Karen's Lament (Ode To A Bad Trip)

[beekay]

You must admit, it's started well,
No rain in sight that we can tell.
How eagerly we don our packs,
Ignoring any warning bell. . .

Whose idea was this, anyway?

With forty pounds upon our backs
(Each carries what another lacks)
We gaily step out on the trail
And note there are no other tracks. . .

Whose idea was this, anyway?

The morning sun shows thin and pale
across the cloud cloaked mountain vale.
We find the rhythm of our tread
As e'en this light begins to fail. . .

Whose idea was this, anyway?

With one behind and two ahead,
(The oldest by the youngest lead),
We hike down to the canyon floor
And stop for just a bite of bread. . .

Whose idea was this, anyway?

The sky ahead begins to lower,
The temperature drops even more.
O, could it be this trek is cursed
And that the rain's about to pour?

Whose idea was this, anyway?

A hiking rule that's best learned first:
A fast, straight trail, when needed worst,
Will never be the one you face
When all the clouds are soon to burst. . .

Whose idea was this, anyway?

It pours indeed, and on we pace
Though mud would root us to this place.
Our clothes and bodies wet and cold,
To Cibbets Flat we try to race. . .

Whose idea was this, anyway?

Certain we are growing mold,
Weary of adventure bold,
Down to Cibbets Flat we go
The youngest moving like the old. . .

Whose idea was this, anyway?

One fact we all freely allow:
We never will again be so
Completely grateful just to be
Inside a campground toilet....No!

Whose idea was this, anyway?

We made it out of there, we three:
A helping hand was lent for free.
The details are for you to guess,
For that's another tale, you see.

Whose idea was this, anyway?

************EPILOGUE*************

There was a witness to this mess,
Left out so far, not from duress
But for her feelings to maintain:
A black, four footed hurricane.

You see,

It was Darby's idea.
----------------------------------------

I wrote this several years ago, sometime in the mid-'90s. The hike was on the Pacific Crest Trail in the Laguna Mountains, east of San Diego. Darby was the dog...

[sasha]

lol, I remember this from AC. I've had excursions like this - the hike up Mt Monadnock aborted due to snow... searching for a 60-yr old plane wreck by the Quabbin in intermittent cold rain the NWS called "partly sunny"... the dive trip taken too soon after a nor'easter, and we all got horribly seasick... good times, good times!

[dadio]

Well written poem.