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| Mockingjay! |
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Team Peeta!!!!! If
you don’t know what this means, immediately stop reading this blog, download The Hunger Games to your iPad, Kindle,
Fire, iPhone, read book one at the very least, then come back to my blog. I don’t have time to explain the premise of
The Games to the uneducated.
Read it? OK, let’s
proceed.
When I was 16, I too was selected for my District’s version
of the Hunger Games.
“But Zoe,” you say, “You grew up in Michigan.”
False.
At 16, I actually lived in Indiana.
They routinely send their youth to
participate in an annual Hunger Games/Corn De-Husking.
OK, I don’t even know what corn de-husking is, but I think
it’s where you take the green part off of corn.
I lived in the suburbs of Indianapolis, where the closest we got to
nature was drinking Boone’s Farm
on
the golf course after dark.
Well, I participated in our Catholic Youth Group.
Every year, the group tried to do some sort
of trip. My parents wouldn’t let me go
to Haiti the previous year (something about Malaria, Hepatitis, death…I don’t
know).
But that summer, we had planned a youth group
Outward Bound trip to North Carolina.
It was billed to me as a “camping trip” with
some whitewater rafting thrown in.
Hmmmm….camping had always seemed so romantic to me. Fires, marshmallows, shirtless guys throwing
a football around. Every image I had of
camping came from Eddie Bauer and Abercrombie catalogs and movies. You know, where the 30-year-old actors
playing high school juniors sit around and play guitar, read poetry, and
discuss their futures.
My parents, much like the mean President Snow of the Capital
of Panem, made me go. While Snow’s
reasoning was to keep the residents of the District’s from revolting, my
parents wanted a week to take a vacation without worrying about me burning the
house down.
I guess about 24 of us went, much like the Hunger Games. My friends Sean represented the District of
Morse Lake, Brad represented Gray’s Manor, and my best friend at the time, Elena,
represented Knoll’s Common.
We had to have a full physical exam and list any and all
allergies and previous surgeries. When
we were deemed medically cleared, we each received a camping list from the good
people at Outward Bound. (Did I mention
that my dad actually paid close to $1200 for this experience?) The list for girls contained:
1 two-piece athletic swimsuit
1 pair nylon or mesh shorts
1 sports bra
1 lightweight dry-wick t-shirt
2 pairs of high socks
1 pair running shoes
1 pair hiking boots
Toothbrush
Toothpaste
Comb
Feminine hygiene products
5 Ziploc bags
We got our lists a week before we were set to leave. Naturally, we had to go shopping. Elena, Brad, Sean, and I took our lists and
headed to the mall. Our first stop was
Dicks Sporting Goods.
“These boots are ugly,” I said, trying on the utilitarian
brown boots the sales guy gave me. “They
make my legs look fat.”
“At least these ones are Nike,” Brad pointed out. “But I already bought Abercrombie socks. Is that like, conflicting branding? Like you know, you can’t wear a Colts jersey
with a Dallas starter hat?”
“Grown men should never wear jerseys unless you are actively
playing the sport. Are you Peyton
Manning? No, you are not. You can’t wear a Peyton Manning jersey once
you are older than ten. Or you couldn’t
wear Nike and Converse, because they are opposing
athletic brands. Hilfiger
isn’t athletic. Nike is. You’re cool,” I clarified.
The sales man, who appeared to be approximately 22 years
old, bored, and one smelly foot away from suicide, nodded, and asked if we all
wanted the Nike boots.
“Yeah, but different colors,” Sean replied.
“Obviously.”
Our next stop was the mall.
“Oooh Abercrombie has it’s fall line out!” I exclaimed,
rushing in to get a better look at the glorious cargo pants and button
downs.
(Did Katniss have cargo pants during the Hunger Games? She should have. Those things can hold everything. Obviously anyone who shops at Abercrombie is
an avid outdoorsman who needs a place not only for their bait, tackle, and
hunting knife, but also for their cell phone and hair gel.)
“It’s July though,” Brad, the voice of reason, pointed
out. “Isn’t North Carolina south of
us? It would be hotter there.”
