Hiking the Springs Pt. 04

The uninterrupted swishing sound of the ladies' nylon pants, their thighs rhythmically rubbing back and forth, convinced me that none of them had sex for at least six months.

Several years if you only count good sex -- the kind of sex when a woman pulls the kitchen table into the living room and surrounds it with scattered rose petals and a dozen lighted candles. Or when she finds herself shamelessly grasping at the hotel sheets as the headboard bangs away at the wall and she doesn't care that the people in the next room can hear her. Or people down the hall.

Or sex outdoors, under the full sun, on the shore of an obscure inlet with a sexy-as-hell boy half her age, unconcerned if anyone is watching. The kind of sex that leaves a woman with an unsteady walk and a silly grin into the following day.

The kind of sex that women have when they're in love.

The absence of conversation often speaks volumes, and if there was anything going on in their sex lives, some woman in the hiking club would have spoken up. Dead bedrooms have no salacious stories, and it's well-known that single women keep other women single.

These ladies were all doing it alone.

For the entirety of the six-mile hike it was all that I could do to wipe the silly grin off my face and to keep my mouth shut. Or to walk with a steady gait. Just thinking about Stubby and the line-up of sexy men I'd meet at tonight's pool party get-together almost made me lose my balance.

The group of ladies gathered at the mountain trailhead to make our way up to the landmark tree, then to the mountain spring -- which this time of year is always frozen over. It had been months since the group had hiked to these mountains; winter directs us to desert hikes. Outfitted in winter jackets, knit hats, knapsacks, crampons and hiking poles -- even at the trailhead we encountered scattered patches of snow.

The recent snowmelt finally made this trail passable.

How easy is it for us to overlook the beauty of nature? Butterscotch scented pine trees, shrubs that stubbornly emerge through the snowpack. We would ascend 1,700 feet today. A slow, steady pace would give us plenty of time to absorb nature, to glimpse at what lies beneath this thin veneer of civilization where we all constantly dwell. "Red in tooth and claw," to borrow the quote.

The landmark tree emerged in the distance; it is estimated to be 3,000 years old. Sitting at the convergence of several mountainside trails, the tree serves as a gathering spot for hikers. Trekking forward, the steady crunch of snow under our feet and the swishing of nylon pants were the only sounds. I made my way up to Brenda at the front of the group.

"You've missed several of our recent hikes. What have you been doing lately? It looks like you got some sun."

For nearly two months I spent much of my free time with Stubby, my sexy-as hell steady boyfriend -- who satisfied my girly needs when they needed it in the worst possible way. And oh, were they ever satisfied!

"Well, I've hiked to every known hot spring in the region, taken a 3-day kayaking trip on the river -- camping at reclusive inlets along the shore," I replied, whilst feeling a silly smile cross my face. "Yesterday, in fact, I hiked to an obscure hot spring. Generally, I've been enjoying the desert before the weather turns too hot and these desert hikes are closed down for many months, due to the intense summer heat."

"What woman wants to hike alone, or to be alone, for that matter?" Brenda asked, looking back down the trail toward the other ladies, now closing in on the two of us. "And now the snow is just beginning to thaw in the mountains, like we're in limbo between the two, the scorching desert and the chilly mountains."

She was correct; I was in limbo between the two.

Today I would hike with the ladies -- my friends, on a frosty mountainside, our destination, a frozen spring. Tonight, I would be one of the only women present at the Grotto, a private club that caters to men who enjoy public nudity but where female guests are requested to refrain.

In the hot tub, Stubby would see that my womanly needs were fully met -- something that I wanted in the worst possible way.

There is a brutality to nature -- an unaccommodating quality to the creature comforts that humans desire, primarily what women desire. Nature is a drive, an unwavering urge, a blind force -- generally inhospitable to humanity -- unfeeling and unsympathetic to our societal constructs. Gazing up at the landmark tree I asked, 'what is my quest for happiness in comparison to this tree's longevity that has lasted a full thirty centuries?'

Thirty centuries...so far, which puts things in perspective.

Just then a lone male jogger passed our group of ladies hiking -- in training, but not likely heading to the peak as it was still too early in the season. Carrying neither a knapsack, nor hiking poles nor wearing crampons, his slender frame quickly disappeared up the trail.

"Now why can't I meet a man like that?" Caroline asked.

"Maybe he'll say something to you on his return trip down the mountain." This statement unleashed a conversation about men, among other things, that they require very little, and where are they all hiding?

The trail to the mountain spring was just as I remembered it, cut into a slanting hillside but now obscured under several feet of snow. The spring is nestled in a protected meadow, well below treeline, just a quarter-mile from the landmark tree. Our group debated if we should proceed, considering the heavy snowdrift before us.

Standing at the front of the group, I suggested that we press on.

We crossed paths with another group of hikers, returning from the spring, who informed us that the spring is starting to melt. "It's so beautiful," one remarked. "I mean, it's really, really beautiful."

All I could think about was Stubby, and that he is really, really beautiful. Has my frosty demeanour also thawed? I'm in love with this boy, and it's more than the sex. I'm in love -- and what's more important than being in love? Put that in perspective, landmark tree.

Stubby is an incarnation of Nature. He understands me. He knows me. Someone once said that he who has no need of society because he is sufficient for himself, must be either a beast or a god.

"Eileen," Brenda asked, still chatting about men, "do you have any prospects, I mean -- what woman wants to do it alone?"

"I'm satisfied interacting with Nature," I replied, as a silly grin crossed my face and I nearly lost my balance once again.

The trail made one last turn and the spring appeared, where it always was, in the side of the mountain, and yes, it was starting to thaw, and it was really, really beautiful.