Big Hike

​As a 16-year-old junior counselor I’m allowed one day off every two weeks. I want to leave
camp but the only place I can think to go is my parents’ bungalow north of Peekskill. My mother
offers to pick me up but I want to hike there. I don’t know the mileage—maybe ten miles from
camp. I prefer not to go alone so I ask Ellen, also a junior counselor, if she wants to go with me.
She enthusiastically agrees. We pack food from the kitchen, fill our canteens, and dress for
hiking.

​We set off on a cool summer morning, walking on dirt roads with little traffic. She stops to take a
pebble out of her sneakers and asks how much longer until we get to the Bear Mountain Bridge. I
have no idea. “Not far,” I say, but how far is not far?
We hike for what feels like a long time before we cross the bridge that spans the Hudson River.
Ellen keeps asking, “How much further?” I don’t know. I’ve only done the trip by car and never
asked the mileage. It’s getting warmer. We drink the last of our water, eat the last of our food.
After hiking for a while, she sits down, showing her frustration. “I’m not taking another step
until you tell me how much longer it is to your parents’ place.” I know she’s annoyed and
exhausted. I’m tired too, but it was my idea so I have to find a way for us to keep going. At least
I didn’t tell my mother what time to expect us.
“Let’s hike a little more,” I tell her. I think I know where we can find blueberry bushes.”
“You think?” she snarls.
“Okay, I know,” I tell her, but I really don’t. She gets up and follows me, mumbling to herself. I
feel like telling her she wanted to come, but what good would that do? Fortunately, she gets up,
follows me, and I find the blueberry bushes, as full with ripe berries as I hoped. We eat until
neither of us can eat any more, laughing at our purple mouths.
She lies on the soft earth and falls asleep. Now what? I think we have about four more miles but
who knows? Would telling her help? I let her sleep while I search for a spring I sort of remember
finding when my mother and I picked blueberries. I don’t want to go too far from her and I don’t
want her to wake up and find me gone. I take our canteens and leave my jacket so she’ll know
I’m coming back. I walk toward where I hope I’ll find water.
The spring is farther than I remember but at least I find it. I fill our canteens and hurry back.
She’s awake and furious. “How could you leave me?” She goes on and on about what could have
happened.
I feel like telling her to shut up. Nothing happened. All I say is, “I found a spring and filled our
canteens.” She takes a drink, appreciating the cool, delicious water.
It’s really stupid how much I want to do the whole hike. She has a right to be upset since she
didn’t know how far or how hard it would be. I decide to be honest. “I don’t actually know how

much further it is but I think we’re not more than a mile or so from the Old Albany Post Road. It
goes past my parents’ place so if a car passes us, we can hitch a ride.”
“You really want to hike the whole way, don’t you?” I nod. “Did you know how long the hike
would be?” I shake my head, feeling a little ashamed I didn’t know and didn’t care. She takes
another drink of water. “This is the best water I’ve ever tasted.” I grin. At least I’ve done one
thing right. “And I’ve never eaten so many scrumptious blueberries.” I’m feeling a little better.
“Especially off bushes.” I’m feeling even better.
She gets up and brushes herself off. “I’ve never hiked so far. How many more miles do you think
we have before getting to your parents’ place?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe two or three . . .”
“Let’s go for it. No one will believe I hiked so far for no reason other than you asked if I’d come
with you.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yup.” She takes another drink of water and we start to walk.
When we arrive, my mother is on the porch, setting the table. Even from a distance the smell is
mouthwatering. Enough for us to rush to the cottage. Enough for us to enjoy sitting down, shoes
and socks off, drinking cold cider, eating warm apple cake. Enough for us to feel great about our
feat.
The next morning my mother drives us back to camp. Ellen boasts about our adventure. Me, I’m
just happy to have done it.

What adventure do you best remember? How did it turn out?