Making the Climb :: Personal Narrative Hiking Essays

Making the Climb The alarm clock rang and I forced myself out of bed. I took a shower, ate breakfast, brushed my teeth--all my other normal morning routines. But that day was not normal at all. I was going to do something with my English class that I never thought I would do. I was going to hike up Poly Canyon. With a horrible night’s sleep and a sore throat, I was not in the mood to undergo a â€Å"moderately strenuous† hike, but I pushed myself to get ready. Once the entire class had assembled, we made our way to the Poly Canyon gate where we would meet Professor Marx. The overcast sky and moist air were usual characteristics of San Luis Obispo mornings. I was not yet accustomed to this: I never dared to go outside before eight o’clock in the morning. The rest of the class shared my irritation over the fact that it was freezing and very early. After passing by dormitories and the Cerro Vista Apartments, we reached the meeting place where I could just make out the sight of Mr. Marx. Unlike the rest of us, he was bright eyed and ready to begin the walk. Silence swept over the entire group as we began our trek. Nothing could be heard except the crunch of gravel underneath our feet and the occasional explanatory interjections by our professor regarding the surrounding plants and rocks. Huge formations of serpentinite created a wall on one side of the trail, and on the other side the mountains were covered in blankets of coastal scrub. After a few minutes every bush and rock looked the same to me and I could not identify with Mr. Marx’s admiration for the beauty of that area. Even with the surprising deer sightings and geological features around me, I could only think about the end of the hike. Twenty minutes into the walk on the tan graveled road, something caught my eye. A tall antique-looking arch of rocks faced us. Its looming frame forced us to crane our stiff necks to view it. The very top was wearing thin and looked as if it was going to collapse in on itself. The arch was the entrance to a path lined with a low rock wall on either side. The mist created a moist refrigerator-like atmosphere; we gladly sat down on the walls to take a break. Making the Climb :: Personal Narrative Hiking Essays Making the Climb The alarm clock rang and I forced myself out of bed. I took a shower, ate breakfast, brushed my teeth--all my other normal morning routines. But that day was not normal at all. I was going to do something with my English class that I never thought I would do. I was going to hike up Poly Canyon. With a horrible night’s sleep and a sore throat, I was not in the mood to undergo a â€Å"moderately strenuous† hike, but I pushed myself to get ready. Once the entire class had assembled, we made our way to the Poly Canyon gate where we would meet Professor Marx. The overcast sky and moist air were usual characteristics of San Luis Obispo mornings. I was not yet accustomed to this: I never dared to go outside before eight o’clock in the morning. The rest of the class shared my irritation over the fact that it was freezing and very early. After passing by dormitories and the Cerro Vista Apartments, we reached the meeting place where I could just make out the sight of Mr. Marx. Unlike the rest of us, he was bright eyed and ready to begin the walk. Silence swept over the entire group as we began our trek. Nothing could be heard except the crunch of gravel underneath our feet and the occasional explanatory interjections by our professor regarding the surrounding plants and rocks. Huge formations of serpentinite created a wall on one side of the trail, and on the other side the mountains were covered in blankets of coastal scrub. After a few minutes every bush and rock looked the same to me and I could not identify with Mr. Marx’s admiration for the beauty of that area. Even with the surprising deer sightings and geological features around me, I could only think about the end of the hike. Twenty minutes into the walk on the tan graveled road, something caught my eye. A tall antique-looking arch of rocks faced us. Its looming frame forced us to crane our stiff necks to view it. The very top was wearing thin and looked as if it was going to collapse in on itself. The arch was the entrance to a path lined with a low rock wall on either side. The mist created a moist refrigerator-like atmosphere; we gladly sat down on the walls to take a break.