Against the Wild
The alarm on my cell phone rings at five a.m. I reach to the foot of the bed where my phone is tied to the bedpost and turn it off. I then plop right back down into my pillow and lift my hands up in front of me. Slowly I clench them into a fist. They hurt. I really overdid it at work these first two days. Now I really need a day off. In slow motion I climb down the ladder from the top bunk my body revolting against any physical exertion. I can barely squeeze my hands tight enough to hold on to the sides of the ladder. Groggy-eyed I shuffle myself a quarter-mile to the cafeteria feeling like a dying withered plant. The thought persists, “I have about eight weeks of this to endure!”
Fortunately I discover that today is a day off for me and most of the crew. We are awaiting the arrival of a supposed huge catch of salmon but they are a bit far out at sea. I think they are due to arrive tomorrow morning. When they do arrive I hear that the plant will be running twenty-four hours a day and we can expect to work sixteen hours each day. Some guys that have been here for a month already have worked schedules as heroic as starting at five-thirty a.m. and clocking out for the day at one-thirty the next morning! I will have to reduce my efforts so I don’t burn out.
After a hearty early morning breakfast of scrambled eggs, cottage cheese, and fruit I go outside along the road to hunt for a little dandelion. Dandelions grow plentiful with leaves as big as my foot. Although bitter, I know there is little chance of me getting any real nutrition from the mess hall. It’s a little after six a.m. and the morning sun is already bathing the Alaskan wilderness with her warm illumination from behind the eastern mountain peaks. Crisp blue sky promises a beautiful warm day. I go back to bed to try and get a few more hours of sleep, which proves to be challenging because of the noisy tractors moving earth and boulders around on the other side of the road.
I manage to get a couple hours of sleep until eleven a.m. when the construction noise increases to unbearable levels and I consider any further attempt to sleep to be a completely pointless effort. Still groggy-eyed I lace up my hiking boots and go outside to begin a relaxed jog down the road to explore the area. A driveway just behind the bunker house leads to Saw Mill Creek Road and Saw Mill Creek runs under a bridge at that intersection. On the other side of the bridge tractors are busy moving earth. I’m not sure exactly what they are doing but I was told that further up the creek they are working on increasing the height of the dam that creates the reservoir called Blue Lake. The area is covered with a fine layer of dust as far as a few hundred yards down the road.
As I walk south on the now dirt road I notice thick salmonberry bushes all along the way. Salmonberries closely resemble blackberries but are softer, juicier, and either bright yellow-orange or dark red in color. One taste and I am hooked. I can’t get enough to eat as I creep into the thorny thicket to reach the ripest fruits.
When I return to the property on my way to the cafeteria for lunch I meet Jay, a stalky man in his forties originally from the Philippines and now residing in Alaska. We chit-chat a little and after I hear about his past experiences in the Alaskan fish industry he ends up inviting me to go for a hike this afternoon up a trail above the town of Sitka. We plan on inviting a few others to join us in the afternoon adventure.
In the cafeteria I sit down next to Jay and begin eating my selection of the least damaging foods I could find in the buffet. Next to me on the other side is a young Caucasian man with long blondish hair combed to one side. I overhear him talking with a woman seated across the table from him. I stop chewing and listen carefully to their conversation. Another co-worker across the table notices my look of intense concentration and comments that I look like I’m in deep thought. I tell the guy that I speak a little Russian and am just trying to pick out some words from their conversation. The young Caucasian man next to me hears this and turns to me and asks if I speak Russian. I respond to him in Russian and in my best Russian accent that I speak a little Russian. Suddenly, he and the woman divert their attention to me and want to learn about who I am and where I’m from. Igor is his Russian name but when he moved to the U.S. he adopted the name Benjamin. He is only eighteen years old and grew up in Moscow. He has been living in Idaho for the past four years and speaks excellent English. Her name is Vera. She is from Moscow and speaks no English. She is around forty years old and is working here in the egg house but also handles the purchasing of salmon roe for distribution in Russia. After a few short dialogue exchanges in Russian Jay shares with everyone at the table our plans to hike up the mountain this afternoon. Igor immediately volunteers to join us although he is one of the few that is actually working today and he is scheduled to finish work at three a.m. Another young Caucasian man in his twenties, Josh, also agrees to accompany us.