“Yeah, but we’ll be in the mountains, and the elevation will
make it colder,” I countered, gathering up hoodies. I paused and thought. “But,” I turned and started grabbing t-shirts
too, “In the day, it could be hot, and at night, it could get cold.”
“Why does the list only say one shirt?” Brad asked.
“Um, maybe that’s per day?” Elena suggested.
“True,” Brad agreed, winking at her and flipping his hair.
After two hours of listening to the pounding techno remixes
and getting high off Abercrombie (and Abercrombie Woods), we departed, each of
us carrying two bags, and $400 less each.
That night, Elena and I started assembling our bags.
“Why didn’t they put hair dryer on here?” I asked. “Like, we can’t have wet hair. My hair totally frizzes unless I blow it
dry. I can skip a curling iron, but not
my straightener.”
“Ok, you bring the dryer and I’ll bring the straightener and
we can share.”
“Deal. Oh here,” I
said, pulling out a bunch of miniature bottles.
“I got these to save room on our shampoo, conditioner, and hair
gel. Plus, mini deodorants!
They forgot to put them on the list, but I
guess that’s assumed.”
“Oh, that’s so cute!” she squealed. “What color shirts are you bringing?”
“Hmmmm….” I started going through my bag. “I brought a bunch of grubby ones, because we
might get dirty some. I have this old
pink Hollister one, Abercrombie ones in red, maroon, burnt orange, sky blue,
and green, and two Express tank tops.”
“Ok, we just can’t wear them the same day.”
“Naturally.”
Now, anytime there is a potential for young adults to be in
the woods together, there is a potential for romance. At least initially. Oh sure, I suppose if you knew one of you was
going to die a brutal death at the hands of a Career and you had to use your
romance to form an alliance, that’s a valid reason. We were just going to be away from our
parents for six days.
“Brad’s cute,” she said.
“He’s a little short, but still cute.”
“He’s not that short.
Plus, he’s like super athletic.
He plays tennis. He’s going to be
so useful out in the woods when we need to like, cut down trees and stuff.
”
“Oh yeah! I’ve always
wanted to have a real fire! Not the kind
you turn on in the fireplace.
What about you and Sean?”
“Maybe,” I said, rolling up my sweatshirt and stuffing it in
my bag to make room for the last few items.
“He’s good-looking and always smells really good. I saw him buy cologne today, so he’s going to
smell awesome.” I sat on my suitcase
while Elena zipped it shut.
“So you’re Team Sean and I’m Team Brad?” she asked.
(OK, that didn’t actually happen, but it would have been
awesome if it did).
The drive to North Carolina took an agonizing seven
hours. Seven hours on a chartered church
bus is enough torture in itself, so we were all relieved to get off the bus at
the Outward Bound post outside of Asheville, NC.
It wasn’t as impressive as the Capital, but it sure was
pretty. I stood up, squinting into the
sun, looking at the pine trees, which seemed to reach towards to heavens and
touch the white clouds in the bright blue sky.
“Hey, come look at the river!” someone shouted.
We ran over and looked at the rushing river in the gorge
below us.
“Wow,” I whispered in reverence.
“It’s so fast,” someone else said, pointing to the other
bank. “Look, there’s a deer on that side.”
We were still admiring the nature when we were called to
gather up our stuff and meet our guides.
I immediately understood why deodorant was not on the
list. The four guides, two men and two
women, looked like they just spent the last year touring with Phish and
sleeping in the dirt. I doubted any had
seen a bath or a razor in weeks. All had
long hair, pulled into pony tales. Two
had dreadlocks. Their clothes consisted
of old swimsuits and shorts bleached from the sun and Birkenstocks. These are the kinds of people I’d give my
leftover dinner to on the street.
“Welcome troops!
”
shouted the first one, beaming. “I’m
Troy, and this is Sunshine, Miriam, and Bear.
You all ready for some adventure?”
 |
| Our guide Troy. |
|
I knew from their smiles, hidden smirks, and evil glances
they exchanged with each other that we were about to suffer for their entertainment. (Oh yes, their descendants were probably the
Gamemakers.)
We mumbled a collective “yeah” as we tried to steal discreet
glances at the length of Miriam and Sunshine’s underarm and leg hair.
