Ryal

A Final Wish I forgot just how much waiting there is in outdoor survival. Twice per year since I was fourteen, my grandpa used to take me out to Comet Ridge where he would teach me survival skills. Once in the spring and again in the autumn. How to craft tools. How to use and maintain those tools. How to navigate by both the Sun and the stars. How to look for water. How to forage. How to hunt. And, most importantly, how to wait. Wait for the water to boil. Wait for the food to cook. Wait for the traps to work. Wait for embers to get hot. Wait for the line to go taut. He used to say that patience is the outdoorsman's greatest asset. I can still remember exactly what he would say. "Father Time is always going to win that Great Marathon against us. If we dash ahead too quickly, then we get exhausted too quickly, and he catches us faster. So instead, we should match his pace but just always stay a few steps ahead of him." I'll admit that I never quite understood what that was supposed to mean. Maybe I wasn't supposed to. Maybe he was better at building fires than public speaking, and man could that guy build fires! If ever there were a test of patience, then fire-starting is one of the big ones. After a whole lot of aggravation, I learned how to start fires from him, too. It was the last skill I learned from him because being patient was never something that caught on with me. And then when Father Time finally overtook my grandpa in the Great Marathon, I promised that I would still make that trip twice a year. While he could still talk, he told me that he wanted me to take a small portion of his ashes with me and spread them at a few spots on Comet Ridge during my next visit. And here I am. After twenty-two trips with Grandpa, this is my first time visiting Comet Ridge alone, and it's my first time here in wintertime. We'll see if that was the right choice. I made sure to wear nothing but wool, so it should be fine. A small capsule of grandpa's ashes is secured in my pack along with basic tools, bedroll, an empty bottle, some calorie-dense food packets, a camera and a journal. As soon as I left the welcome center at sunrise, I couldn't resist the urge to snap a picture of the frozen wilderness awaiting me. it looks so much different when you can't see the paths and the grass. My first stop would be that small lake where Grandpa showed me the basics of fishing- Moonfall Lake. The snow on the ground was quite deep at times. Even though I knew exactly where the paths were, the snow made walking extremely difficult! Plus, I forgot that there is less daylight to work with during winter. The hike was peaceful and pleasant enough, but it consumed the whole day. I didn't reach Moonfall Lake until a few minutes before sunset. Thankfully, everything was as we left it the last time we were here back in spring- almost a year ago, now. Comet Ridge allows everyone to utilize all structures at their leisure as long as they don't damage property. The stone cabin was still in one piece with its two simple beds, a desk and a fireplace. The creaky dock was still standing, but there were no boats. Instead, I saw an ice fishing hut in the middle of the lake for the first time ever. That was a cool surprise. It has been so cold outside for the passed few days that the ice probably could have supported my weight, but my cowardice of testing out that theory overpowered my curiosity of looking inside the fishing hut. I eventually got a fire going (I never swore once, Grandpa!) and sprinkled a little bit of the ashes on the creaky dock. The grey dust quickly faded to nothing as a chilly breeze whisked by. The next day at around midday, I decided to hike up the steep hill that Grandpa called Stargazers' Peek (instead of Stargazers' Peak). That was where he showed me the northern constellations and how to star hop in order to find that all-important Northern Star. The walk itself was surprisingly easy. I found a long and sturdy branch to use as a walking staff. Plus, the snow was so thick and wet that it supported me as I climbed instead of causing me to slip like I was expecting. I thought back to how Grandpa would tell me to take 'sideways steps' on inclines this steep. "Your ankles can only bend so much. Instead, you should walk forward by walking sideways when an upslope is this steep. Watch me." I remember looking down at his boots. He looked so goofy with his feet pointed one way and his shoulders pointed another, but he never slipped on the dirt or grass. He never stumbled over rocks or roots. That guy could probably sideways step up Mt. Everest. "Step by step. Rushing is no good, here." It was a slow process, and I hated how long it took us to get up there, but we made it. When I got to the top, I made a beeline for a wind-proof shelter that he and I discovered two or three years ago. I started a fire with only minimal cursing and waited for the stars to come out. Instead, what I got was a mesmerzing and fixating show of the Northern Lights! I could barely hold the camera still as I took a few pictures of the stunning display before I ran out of the shelter. "That has to be you!" I shouted to the sky. "There's no way this isn't you!" I pointed to the flowing green ribbons with one hand sprinkled another portion of the ashes with the other. "Hi, Grandpa!!" They swiftly merged with the viridescent darkness. I couldn't determine if I was happy, sad or angry as my eyesight got wet and blurry. I was too far away from my campfire to blame it on the smoke. I silently ate my food and used my empty bottle to melt snow and boil the water- no pot necessary. That guy probably still had so much more to teach... The next morning, the final day, I noticed that I had enough ashes for one more spot. It would only be fitting to go to the place we always went on the last day of our trips. It doesn't have a name. Comet Ridge never gave it one. Neither did Grandpa. Neither will I. All I know is that it provides a grand view of a wide swath of land below. There is a single railroad carved through it and just one building- probably a post office or something- next to a lake. A delicate interaction of Mankind and Nature. At first, I hated going there because the walk was always so long, and the view at the end didn't seem worth it. Why travel so far and so long for some mountains and trees? A youngster couldn't really appreciate that. As I grew older, I understood. The walking, the waiting, the whole time spent there was the important part-- not only the stops along the way. Sure, I still resented every step in the snow that went past my knees, but this was important. It's easy to get distracted by the goals and lose sight of the routes. Without routes taken, there are no goals reached. All it takes is a little patience. And patience isn’t about just waiting. It’s about persevering. Is that what you meant, Grandpa? His ashes glittered in the sunlight while the breeze took him on his final adventure.