Shortly after three p.m. the four of us meet next to the bunker house and discuss the best way to get to the trail head which begins about a mile from outside of town along Saw Mill Creek Road. The three of them, already familiar with the area since they’ve been working here for the past month, all agree that it would be more enjoyable to hike the Thimbleberry Trail from here to Whale Park and catch a ride from there to the Verstovia Trailhead, which winds up to the top of the steep mountain offering fantastic panoramic views of Sitka. Josh and Jay lead the way up a dirt road while a fourth guy, tall and thin in stature and rather quiet, joins us as well. Just before a small clearing along the road next to a stream Josh identifies the way up from the base of the steep slope and then we all disappear into a hardly distinguishable trail engulfed by salmonberry bushes. As soon as we start climbing the trail it is as if we’ve been swallowed up by the wild and I am filled with exhilaration.
“The Expendables” – Day hike on the Thimbleberry Trail
Everyone in our group seems to be aware of the threat of a bear encounter. Before I came to Alaska nearly everyone I knew cautioned me about the bears. “Watch out for bears”, they would tell me and then offer advice from wearing noisy bells when I hike to carrying a shotgun. After doing some online research I discovered that a confrontation with a bear would be extremely unlikely and the best measures to take are to make a lot of noise while hiking. Bears are equally afraid of us so making them aware of our presence by talking loudly should keep us safe. However, I am planning on purchasing a can of bear spray when I go to town, just in case. Bear spray is just mace in a large canister and is reported to be very effective in the rare occasion of a face-off with a bear.
Along the Thimbleberry Trail beautiful Heart Lake lies surrounded by thick pine forest while Bear Mountain stands tall in the distance
The Thimbleberry Trail takes us up the mountain about a hundred feet and then turns west becoming fairly level. I trail behind the others not because I’m weighed down with my camera and tripod, but because I keep stopping to pick bright-colored salmonberries and small unripe blueberries. The two-mile hike is easy and a chance for us to get to know each other better. Ben, the Russian, is now also sampling the wild delicacy. I share with him the benefits of eating wild edible plants and the freedom that it gives to a hiker not to have to carry so much food with him. Being only eighteen years old Ben is the youngest one in our group and probably all the workforce. He is also extremely adventurous and wants to hike to the top of several mountains in the area. We are already planning to do an all-day hike tomorrow to the peak of the mountain next to the one we are going to hike today.
Delicious juicy salmonberry
After passing two small lakes and eating about a hundred berries we come to the end of the trail and walk a few hundred feet down the road to Whale Park, a very small area for viewing whales as they enter Sitka Sound from the Pacific Ocean. Telescopes are mounted in front of wooden picnic benches enabling viewers to see humpback and grey whales during their fall migratory visits to Sitka Sound. Whale Park is also the last bus stop from town. We wait for the next bus while the last guy who joined us continues on walking to Sitka. He seems to prefer being alone.
Ben waves down a construction truck heading toward the dam project. The two workers are happy to give us a ride to the Verstovia Trailhead. Hitchhiking is a common way to get around here. We squeeze into the cab and learn a little about the construction project at Blue Lake. The dam project is way over budget and far behind schedule however they aren’t bothered. They’re making $55 per hour and getting lots of overtime too.
(An article regarding the purpose of the dam project: freshwater exports to India
Trailhead to the peak of Mount Verstovia
The weather couldn’t be better for a hike. I’ve been told that it is very rare to have so many sunny days in Sitka. It hasn’t rained for over a week and the people of Sitka are beginning to worry that the place is going to dry up. The trail up Verstovia Mountain is steep but well marked. Ben shares with us his experience last summer while working for the forestry service. He worked with a team of about twenty people building hiking trails in the mountains. They would be out in the forest for a couple weeks at a time carrying supplies and camping each night. The arduous labor involved shoveling earth, moving rocks and boulders, cutting through tree roots, and constructing simple wooden bridges. As a result, he developed a strong body that can endure long hikes as well as an appreciation for nature.
Mount Verstovia (south side of main peak)
After nearly two hours of hiking a steep winding trail through the shady forest we finally arrive above the tree line to the top of the first peak of Mount Verstovia. Ben is the first to reach the summit followed by Josh and Jay while I linger far behind having stopped on a number of occasions to photograph plants and scenery. I’m also quite exhausted. Ben is in far better condition than I am.