Now this is where it gets similar to the Hunger Games.
“We’re going to do a little fitness testing here to see what
group you fall into. We’re going to have
you do a timed two mile run and then sit ups and push ups.”
Fucking sadists.
The gauged us all after the fitness test. They split us up into two groups. The 13-15 year olds and a few of the slower
and fatter older kids went off with Miriam and Bear. The 16-18 year olds, plus two in-shape
14-year-old male twins joined Sunshine and Troy.
“Can I get something to eat or drink?” I asked, raising my
hand
. It was no cooler than 90 degrees and I had
just completed more physical activity in the last half hour than I had all
summer.
“Of course,” Troy said, bringing me a brown-ish liquid in a
Nalgene bottle. “Here’s your bottle,
already all filled up for you.”
Oh sweet, he brought me a Coke. I hoped it wasn’t Diet. I hate that diet crap.
I took a huge swig and spit it back out.
“What the hell was that?” I coughed, gagging, spitting, and using
the corner of my shirt to get the horrible taste out of my mouth.
“Water.”
“No it wasn’t.”
“Yes it was, we just put iodine in it. We get all of our
water from the river. The iodine kills the bacteria and other parasites. Get used to it, because that’s what we’ll be
drinking the rest of the week.”
I also had another reason for gagging. When Troy had approached me, I caught a whiff
of what can only be described as “Dirty Hippie,” a combination of body odor,
patchouli, and parental disappointment.
I was still gagging when Miriam announced it was time to
pack our stuff up.
Wait, our stuff was packed, wasn’t it?
“You will be carrying everything you need in these packs,”
she informed us, handing out military green Army-issued looking rucksacks.
No way. This thing
was almost as big as I was. At least I
could fit all my stuff in.
Or so I thought.
Miriam led us to a circle surrounding a bunch of junk. It looked like she had jacked a homeless
person. There were a few pots, bags and
bottles of unidentifiable substance, two books, a laminated map, markers, a
First Aid kit, rope, two hunting knifes, matches, a tarp, a pair of binoculars,
and a shovel. There were also 12 life
vests and 12 sleeping bags.
In the Hunger Games, everyone would have made a mad dash in
for the knives, but we were slow, fat kids from the suburbs who considered
getting up to find the remote a hardship.
We spent a few minutes squabbling over who would take
what.
“Mike’s bigger, make him take that heavy thing.”
“Sean’s the tallest.
He can roll up the map and it won’t stick out of his backpack.”
“I can’t take anything or my hair dryer won’t fit,”
protested another girl.
(I was glad she said it and not me).
“You’re what?” asked Miriam, swiveling her head to zone in
on Amber, the unsuspecting girl. You
would have thought Amber asked where she was going to store her crack pipe.
“My, um, I ….my hair…it gets…”
Miriam exchanged a knowing glance with Troy.
“Ok, everyone,” open your bags. “We’re going to help you pack. Here’s the deal, if it wasn’t on the packing
list, it stays here at base camp.”
No. Fucking. Way.
Miriam and Troy made their way around the circle
methodically making sure our flatirons, extra shirts, and socks stayed in our
suitcases.
“What’s this bro?” Troy asked, approaching Brad and holding
up his new bottle of Woods.
“Abercrombie Woods,” replied Brad matter-of-factly.
“Is this supposed to attract females?” Troy asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep the
sarcasm out of his voice.
“Yeah…uh,” Brad stuttered.
“Oh, I have no doubt in my mind it will attract a
female. A female bear that is! No deodorant, soap, or body spray. The only kind of Axe we’ll be using out here
is to chop down trees.”
Really? I hope they
provided enough patchouli for all of us.
By the time all was said and done, I managed to sneak in a
razor, but nothing else. I was
dying. I was hot, hungry, and
thirsty. I wanted a Sprite. I wanted some Arby’s mozzarella sticks. I wanted to be inside watching TRL eating
chips. I wouldn’t have even complained
about getting up to change the channel at this point.
We started our journey that afternoon. The point of the trip was to use land
navigation skills (which we’d learn along the way), hiking, and rafting to get
from point A to point B. The 30-mile
journey was estimated to take six days, upon which a bus would pick us up and
bring us back to the base camp.
