Everything you need is on the other side of fear. A short-story utilizing alliteration and indirect-characterization. Non-fiction.
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It was nearing noon when I’d reached the saddleback. And when I looked back to view how far I''d come, I could see the entire western horizon was churning with dark clouds; a storm was moving in. Frustration gripped me then because the forecaster had announced (just the previous evening) that mountain weather was going to be exceptional for the next few days. How in the world could he have been so wrong? And how was I going to get back now? The watershed I’d climbed up was clogged with scree, rocks, and small boulders. It would be impossible to hurry down. A descent would have to be done slowly, and carefully, and there wasn’t enough time. Attempting to retrace the same route, during a downpour, was out of the question. The only other way down was the forest switchbacks, a mile north of me, but getting to them would force me to walk along an unstable ridgeline. Doing so in a blur of wind and rain was dangerous; losing my footing was a real concern, and being openly exposed during lightning was just insane. It seemed I was stuck up here for the duration.
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After scanning my surroundings, through the binoculars, I spied an opening under a granite overhang about two hundred yards from me. At once I took off. I couldn’t believe it. It seemed almost a miracle that something like this was so close. I could see, as I neared, that it would offer me the necessary protection. Inside I’d be sheltered from what was approaching, and my view of everything, out from me, would remain wide open. A sudden loud boom of thunder startled me so I quickened my pace. Given the circumstances it seemed the right thing to do.
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It was a shallow cave with the charred remnants of an old fire just outside the entrance. The walls inside were clean - no petroglyphs or graffiti - and the floor was sandy and comfortable. After settling in I unpacked the provisions I’d brought along; albacore, walnuts, almonds, dried cherries, shepherds bread, and water. Soon a number of agitated sparrows alighted near the entrance. A wave of joy washed over me. Happily I crumbled some bread and scattered it out to them. Within moments their song turned more melodious as they darted about snatching what they could, flying off to eat it, and then returning to repeat the process. The spontaneity was entertaining and for a while I watched and ate in wishful wonder. After finishing my meal it came to mind a terrifying incident we’d endured the first year I’d sailed with the crew aboard the schooner Heimdall. Vivid memories gripped me.
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After departing the Azorean Archipelagoes we’d sailed for two full days without incident. Captain Olaf’s intended goal had been Funchal Bay in the Madeira Islands and from there, following several days of rest, a brief jaunt to Ponto de Sao Lourenco. As it turned out, on the third morning, news of an incoming storm forced us to change our plans.
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It began with a soft irregular pattering. But shortly thereafter dozens of dazzling displays of lightning began ripping through the heavens and the rainfall intensified. For reasons known only to him; Captain Olaf had chosen to anchor the schooner on a nearby shallow reef. The island-like formation was surrounded by two complete rings of outer reefs, each separated by (at least) 1500 yards of deep water. As we found out later, being in proximity to that circular reef, and the Captain and Rorek knowing it was there, and finding it, had saved us and the schooner that day.
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Wisely the Captain had ordered each of us to attach ourselves to the railings with nylon safety tethers. Falling overboard in a tempest like this would’ve been disastrous. The wind was clawing at our faces and raingear mercilessly as we ‘battened-down-the-hatches’; it was as if hundreds of invisible fists were pummeling us at the same moment. The fury-of-sounds was beyond anything I’d ever experienced; an ever-intense exhibition of nature’s rhythms. Suddenly the storm bore down with wild abandon. Walking the deck was proving difficult, for each of us, because on the charged-surface the schooner sloshed about like a cork in mounds of churning foam. Valiantly I struggled, not only with my balance, but also with my thoughts as they tried to suffocate me in fear. What would become of us out here? Was this the end?
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Peering out through the blur of wind and rain, I stared transfixed at the incredible glimpses I was viewing in the brilliant flashes of lightning. From the north; enormous black walls of water cascaded down in thundering mountains of white foam. But strangely, here, where the Heimdall was anchored, bow and stern, the water was less agitated. On the center of these reefs we were being protected from the onslaught of the storms enormous seas. Mammoth waves were crashing on the outer rim, as they would on the shores of any beach, but because of the configuration of the reefs they were powerless to regenerate momentum after being absorbed by the deep water of the inner circle. East and west of us massive black walls roared past the outer rims. With frothy crests, and massive sheets of overspray flying off the upper edges, the swells raced on towards the Madeira Islands.
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A distant rumbling thunder refocused me. Ever so subtly the patter of drops had begun. Across the valley a brilliant bolt of lightning struck the ground; explosive thunder followed a second later. The temperature was dropping. The atmosphere was charged with negative ions. The air was invigorated. Happily I breathed in the pureness of it and exhaled slowly. As I did it came to me that everything I wanted in life was on the other side of my fears. Today was no exception. Something shifted inside me. The storm clouds over my head began to disperse as the ones in the environment intensified. Peace filled me. Chattering excitedly, now, the sparrows were gathering as much of the bread as they could and, after thanking them for their company, they quietly took flight.
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Tucking back into the shallow cave; I zipped up my jacket and readied myself. Numerous bolts of lightning had begun etching the heavens now and thunderclaps were exploding like cannonade. Out from me, on the ledge, the dirt was puffing-up in dust-balls as the raindrops increased in size. Something substantial was happening. Because even though another storm would soon be raging, I had the peace of knowing that I was right where I was supposed to be, dealing honestly with what was coming through me, learning the lessons I needed to learn, and knowing, because of what I’d been through and survived in the past, that there was nothing to fear in the coming storm.
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Richard L. Cederberg
9/16
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interesting read, holds reader interest, well done
Yesterday, I read the story of a hiking family caught in a chalet in Glacier National Park during a rapidly advancing forest fire. At the last moment, the fire split in two and skirted around the chalet saving everyone from the flown in fire marshal's dire prediction of windows being blown in and unbearable heat and smoke. Two of the missing were in the latrines ready to jump into the holes if necessary. Everyone hiked out the next day unscathed. Grizzly bears accompanied them.
Ron