Chad, Ben, and Jay at the top of the first peak of Mount Verstovia with the main peak towering behind us to the left
The unobstructed view from the top at 2,550 feet elevation is incredibly breathtaking. The small town of Sitka lies far below us like a small scale model. The cloudless sky allows for a panoramic view of dozens of small pine-covered islands in Sitka Sound with the 3,200-foot snow-capped Mount Edgecumbe, an extinct volcano revered by the Tlingit, standing guard at the entrance to the sound. To the north and south steep mountain peaks extend as far as the eye can see but behind us to the east there is a taller peak not far away, the second peak of Mount Verstovia, and the fact that it is higher seems to bother Ben. After we take a few pictures celebrating our ascension Ben, irritated by the fact that we can’t see beyond the second peak, spots two people far up near the summit and excitedly suggests that we continue hiking to the top of Verstovia’s main peak. Josh and Jay immediately shoot down the idea citing the fact that the sun is going to set soon and suggesting that we hike it tomorrow. It’s seven o’clock and sunset will be around nine. Ben further encourages them saying that we are so close and the weather is so perfect, “why wait another day when we don’t know what tomorrow will be like?”
Ben has a point. It’s true, the weather has been unusually warm and sunny. Sitka weather is mostly cloudy, foggy, and drizzly. Tomorrow could be just that. I’m undecided. Taking into account my level of energy it would be wise to call it a day and return with Josh and Jay. Josh, not wasting any more time, has already begun the walk down. Ben further edges me on. I study the main peak and estimate that we could get to the top by sunset. That would give us enough time to complete the trip back down the trail by dark. I’m tired but we are so close and tomorrow Sitka could be enveloped in thick fog. Torn between a weakened body and a will to take up the challenge my eyes swing between Josh coasting down an easy descent and the peak of Mount Verstovia. I then look at Ben. “Let’s do it!”
After a bid of farewell Jay hurries to catch up with Josh. We tell him that we will probably be back around eleven. I load my gear on my back and we hurry along the trail first descending slightly into an area of wet marshland before beginning to ascend the main peak. The trail steepens and then eventually disappears as the terrain becomes more rocky. Certain areas require the use of our hands to climb rocks or pull ourselves up using tree branches and roots as handles. Ben leads the way and helps me out by carrying my tripod which alone weighs over ten pounds. In just over an hour, much sooner than I expected, we reach the top of the main peak at about 3,400 feet and are rewarded with the most incredible mountain views ever presented before our eyes. This was truly worth the extra effort. The eastern horizon stretches endlessly with the most rugged mountains I’ve ever seen. The eastern peaks reach much higher than Mount Verstovia and are completely covered with snow. The air is surprisingly still and warm. The golden glow of the setting sun glistens over the ocean to the west. The mountain we are standing on casts a long shadow over Silver Bay Seafoods far below us, across Saw Mill Creek, and halfway up another mountain that lies to the east. That mountain immediately becomes the subject of interest for a future hike. It is higher, bigger, and much more rugged than Mount Verstovia. Ben and I agree, next we will conquer that mountain.
View from the peak of Mount Verstovia clearly showing Mount Edgecumbe across Sitka Sound at far left, tiny islands in the water, and the shoreline of the town of Sitka at bottom right
The unusually warm weather is perfect for an overnight stay. I hurry to capture as many photographs as possible in the fading light. In the northern latitudes the unique path of the sun results in a long-lasting sunset giving me more quality time in the golden hue of the final moments of the day. The sea, sky, mountains, forest, setting sun, crescent moon, the very air I’m breathing, the culmination of all the elements around me experienced by all my senses gives me an immense peace. It’s something difficult to explain. I feel at home. This is where I belong. I feel completely safe and secure here, on top of this rugged peak, so close to heaven. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here. I can feel deep inside me the need to be here, to spend the night, lie on a bed of moss, just stare at the sky above, and pray until I fall asleep.
The property shared by Silver Bay Seafoods and a construction company nestled between the sea and mountains with Heart Lake at the bottom as seen from the main peak of Mount Verstovia
Ben and I talk about coming back here for an overnight stay when we have another two days off. We aren’t sure if we have work tomorrow and don’t want to risk the possibility of not showing up to work on time so I deny the spiritual calling from God to stay tonight and discuss with Ben our return path. Ben has found an easy way down the far side of the peak to the ridge that continues east. We are both thirsty and out of water. A short distance along the ridge is an accessible patch of snow we could melt in our mouths to quench our thirst. The eastbound trip, however, would take us in the opposite direction of the trail we took up the mountain. Gazing down the densely forested slope to the south we can clearly see the plant and bunker houses below. We could just travel straight down the mountainside directly back to the plant and probably get down the mountain in about an hour. “Let’s do it!”, we both agree.
