Aunt Margaret exclaims, the click of the shutter echoing through the forest.

The nimble trail continues through the brush, snaking between enormous evergreens, positioned precariously along the unstable cliff. Nearing a switchback, the gravel gives out beneath my boot and I topple to my knees. The right kneecap takes the brunt of the fall, battered in dirt and pebbles; a streak of red oozes down my leg.

Behind me, my cousins snicker at my apparent clumsiness. It’s okay though. They’ll see what I’m capable of soon enough.

Aunt Margaret helps stem the bleeding before offering me a hand. I thank her and politely decline. Instead, I grasp the juvenile trunk of a young sapling in my palm, hoisting myself up and sending a cascade of snow upon our backs. The icy mixture manages to evade my collar and runs down my back, sending exhilarating chills through my body and awaking my aching muscles.

As we press on through the mountains, the foliage becomes more and more sparse giving way to rocky outcrops and scrawny pines. Eventually, we reach a fork in the trail.

Any time I arrive at a branch in a road it makes me think of Dad. He always stops and says, “What do you do when you get to a fork in the road?” pausing dramatically before saying…

“You take it!”

He’s back in North Carolina with Mom, Anna Claire, and Buddy. I’m really starting to miss them.

“Hey guys, let’s take a sec and talk about our plan for the day,” Aunt Margaret interjects, breaking my train of thought.

“So, according to the mile markers we’ve gone over 7 miles. If we head to the right, it’ll loop back and take us home. Let’s do that… that sound good to everyone?

“Wait, wait, wait, no,” I protest. “Where does the left path go?”

“It takes you to a lake about two and a half miles further,” Aunt Margaret replies.

“Let’s do that! Pleaseeee?”

“Are you sure? That’ll make this hike about seven, 14…” Margaret scrunches up her face while calculating, “…19 miles in total. Are you guys sure about that?”

Everyone nods in unison. We press on.

As we reach the summit, my breathing steadies and the lake finally becomes visible. It shimmers brighter than fireflies on a summer night and Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Over nine miles to arrive here and another nine back down, but I cannot think of anything but the lake.

On the far side, a thin sheet of ice parallels the coast. Distant snow-capped mountains surround the body of water and sunlight glints off the chalky mixture. A lone pine grows along the shore between two large boulders, its roots disappearing into the gap. In the distance, a bird lets out a slight chirp, then all is silent bar the swirling wind.

Wading into the depths of the icy lake, I should be cold, especially with the breeze at this elevation. The water seeps into my shorts, my underwear, and my very core, and I can hear my cousins’ teeth chattering across the way. I am amazed that we don’t get hypothermia. And even more surprised that Aunt Margaret is allowing us to swim. I look down at my new bear claw necklace and imagine I slew a grizzly to earn the trophy. It innocently bobs up and down in the crystal-clear water. I know the leather cord won’t dry for hours, but I don’t care.

“Time for lunch, you guys!” Uncle Craig announces from the rocky shore.

I crawl onto a warm boulder and bask in the sun for a moment before Aunt Margaret insists that I try watermelon for the first time. The fruit is delightfully sweet as the juices run down the back of my throat.

At last, it is time to part ways with the beautiful lake. I attempt to dry my feet with my t-shirt, but I have no towel, and an impatient look is beginning to envelop Aunt Margaret’s face. Eventually, I give in to sliding on my socks. Typically, I hate having wet socks, but I barely notice during the descent of the mountain.

My cousin Noah begins to complain.

“Are we there yet? I’m tired.”

“Honey, we still have 7 miles to go, you’re just going to have to tough it out,” Aunt Margaret replies.

I have to turn away to contain my smug grin. No such complaining from me.

We pass the crossroads, the rocky outcrops, and the unstable cliffs. The vegetation returns and the snow becomes more and more sparse. We traverse the treacherous switchbacks and the trickling stream.

Nine and a half miles, a ferry ride, and a short drive later, we arrive back at the cottage. Mid-afternoon sunlight is beginning to stream in through the drapes. I untie my mud-caked hiking boots and leave them at the door, before peeling off my socks. The stained cotton clings to my feet, still damp, though I’m not sure if it’s from sweat or water- probably both. I’m going to have to start wearing something called deodorant soon; I thought that was just for old men.

Sarah emerges from the bathroom, a velvety pink blanket draped across her shoulders, eyes still bleary from a night of perpetual Facebook scrolling.

“Hey! You’re back early… did y’all not go on the hike?”

As I brush past her to take a much-needed shower, I can’t help but simply smile back.