Published: July 08, 2008 09:59 am            

Grizzly Adams I am not

I have this thing about nature. It sounds good when I’m sitting in the man chair watching a baseball game. But once I get into it — and this includes the walk from my house to my car — I think it is vastly overrated.

Still, in an attempt to broaden my horizons, as it were, I do go for the occasional hike. And since I know nothing about nature or surviving in it, I prefer to hike in places where there have been no reports of people being eaten.

So I hiked the yellow trail at Lake McMurtry, about as Hoover-proof as trails can get. Or, it was once. I am convinced that I am the only person to use the yellow trail in the past three months because most of it was a faint line through the overgrown nature.

After bathing in bug spray, I headed into the wonders of nature, only to quickly discover I was getting a lot more wonder than I wanted. Due to lack of use, recent rains and booby-traps placed by McMurtry rangers (I presume), I spent a good portion of the seven miles wondering if I was blazing a new trail.

“Would it be such a big deal to pave this thing?” my conscious mind said. “I can’t see where I’m supposed to go.”

“Isn’t that kind of the point?” the subconscious retorted. “You go into nature to see nature.”

“Shut up you,” the conscious fired back, “or I’ll leave you out here.”

“Please don’t do that,” the subconscious whined. “I’ll be good. This place scares me.”

With the subconscious whimpering in the corner, I came upon my first major problem — a bridge that used to be where it now wasn’t.

“I can probably wade through that water,” the conscious said. “It can’t be that deep. But I wonder if there’s alligators around here. Or crocodiles. I heard there were some in Oklahoma.”

Spooked by the alligators — or crocodiles — I decided to see if there was another way to cross the water. I soon found the bridge nearby, where the booby-trapping rangers had hastily placed it, hidden by nature (of course).

My next major problem came at another crossing. While there was no water in the bottom, there also was no trail. In any direction. So I turned to the right. That was the wrong way but, fortunately, I discovered this quickly by walking into a barbed-wire fence.

“Wrong way, dingus,” the subconscious said.

“Don’t make me come in there,” the conscious said.

Left turned out to be a better direction and, after five minutes wandering through the wonder, I found the trail, picked my way through the brush to re-cross the alligator- (or crocodile-) infested bridge and, three days later, staggered out of the jungle.

I was born in the city. I was reared in the city. And, from now on, I will stay in the city, where nature is beaten into submission. As it should be.

Rick Hoover is the NewsPress’ managing editor. Telephone 372-5000 extension 201; e-mail rhoover@stwnewspress.com.

        

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