Chad perched on top of the ridge and armed with his camera
We easily manage the quarter mile or so hike along the ridge encountering few obstacles along the way. The snow provides much needed liquid nourishment to prepare us for the hike downhill. The orange glow of the horizon has turned to twilight blue. We have to hurry so we don’t get caught in the dark in the middle of the forest below.
Ben enjoying a snow snack along the ridge
Examining the steep mountain slope beneath us we chart out a route that begins with a trot through low vegetation before entering the forest. The average angle of the slope is about forty-five degrees which is surprisingly more difficult to manage than we anticipated. The lush green vegetation, although only about twelve inches high, causes our feet to slip out from underneath us thus requiring careful footing with each step.
Ben managing the descent from the ridge
About one-hundred yards down the slope our feet begin splashing in seeping water that drains directly from the fluid-soaked mountainside. This seepage eventually organizes itself into a trickle and then a cascading creek as we enter the tree zone. At the top of the tree zone Ben and I stop to define the best route to take. The light is diminishing quickly. If we travel through the forest we will lose light fast. The alternative is to follow the creek which carves a rocky trail through the trees giving us open sky above and longer lasting light plus more open visibility ahead of us allowing us to see potential threats such as bears. We both decide on the latter.
Before continuing I suggest we take “bear precautions”. It’s getting dark and we have nothing to defend ourselves in the rare case that we should meet a bear along the way so I suggest that, along with talking in a loud voice, we stop at short intervals to listen for sounds and to throw rocks ahead of us down the creek to alert wildlife of our approach. Listening carefully we hear nothing but the gentle sound of water flowing beneath us. We each throw two rocks downstream and listen again. Nothing but water flowing.
We continue our descent down the steep mountain. The creek volume increases and short waterfalls form in the now eroded rocky ravine. We plod through shallow water being careful to measure each step in the dark forest ambience. Between well rehearsed scenes of hurling stones downstream and yelling to announce our approach we very carefully negotiate our downhill journey in an increasingly harsher environment. Ben and I stop at a set of short cascades to reconsider our chosen path. It is now almost completely dark. We still have a long way to go. We have no light but we have plenty of water to drink. By the way, the fresh spring water is absolutely delicious. We study the interior of the forest and conclude that it is just too dark to safely maneuver down the steep terrain, plus we believe that bears would more likely be found there. However, the problem with continuing down the stream is that it is becoming increasingly more difficult, not to mention downright dangerous. The waterfalls are increasingly higher and we often encounter obstacles such as fallen timber crossing the stream which is usually covered with a very slippery algae. In other words, we’ve got a bit of a problem.
Ben leads the way climbing along the edge and through the cascades holding on to whatever rocky crevasse he can find as he searches with his toes for a secure placement for his foot. In the encroaching darkness we have to rely purely on feeling our way around. With my camera gear safely stored in a water-proof case in my backpack I cautiously follow Ben. Safely down the cascades we continue downstream testing each step. The sound of rushing water makes the idea of listening for bears downstream useless. Nonetheless, we still throw rocks ahead of us. As we move on, the sound of water falling becomes greater and greater. Unable to clearly see ahead of us even twenty feet we stand at the top of a waterfall and are unable to judge the distance to the bottom. Based on the sound of the water falling below we judge it to be probably about twenty feet. It is a challenging waterfall to climb because there are few crevasses to securely hold onto. The only way is to utilize the enclosing walls like a narrow hallway and with the body in the center press the arms and legs outward and crawl down like a spider. We both succeed in safely climbing down the spider wall. No injuries yet, thank God!
Chad at the top of the “spider wall”
Amazing grace
Technically, it is now dark. What was to be a one-hour downhill hike has already turned into two or three hours and I’m sure we still have a long way to go. We are somewhere on the slope of this mountain and we know that if we just follow the stream down we will get to the Thimbleberry Trail which will lead us home. It is too dangerous to continue on down these waterfalls that just keep getting bigger and bigger. We climb up a steeper slope grasping pine roots to pull us up out of the ravine so we can consider trekking through the forest. We quickly discover how difficult it would be to hike through the forest. Visibility is absolutely zero. The trees completely block out all celestial light. Every movement, every step is like walking blind-folded. We retreat back to the stream and continue the dangerous but somewhat more familiar route.