Did I mention we also had to carry a boat? Yes, a boat.
A full-on boat. Technically it
was a raft, but it still qualified as a boat in my opinion. Luckily most of us girls were too short to
carry the boat, but that meant we had to double up on supplies.
I was sweating balls and my makeup had all come off. Every time I touched my eye, I saw black on
my fingers, meaning my mascara was running like crazy.
We got to our first point and set up camp. By camp, I mean, we strung a tarp between two
trees and put our mats and sleeping bags underneath.
“What if bugs get in here?” Jake, one of the 14-year-olds
asked.
“They will,” Miriam replied, showing his twin, Chris, how to
make a knot. “But most are harmless.”
Most?
“OK, has anyone here fished?” Troy asked.
Most of us shook our heads.
Then Mike piped up. “I went deep
sea fishing in the Bahamas with my dad once.”
Troy was impressed, I’m sure.
“OK, why don’t you and Amber join me and you can catch
tonight’s dinner,” he suggested, gathering up some hooks, a bamboo rod, and a
bucket.
“I’m allergic to seafood.
It said so on my medical form,” I pointed out.
“Oh, that’s fine.
You’ll get an extra helping of hummus,” Troy said cheerfully as they
took off towards the river.
Hummus?
 |
| Me eating delicious hummus. |
As dusk fell, they showed us how to cook the fish they’d
caught. Their version of hummus was a
dry paste that was mixed with water and chickpeas to form a sort of mush
closely resembling vomit. I was so
hungry I choked it down though, and even swallowed a bit of my iodine
water.
I wasn’t even going to ask about roasting marshmallows.
“OK, we need to figure out jobs for tomorrow,” Miriam said,
taking out her hemp notebook. “First, we
are going to gather edible plants. There
are at least 50 kinds of plants here that we can eat. Who has the book?”
The fourth girl in our group, Jessica, passed it to
her. Jessica was trying in vain to pull
her short hair back into a ponytail.
They had confiscated her hairspray, making this task even harder.
 |
| How come they don't have mosquito bites? |
“OK, Jessica and Elena will help do this in the morning. Has
anyone read an elevation map before?”
“I have,” I volunteered, raising my right hand, while using
my left to swat away mosquitos.
Everyone looked at me.
“Yeah, I did a whole project on it last year when I lived in
Michigan and we had to do a report on the Canadian provinces. I chose the Yukon and created a clay relief
map using the elevation chart. I also
used it to see what routes the gold rush explorers took.”
Troy cocked his head, either attempting to get earwax out,
or perplexed with my newfound knowledge.
“Can I see the map?” I asked, setting aside my metal plate with
the remnants of my hummus.
He brought it to me, again, infiltrating my space with the
odor of patchouli.
“See these lines, closer together? That means steeper, right? And these are peaks,” I pointed. “These are ridges, valleys, and we know we
need to follow this river to get to the second river we are branching off onto,
right?”
“Yeah, sounds like you got it,” he said, the first tone of
respect showing up in his voice. “Tomorrow, you’re going to scout. So you take the map, compass, and binoculars. Now who has the knife?”
“Yo, I got the knife,” announced Jon
,
brandishing it from his boot. “I’m
keeping it in case I gotta shank a bear in the middle of the night.”
“Um, we don’t promote violence, and that knife is used to
cut wood for our fire.”
“Uh, OK,” he said, sheepishly. “I guess I’ll cut the wood in the morning.”
 |
| Using the knife to kill bugs. |
We went to bed shortly thereafter. I had enough foresight to bring a waterproof
watch, which read 10:30. Fuck, at this
time, we were supposed to be sitting around the campfire with marshmallows,
cider and one person was supposed to play the guitar.
I found myself lying between Sean and Elena. Brad was on the other side of Elena. Miriam, the ever-present buzzkill, was on the
other side of Brad. So. Not.
Romantic. At one point, however, Sean and I might have
cuddled. Just a little bit. Or maybe he was having back spasms after
carrying the ruck all day. Oh well,
there were five nights left.
