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Tales of Adventure pt4 before/after Tales of Adventure pt 4 "What Dreams May Come..." I moved down the trail at a good clip, the sun burst through the canopy of trees, and I still didn't know what the hell I was gonna' do when I got to the cliffside. But all these thoughts were brushed aside in a moment. I roused from my thoughts as I heard the break of waves upon the stony cliffs. Looking north I saw a break in the trees. I knew from the angle of the trail that it broke down to a beach at the turn in the trail, and then one must ascend. I eschewed the ascent and broke trail. Drawn to it like a moth to a burning light, I moved through the brush. I relished the solitude being able to plunge through the lush undergrowth and not worry about tree branches whipping into someone's face who was following me a bit close. Plus I could avoid a part of the hike I have never liked, Mosquito Beach. First, its the name. Mosquito Beach. Why the fuck would you want to go to a place called Mosquito Beach? And then to top it off, if there is anyone overnighting it around this part of the coast, they stay there. And are always ravenous to talk, usually about nothing. In the past, I hit this area towards the end of the hike, have some random empty conversations while deep in the throws of some ten mile drug orgy involving mushrooms or LSD, grass and whiskey, and had enormous trouble finding the goddam trail again. Not this time. This time I did the trail in reverse direction than I had in the past. I burst from the underbrush to see the azure blue of Lake Superior in all her cold majesty. Pristine and inviolate, even in her seeming quite repose she still hit the cliffside with thunderous noise, so much so that I could feel the earth beneath my feet vibrate. I inhaled the cool sea air, taking its clean beauty deep in my lungs. Refreshing. Embracing. I took some pictures and moved down the trail, a sense of elation moving me as the trail sloped still gently upwards. To my left periodically were short five foot trails to the cliff and natural "landings" where one could emerge from the trees, bask in the sun and see down the shoreline, see the cliffs in their resplendant beauty, marked by the passage of time and the enternal conflict between land and sea. I stepped out on a landing. The wind was cool as it greeted my face. I looked down, still not high enough yet, although a slip and fall would be fatal, if only from the bone chilling cold of the lake. In the distance, the coast veiwing tourboat roared through the water, its decks full of tourists taking the easy way to drinking in the breathtaking beauty, gulping it in and not being able to get enough in such a short time. It reminded me of being a child with my parents on one of their long assed family trips. I stood on the bow of that same boat as a small child and gazed up at the shore, noticing a trail along the cliffs. After a time, I noticed a band of guys hiking along the heights of the cliffs. I waved at them. Several waved back. One mooned the boat. I wanted feircely to be on that trail, and even as a small child I swore that someday I would hike that trail. [the first year I did the hike, high on grass and mushrooms, I mooned the boat] I stood on the "landing" as the sun beamed down and the cruiser approached. I took a picture of them as they took pictures of me. On the bow, a small child waved. I waved back, and several more returned my wave. It was a nice human interaction. I stood tall a few hundred feet above the boat as it split the azure seas. I realized the transposition that had taken place. Maybe that child would someday now hike the trail. I noticed dimly that its always enjoyable to make your dreams come true, over and over again. It does not diminish in time and repetition.
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