“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me,… I once was lost but now am found, was blind but now I see.” I find the lyrics to one of my favorite church songs to be both very appropriate to our situation as well as comforting. I loudly sing “Amazing Grace” providing both noise to ward off bears and bring peace and faith to Ben and I, the lost hikers. I inform Ben that we actually have a third option. We don’t have to climb down the waterfalls or through the forest. We could just lie down on the moss covered carpet of the forest and wait until first light in the morning and then continue our descent. A feeling of peace has overcome me and I feel completely safe just lying down next to the trunk of a pine and closing my eyes until morning. Ben, however, is intent on getting back home tonight.
We continue climbing down the rugged rocky stream struggling evermore as we face continually more difficult obstacles then we come to a point where further advancement is not negotiable. A steep rocky waterfall more than twenty feet with no safe walls to climb, just a sheer steep cascade to a bottom we cannot see in the darkness of the midnight sky. We painstakingly try to penetrate the darkness with our eyes but it’s no use. We can’t make out anything more than extremely faint hues of formless greens and grays. We now have two choices – trek through the dark forest or sleep in the forest until the morning. Ben wants to keep going.
Ben leads the way. Depending entirely on the sense of touch we feel our way up out of the ravine, grasping roots and digging our fingers deep into the soft earth. Ben gives me verbal direction along the way helping me to look for roots and branches to hoist myself up onto the forest floor.
“Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come; ’twas grace that brought me safe thus far and grace shall lead me home.” The song becomes more and more relevant as we go. I give thanks to God that despite being ill-prepared for this journey neither of us has suffered an injury of any kind. I actually feel better than I did before beginning the hike. The pain in my hands is gone. I’m able to grasp tree roots firmly and hang from rock ledges. This morning I could barely hold on to the ladder as I climbed out of bed. I’m not even hungry. Our last meal was about twelve hours ago. Is God really with us?
No fear
I’m confident that He is with us. Even with the knowledge that we could stumble upon a bear on the other side of a tree or as we climb over a pile of fallen timber. If we were to surprise a bear that we can’t even see the result would likely be tragic for us. Despite this being my first time in bear country and even more, at night in a forested mountain, the thought of a bear attack was always there but the fear was not. It’s difficult to recreate in words the strange sense of being on the slope of a densely forested mountain and not being able to see,… anything. Absolutely nothing is visible. Through this part of the journey I led the way. Ben followed about five feet behind me. Every so often he would ask, “Where are you?”
“Right in front of you.”
The ground before us was invisible, just empty darkness. We crept along, ears alert to sounds, knees slightly bent, feeling every footstep, sensing the composition of the earth beneath our feet. Soft, pine needles and heavily composted organic matter. Then the next step might be firm, hard, a rock. Then my shin would bump something. I step above it and plant my foot on a firm surface. Oh, it’s a fallen tree. I step up with all my weight and my foot collapses through the decaying timber. We walk with our arms and hands swaying and lingering ahead of us like the antennae of a bug detecting obstacles in front of us lest we smash our faces into a tree. Instincts led our hands to grasp anything they came in contact with. “Ouch!” Grasping devil’s club is the one thing you don’t want to take hold of. The tall branches of this bush are covered with long soft spines. They are soft and only slightly irritating if you strike the spines at an angle but a direct impact with the sharp tips can penetrate the skin and cause some pain. It was always obvious when one of us wandered into a patch of devil’s club and the subsequent yelp was enough to warn the person following.
Sometimes we couldn’t feel the step ahead of us. There was nothing. Reach a little further. Still nothing. Is it the edge of a rock? Go back, change direction, go around it. Choosing a good path in the dark is impossible. You just pick a direction, feel around, and hope for the best. Therefore, we shouldn’t have been surprised when we found ourselves at the edge of a cliff.
“How far down do you think it is?”, I asked Ben.
“I don’t know, I can’t tell.”
“I can vaguely see something down there but I can’t tell how far away it is.”
“Throw something down there.”
I toss a branch down below. We listen…. “It’s not too high. Maybe twenty feet…. About.”
