First Hut

I woke up feeling light and free. I got my butt out of the sack and went out, looking up the mountain above me, and the scenery far below. In the distance the town was barely perceptible in the morning haze. I thought over my previous days climb, how steep it was, and how at times it seemed like just as I thought I was getting near the summit only to discover it was yet another false summit. Then at the last minute I lostt the trail, there were several trails and I just took one of them even though it was getting late. Coming around a turn, not knowing if this was the trail or how much farther I had to go, there was Hut One. The guide, the Pied Crow, kept with me. I was worried about the spirit of the mountain, it might not like my water elementals, or perhaps my water elementals would be jealous of my climb. The path is entirely made up of non-path elements, the mountain is entirely made up on non-mountain elements. First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then thee is. Yet there is interconnectedness too, the path is the mountain, the mountain is the path.

The bird waited in the trees below, at the edge of timberline. First Hut was nothing more than a cave really, with a few square rocks gathered to form a crude wall and a doorway. A bit of rough hewn framework and a door was thrown on to keep out large critters. Sleeping was more a matter of passing out, the comfort of First Hut wasn’t that great especially knowing how much mountain was behind, how much was ahead. Food and perishables were kept in the metal shed called the kitchen, a bit tighter construction, it was simply a firepit on the floor with three huge logs forming a “Y” in the local manner with large rocks placed between them. A few bites shouldering the pack and moving out while the sun was still low in the sky, one step at a time. Now First Hut is below me, the rest of the mountain ahead.

(narrative fictional, photo is Buea town, viewed from hut three, Mt. Cameroon)