Now, I may have mentioned that there were sleeping bags,
mats, and a tarp. What there were not
were pillows. Most of us took our
rucksacks and adjusted the clothes in them to make makeshift pillows. Jake, who had volunteered to carry the pots
and pans, had no choice but to use a rock and wrap the wool sweatshirts we were
issued around it. Halfway through the
night, he curled up on his brother’s shoulder instead.
Troy and Miriam woke us as the first signs of orange morning
sky were beginning to show through the trees.
“I didn’t hear an alarm go off,” I mumbled.
“We don’t use alarms,” Miriam said, in a tone of voice was
too inappropriately chipper for six in the morning. “Spending so much time out in the woods, our
biological clocks are attuned to the sunrise and sunset.”
I’m sure that will look fucking spectacular on a resume.
Fortunately, no cannons had gone off in the evening, so our
little group was still alive. My stomach
was grumbling. Apparently everyone’s
was. In the Hunger Games, Katniss had a
distinct advantage to the hunger because she had grown up poor and was used to
hunger.
She would have been content with the
dandelion soup we made for breakfast.
Yes, dandelion soup.
It was disgusting. To
compound that, we had to use the same bowl from dinner last night because
washing the dishes would waste water, and these people do not like to waste
water.
As we were collecting our water and putting iodine drops in,
Amber approached me.
“I have to go to the bathroom. What should I do?”
Now, in the Hunger Games, they never make any mention of how
the tributes use the bathroom. I mean,
that could be a significant time of weakness.
While one is going to the bathroom, another could sneak up behind them
in their weakness and kill them. Also,
does the hovercraft broadcast this?
I thought. I hadn’t
seen any toilet paper in the pile of supplies.
Nor did I imagine there was a Porta Potty nearby.
“Ask Miriam. She’s a
woman. She’ll know.”
We approached Miriam.
As if she could sense what we were about to ask, she signaled Troy, who
gathered up the men to go take down and roll up the tarps, while we had “the
lady talk.”
“How do we go to the bathroom?”
“Well, if you pee, it’s just like you do when you’re
hiking,” she suggested.
“I’ve never peed outside,” I pointed out. “My mom freaks out about using public
restrooms. She has to lay down tons of
toilet paper.”
Miriam sighed, clearly realizing that she’d have to lower
the bar significantly.
“OK, just lean against a tree, and pee.”
“What about-?” Elena started.
Miriam cut her off.
“More than that?” Miriam picked
up the shovel.
Oh my gosh. No
way. No way in hell. I would rather starve than use that.
Toilet paper? Well,
better take the book of plants to make sure it’s not poison ivy.
Female problems?
Remember those Ziploc bags on the list?
Uh huh. Everything we carried in,
must be carried out.
I was so disturbed. I
also needed to take care of my dental hygiene.
We were allowed to bring toothbrushes and toothpaste because apparently
gum disease can lead to serious complications.
I took my toothbrush, toothpaste, contraband razor, and comb, which
flipped into a mirror into the woods with my Nalgene bottle. I sat on a rock. With trepidation, I opened the mirror.
Aaackcckk!
Gross! I looked like an aging
Maryln Manson groupie with acne! My mascara
was smeared all over my face, my hair was in complete disarray, not to mention
accessorized with leaves and dirt, and my face was covered in pimples. Wait, so were my arms. That was impossible. I rarely got acne. I inspected my arm closer. I looked in the mirror. That wasn’t acne. Those were mosquito bites. I counted 27 of them. Great, just great. I brushed my teeth and washed my face with
water from the stream, taking care not to get any in my mouth. I brushed my hair as best as I could and
returned to camp.
Everyone looked worse for the wear though. Nobody looked like Katniss, Peeta, Rue, or
even Thresh. We looked like refugees from
a postapocolypic zombie movie.
I thought back to every remotely romantic film that had
taken place in a survival or isolation situation. Return to the Blue Lagoon? What the hell? They didn’t have flatirons or curlers, and
you mean to tell me that body wave was natural?
Doubt it. Come on, even in
Titanic, Kate Winslet’s hair and makeup looked good as she was lying on the
door crying for Leo to come back. The
icicles made her sparkle. You know what
was not making me sparkle? The gallons of
fucking sweat perspiring from every orfice in my body.