Ben is a natural-born climber. He boldly led the way every time we climbed thus far and now he is doing it again. I guess my expertise is traversing blindly through a dark forest in the middle of the night. I don’t like the idea of climbing down a cliff into the unknown but away I go, right behind Ben. I wrap my arms around a pine tree teetering at the edge of the cliff and slowly slide down to the base. My legs dangle in an oblivion below me as I grasp onto the roots with both hands and cling to the side of the cliff. Soft earth falls below. I can hear Ben to the left of me. “How did you get there?”
“Just reach to the left. You will feel where to grab.”
“I can’t feel anything below me.”
“Just reach.”
I extend my left hand and foot to the left and find more roots to anchor myself to. Once in this position I have difficulty finding another footing to the left. Ben has already progressed a lot but I am stuck. “How did you get there?”
“Just reach. Dig your fingers in.”
The soft earth doesn’t feel secure but somehow with a combination of roots, rocks, and earth I manage to get across to where Ben,… was. “Where are you now?”
“Right here above you.”
“How? I can’t feel anything secure to hold onto.”
“Here, grab my hand.”
Ben’s hand hangs just above my head. I can barely see it in the extremely dim light provided by the clearing above the cliff. I reach up, grasp his hand, and he securely pulls me up and I latch onto the first tree roots I find and crawl up to the surface. Ben is one heck of good comrade to have on your side. Just eighteen years old and valiant as a knight!
From this position we negotiate our way down to the bottom of the cliff and enter once again into the dark forest. The sound of the stream nearby confirms that we are still traveling in the right direction. Far into the distance we can vaguely see the shadow of Sugarloaf Mountain. The fact that we can see it means that we still have a bit of distance to cover before we make it down to the trail. I calculate the average distance in elevation we make with each step and multiply that by how many steps per minute, times sixty for an approximate speed per hour. I figure that we now have about one-thousand feet of elevation to go.
We continue our blind journey feeling our way through dense vegetation, around trees, and over fallen ones until Ben asks me if I have my phone with me. The last time I looked for it was when we were at the stream and I discovered that the pocket of my backpack had gotten partially opened probably from squeezing through thick brush and fallen timber. I couldn’t find it then but I stop to search again. After a more detailed search through my backpack I find my phone and turn it on. The display lights up and Ben suggests that we use it to light our pathway. “Duh!” I say, “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before!”
The time is now one-thirty-eight. We’ve been climbing down for almost four hours already. My phone is a Samsung Gravity 3, over three years old and not equipped with a light, but the display provides enough light for us to see the ground immediately before us, as well as those irritating stalks of devil’s club. This added tool doubles our speed and in less than an hour we are near the bottom of Mount Verstovia. The ground begins to flatten out. The soil becomes swampy. We trod through mud and huge-leafed skunk cabbage before making a final challenging effort to break through a barrier of thorny tall-growing salmonberry bushes. We yell and clumsily and carelessly trample through the last of our difficulties of our intended afternoon hike and happily stumble upon the familiar Thimbleberry Trail. With a sigh of relief we immediately recognize the bridge that crosses Thimbleberry Creek.
Victoriously we march along the trail still making plenty of noise to alert bears, if there are any around. Ben turns back toward the mountain and curses it. I stop him and say, “Hey now, that mountain was a blessing to us. It provided us with the most incredible scenic views we’ve ever seen, gave us water when we were thirsty, and despite the high level of difficulty climbing down none of us suffered any injury at all and we had no bear encounters.” Ben agrees.
At about three-fifteen in the morning we return to the plant property. We wander into the main door of the plant and up the stairs into the cafeteria to celebrate with a tall cup of hot cocoa. Surprisingly, the lights are all on and nobody is around. The plant isn’t operating until the next boatload of salmon arrives. We drink two cups of hot cocoa and examine our completely soiled clothes, faces, and hands. We laugh as we recall our victories of the night as well as admit our obvious lack of experience. It was a fast training course and we are both happy that we chose the difficult path.
It’s three-thirty and breakfast will be served at six. I think I’m going to skip breakfast and get as much sleep as I can. I guess we won’t be hiking the mountain today since we already did it. We leave the plant and head back to the bunker house to get some much needed rest.
…continue on to Chapter 3
THE EXPENDABLES: Escape from Baranof Island 