Even the nerdiest activity becomes an adventure when The Captain is involved. Why just yesterday yours truly went on a Geological hike on Land Trust property with 10 year old Son of the Captain (SOC). The only thing standing between this event and the Geek Hall of Fame was the lack of Wizard and/or Dragon costumes. At first glance, I thought we may have had some but then I realized by the smell of moth balls and the numerous canes that the surprisingly large crowd was composed mostly of senior citizens – those weren’t costumes, just the latest fashions from the prior century. But no biggie; father and son swore an oath never to tell anyone we were there and all would be good.
The Hike Leader was a second career insurance professional who in a former life was a real geologist (I kid you not!!). He gave an introductory speech, showing us a multi-colored geological map that was supposed to somehow help us understand the gobbledygook that was flowing like magma from his piehole. One of the canes raised his, er, cane, and asked our guide if we might possibly see some fossils on our hike. I whispered to SOC that this was easy - all he had to do was turn to either side and look at his neighbors. SOC shushed me. I get that a lot. He also had that “Oh my god I can’t believe my father roped me into doing this!” look on his face, which I instantly recognized and fearlessly addressed: “Don’t write it off just yet. Don’t you wanna see how the Geritol Gang is gonna hike up the side of a mountain?” Came the swift reply: “What for? I’ve seen you try this a dozen times before.” Chip off of the old block, that SOB… I mean SOC.
Watching this geriatric train get rolling brought back fond memories from my freshman year in college, when I lived in a dorm room that overlooked the train tracks that run along the majestic Hudson River. The freight trains would stretch for miles and occasionally stop in the area. It took a good 15 minutes to get that one of those suckers rolling again from a standing position, much like our “Walks on Three Legs” tribe trying to loco mote out of the gravel parking lot and down the steep, narrow path into the woods below. Slippery leaves covered the path down to the rocky stream bed, where the path meandered through damp, treacherous rounded rocks which, I learned from our guide, had been “moved” there by a glacier some millions of years ago, about the time some of our party had been born. Our route was the perfect storm for a tidal wave of senior disaster. Good thing I had the local EMT Rescue company on speed dial, courtesy of the injury prone SOC.
Our Geologist stopped at a large rock by the stream and took out his little hammer tool to break off a chunk of this glacial deposit to illustrate the composition. He muttered a bunch of stuff that didn’t register until I heard the phrase “size matters,” at which time I perked up and began listening. Apparently the size of the something or other “mites” means something, which to me meant I lost interest again. After assisting a dozen or so folks over a bridge, we began our ascent up the hill. Our guide told us that millions of years ago, there were mountain peaks in Connecticut that surpassed those in the Himalayans today. Looking at our crew, that little hill in front of us might as well be Mount Everest. But up we went. I got stuck behind an emaciated 90 year old guy with ski poles and black spandex pants, so I quickly ducked off trail to protect my son from this gruesome sight.
Apparently the rocks of geological interest were a good ways above, so as we inched our way up, SOC and I began to pass the time by whistling through acorn caps or blades of grass. A hippie graybeard saw this and came over to share stories from his youth. SOC especially liked the one about how the children of mountain men used to fashion pipes out of acorns and pack them with special herbs and smoke ‘em all day long. Three beautifully crafted pipes later, we arrived at the peak. Apparently we’d missed the right turn we should have made and wandered off the path clear into the next town over. A middle aged woman with a thick German accent then decides to pipe up and tell the group that she saw the yellow trail marker about a half hour earlier. “I knew there vos somethink wrong!” Dozens of angry, droopy eyes stared up at her from this pack of arthritic coyotes. I swear I heard someone mumble “Damn Krauts” under his breath. I’m sure the pack would have been howling if not for the wheezing. So after an impromptu lecture from our fearful guide, we scuffled, scraped, and slid back down the hill, canes awhirling, ‘til we made it to the trail marker our Deutsch tourist identified.
By this point in the hike, SOC was now seeking out hippie graybeard, as he was the most entertaining and educational part of this event for him. I had no idea how many natural herbs there were right in our own backyard that one can eat, brew, and stick in an acorn pipe! Note to self. Add the following items to SOC’s Christmas list: Bowie knife, hemp, very tiny glass vials, and a package of Zig Zag.
At last we arrived at a cliff formation which, we were told, was the geological mother lode. These rocks were “in place,” which is to say not moved by glaciers, and were almost a billion years old, as evidenced by the fact they had more severe edges and tilted to the southeast, which is also an excellent description of my late, chain smoking grandmother, who might also accurately be described as “glacial.” So amusing myself by imagining us as Lilliputians planning to steal cigarettes from a fiending Grandma Gulliver, I was able to daydream through the last lecture of our hike without the aid of alcohol. SOC was till chatting excitedly with Grizzly Adams, so all was good.
Miraculously, each and every creeky car of the Little Train That Wheezed managed to make it back to the parking lot without derailing. Who says all rocks stay in place?! Pockets stuffed with all manner of souvenirs from nature, courtesy of Hippie Guy, we made our way back to the car and, eventually, civilization.
Believe The Captain when he says: Now I know the real reason squirrels collect acorns!
Yours from the comfort of my motorized Lazy Boy recliner,
The Captain
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