It is a moody colorless day as i’m marching with my adjustable ski poles through the green steep Rila mountain on a desolate steep dirt trail, accompanied by my mother. Birds are flying, migrating to the southern hemisphere as it is turning chilly. Tree leaves are falling on the ground. I feel my legs were sore, my hands are dark red and my face is turning violet. I ask myself, “Where is the hill? I can’t see it, is it far away?
“Mom, i’m very fatigued. Let’s turn back immediately!” I exclaim.
“Son, you should never give up. Even if it’s the worst-case scenario.” She responds.
We continue walking as we encounter a plain area, and on the horizon, I notice a brown mountain refuge. By that time, it already starts snowing and the wind is as strong as a wedge tornado. I
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A bit later, I notice that the hut is 200 meters away from us, feeling excited about eating some meat in order to regenerate energy. As we enter the hut, I feel the heat penetrating into my lungs. I smell the delicious cuisine smell which makes me hungry like a wolf. I order myself a chicken soup in order to regain my stamina, and a cup of tea to warm up myself. In the hut, there are a plenty of excited tourists, wearing thick pants, scarves, thick boots, and willing to complete the same journey. Later, we again embark on the final section of the journey. This time we had to traverse the steep area through a rocky mountainous irregular surfaced path. The sun rays are pointing at me, feeling as if everything has changed. We’re walking through the muddy wet path, and expecting the end of my journey. I feel the cool humid atmosphere and breeze which makes me feel nostalgic when I remember how different this trail is from the one I walked through when I went to Cherni Vruh, a hill in the Vitosha mountains. As I climb up, it is getting colder and a light sleet starts as the sun disappears to the west.
“Put on your ski jacket!” My ma
Seth and Twist trotted behind me. We drifted up the trail past mountain laurel, sagebrush, and small pines for almost half an hour then finally made it to the top of the ridge. I could see into the wide rift below. It was craggy, thick, and wild. The ground was littered with fallen twigs, decaying maple leaves, and brambly, green shrubs.
This is a story of the time I almost died. It happened about two years ago at scout camp in an Eastern Idaho scout camp called Little Lemhi. My scout group and I tried to get this merit badge called Environmental Science. The friends’ names are Kason and Hayden.
A hill of aspens, glowing golden, shines on the right side of the trail while the left side is a pine-covered hill. Between the two is the trail, a magical escape from reality. This is my sanctuary, of Buffalo Peaks wilderness. The trying experience of hiking through the mountains with 40 pounds on your back, the straps of your pack rubbing the skin off your hips and shoulders. The tension building in your muscles as you struggle under the weight.
I walked down the path. In my weakened state, the walk seemed a lot longer than it actually was. In reality it was probably only a half mile but it seemed a lot longer. finally I came out through the mouth of the cave.
The gentle breeze forgave us from the smoldering heat. There was an American flag in honor of Memorial Day along with an Arizona flag. Persevering through the heat my body began to ache. Hiking this mountain made me feel much achievable. I will never forget how I stepped outside my comfort zone to enjoy the values that nature has to offer as well as my maximum
The summer of 2016 my family and I took a road trip to Colorado. Colorado reminded me a lot of Minnesota but on a big Mountain. There are river valleys that are 1,250 feet deep to mountains that are 14,114 feet high. I climbed a mountain in Glenwood Canyon.
Agriculture and Memory – Jan Zwicky and the Intersection of Personal and Eco-political Relations with Land Near my grandparents’ farm the land swells in half-hills dotted with patches of brush, and between their farm and the next is an ungravelled grid road with grass growing between two tracks of dirt. It exists in my mind in perpetual August, hot, wheat and barley and rye and hay ripening in fields on all sides. Looking south I see the main gravel road, border to an open expanse of grassy space turned to gold. But to the north the road descends into thin poplars and chokecherries, aspen leaves flickering in a stiff breeze. The road is narrow and deserted, an exploration, dipping down into mud and shadow.
"I just want you to know that no matter how hard this task is, I will get you out of
A deep silence always surrounded the mountains; even the wind seemed to carry it, spreading it through every valley and cave. We stopped walking at daybreak every day, today when I looked up to see the group stopped I fell onto my backpack and looked around with my elbows in the snow. The sun rose below me seeming to rest on the top of the mountains. Gone was the familiar terrain, the herds of wild yak and horses keeping us company, and the rolling green of the hills. Today the sun was not rising above me.
1. 2.X 2.X 3.X 4.X 5.X 6.X 7.X 8.X 9.X 10.X The cold breeze came upon me, as I was looking down the slope, sitting on the soft sheet of snow and repeating in my mind I will succeed, then I was gone like a Ferrari going full speed in a race. At December 27, 2016, we were on the highway on Emmitsburg, MD on our way to Liberty Ski Resort to snowboard and ski for 8 hours.
The air was crisp and cold. The autumn leaves crunched under my feet. This was the day that my adventure began. I walked down the meager road that ran through the heart of my city, and I shook, both from nerves and a lack of suitable clothes. It was only October but there was already snow on the ground.
Silence. Not eerie, but peaceful. Nobody talks up here, but how would you find the breath, let alone the words to describe this place after a hike like that? So instead you just listen. Listen to the wind’s song to the sagebrush, the river’s trickling babble to the trees, the cheatgrass’ whisper to the clouds, begging for them to move so that they can spark a wild flame of destruction on these desert lands.
There was a slight cool breeze at the top of Mt. Cardigan during mid Fall, the landscape was a beautiful painting made by the earth and sky. I could see blue ponds reflecting the clear sky like a giant mirror, some trees had begun to turn orange, yellow, or red, while other trees still held on to their green. It was a very popular day to hike and we had a spectacle of thirty plus people watching to see what our daring plan was. Three of my friends and I were out of place on this mountain because we did not come up with a dog or even hiking boots on.
Everybody knows that there are four seasons, and everyone has their favorite one out of all of them. Mine is when the woods turns into a coloring book of orange and red, when I put a nice warm batch of hot co-co on the stove, and were all of my family comes together every year. My favorite season is fall. My favorite hobby is hunting.
Peeling away the outer layer of the warm willy wonka chocolate bar held in my hand so tightly that the heat emerging from my palms slowly began to melt the delectable treat lying before me. As I peered behind the bar I saw a glimmering golden light flashing and a chill rode down my spine. It had been over a month since the contest had been announced and over 50 years since the last time the golden ticket contest had been held and much to my disbelief I was a winner. I sprinted through the door of the candy store and out to the bitter cold winter air and i ran all the way home as the light snow kissed my skin. I climbed the stairs up to my family's two room apartment and burst into the room with a joy that could be felt from a mile away.