I hadn’t had to pee yet because I was sweating out the iodine
concoction as fast as I took it in. I
sure as hell hadn’t eaten more than 400 calories in the last 24 hours. My stomach was grumbling, my legs were
burning from the hike, and my knock off designer sunglasses weren’t cutting it
on keeping the bugs out of my eyes.
My first task as official navigator was to lead us about 500
yards to the next point on the map. I
took the compass, the map, and the pen.
Troy pointed out where we needed to go.
The lines were very close together, which meant it was a steep climb
uphill with our 50 pound packs on. Screw
this.
We started trudging.
And trudging. Troy and Miriam
weren’t even breaking a sweat, but even the most athletic guys in our group
were dying. When we could actually catch
our breath, we vociferously lodged our complaints at anyone who might be
listening.
“Must…have…water.”
“I think I’m dying.
If I die, my sister can have my car.”
“I would give anything
for a Big Mac now.”
“I’d give anything for a Coke now.”
“I’d give anything for air conditioning now.”
“If we get really
hungry, who should we eat first?”
We finally got to our point, took a rest, and ate our lunch,
which consisted of more hummus mush.
We hiked for another five hours before setting up camp on
top of a mountain.
 |
| Trudging through the woods. |
“Uh oh, looks like a storm,” Troy shouted, as the wind began
to pick up.
I seriously did not even care. The cool wind provided the first bit of
respite I’d had since leaving the air conditioned bus. I stood there and reveled in it until the
raindrops started falling.
“This one’s going to be a doozy! There might be lighting!”
Troy shouted, as everyone scrambled to put away their gear.
Just then, the thunder started to rumble. Well, well, looks like someone missed his
calling as the Channel 5 meteorologist.
“OK, everyone make sure there’s no metal in your packs, find
high ground, put your bag on the ground, and sit with your back to the tree.”
No one complained as we were way too scared to die. I did not want to be that kid who dies before
high school is out and my classmates have to have an awkward dedication page to
me at the end of the school yearbook.
Rest in Peace,
Zoe. A life cut too short. Remember kids, stay inside during storms.
So we sat. And
sat. For an hour and 42 minutes, we sat
with our backs to the trees, getting completely and totally drenched. I was freezing, but had left my warm clothes
in the rucksack so they wouldn’t get wet.
I sat and prayed. ‘Dear Lord, if I can survive the next five
days, I’ll be better, I promise. I won’t
call anyone a skank. I won’t make mooing
sounds at Sara Steinberg even though she totally deserves it. I won’t-‘
“Well, that’s the last of the lightning and thunder! It’s been thirty minutes,” Troy said, pulling
out his pocket watch
. “Time to set up camp.”
Begrudgingly, we set it up, trying in vain to wipe the sweat
and rain out of our eyes. In good news,
our Nalgene bottles had filled up during the storm and we didn’t have to use
iodine in them. I downed my entire
bottle and set it on a rock in case it rained again.
That night, any sleep we got was made increasingly miserable
by the damp ground, the muddy conditions under our mats, and almost 48 hours
with no showers. That night under the
tarp, I did not want to snuggle with Sean, with Elena, with Brad, or even with
Josh Hartnett or Ben Affleck,
had they been so available.
The third day went much like the second, except I had one
problem when I woke up. I needed to
pee. Badly.
“OK Zoe,” I told myself. “You can do this. I mean, what did people do in medeival
times?”
I pondered that for a moment. Yeah, what did they do? I mean,
seriously, how many movies have been made about romantic endeavors in the
middle ages? Robin Hood, Shakespeare in
Love, Elizabeth, The Last of the Mohicans, and that one where Colin Farrell
plays John Smith and creeps on underage native girls. Did any of those movies ever include the
line, “Excuse me from our meaningful dialogue and lovemaking, but I need to
gather some leaves and go find a tree?”
Fact. They did not.
I sighed. I hiked as
far from camp as I possibly could and found a tree on the ridge of the
mountain. This tree overlooked the
entire river basin. The view was
admittedly breathtaking. The sun was
starting to burn off the morning haze from the river, creating a supernatural
blanket of mist. The trees stood proudly
forming a wall around the river. I had
never seen so many hues of green in my life.
The river below captured my attention the most. It seemed to take on a life of its own, as it
twisted, bended, and crashed over the rocks.
With that kind of serenity, I leaned back on the tree and peed.
It wasn’t that bad.
(The leaves? A
different story.)
By this point, I had counted over 50 mosquito bites and
countless scratches and scrapes from my brushes with nature.
That day, we got down to the river bank. At least the river provided some sort of
means to bathe. We stripped down to our
swimsuits and joyfully splashed in the river.
By this point, we were welcoming any opportunity to remove the rucksacks
and rest our legs.
I got out of the water and sat on the bank, rubbing my
leg. The water-less shaving hadn’t done
quite the job I was hoping and I was turning into Sasquatch’s sister. I didn’t want to know what I’d look like by
day five.
That day, we launched the boat and had our first whitewater
rafting session. If anything good came
of this trip, it was that I fell in love with whitewater rafting and kayaking.
At night, we set up camp, dealt with a rainstorm, and
retired to bed under the tarp.
Well, kinda.
The river can’t bathe away everything, and after three days
of not bathing, I was dying from the noxious smell of other people’s body
odor. I lifted the side of the tarp and
stuck my head out. Much better. I tried my hardest to go to sleep, but my
stomach was cramping up, it was so hungry.
I fell asleep dreaming about Dominos breadsticks, Wendy’s Frosties, and
Cherry Pepsi.
The next morning, I woke to something brushing my face. I figured it was a stray hair, a leaf, or the
angel of death, bringing me sweet release.
Wait, no, it wasn’t brushing. It was
crawling!
I sat up, screamed, and brushed a Daddy Longlegs off my
face. That’s right. A fucking spider was trying to lay it’s eggs
in my nostril.
And guess what? He brought friends. There were three of these long-legged spawns
of Satan crawling on my arms. (Elena
would later tell me about the two they brushed off my back).
I attempted to get up, but since only my arms and head were
outside of the tarp, the rest of my body was flailing around inside the
tarp. In my panic, I kicked Sean, Jake,
Elena, and Amber (in the head). Thinking
I was getting mauled by a bear, Troy came out and helped lift the tarp so I
could stand up and scream, while running to the water. It wasn’t graceful, like Katniss is shown
running through the woods. Oh no, I
looked more like a one-legged man in a kickboxing class. I was thankful that all phones and cameras
were left at base camp, although Ben did a pretty accurate impression later.
The rest of the morning was uneventful, but it was that
afternoon that I screwed up royally. I
read a ridge wrong and instead of going 800 yards uphill, we went 800 yards
downhill. We had been off course for two
hours when Troy spoke up.
“You let us go the
wrong way?” Mike shouted angrily.
“Hey, we have a two hour max, man. Then we turn you around,” Troy said casually.
“So you’re telling me we have to go uphill? Oh that blows!”
Jon shouted, removing his rucksack and sitting on it.
“Zoe, what were you thinking?”
“I thought the map said-“
“You thought
wrong! Let me read it!” shouted Ben,
grabbing it from me.
Finally, Troy calmed everyone down and got us to the correct
point in three hours. By this point,
night had fallen. Since we hadn’t had
time to fish, everyone was more hungry than usual. I hoped the hummus would hold out two more
days because I’m pretty sure they were about to go Donner party on my ass.
The next day, no one was mad at me. Instead, they were mad at Jake for losing one
of the knifes, Elena for getting the matches wet, and Sean for taking too long
with the shovel.
By the time the trip was over, I was never so glad to see a
tour bus in my life. They let us shower
in outdoor showers with soap for the first time in five days. I had 114 mosquito bites and eventually had
to take Cipro for a nasty stomach parasite I picked up.
The moral of the story is that I did not end up like Katniss
and Peeta. I didn’t fall in love with
and marry Sean or Ben. We didn’t
overthrow any totalitarian regime. We
didn’t even bitch at our parents when we arrived home- we were so grateful to
see our real beds. And the best
part? We didn’t even have to contemplate
swallowing any poisonous berries to make it safely home.
In
Alaska, I rafted Denali, which to this day, is one of the highlights of my
life.
