Each step was earned.  “How could the trail runners do that?”  I pondered in my throbbing brain.  Middle aged men in skimpy shorts pounded up the incline.  When I hike I pretend it is survival of the fittest.  I am a velociraptor overtaking prey.  I will push myself past others. “Ok, you can’t pause for a breather until you overtake that family with two kids.”  These trail runners are the T-Rex of the mountain.  As they sped past me, I became a non-combatant Zen-master.  “We are all here to enjoy nature.  It isn’t about competition.”

This story is about Scottie.  Scottie lives in one of the most beautiful valleys in Alaska.  But, his scout leader drove him south of a big city to hike an incredibly steep trail.  I never saw the van, but I assume it smelled of chocolate and body odor.  As I solo hiked up, the troop was hiking down.  I could hear the cawing of young teens when the wind wasn’t blowing.  Then I saw them coming over a rise.

“Robert, get back on the trail!”

“I.  Am.  A. Mountaineeeer!” Robert would dramatize a word with each bounding step.  This started the stampede.

Teenagers are not self-conscious.  It is often quoted that teens are slaves to peer pressure.  I believe it is more that their peripheral vision has no self-consciousness.  True, their peers influence their actions greatly, but they only partake in “stupid” actions because they have a limited view of who is in their proximity for possible social interactions.  The stampede down the mountain began because the boys could only see each other.  They had a false cohort.  They failed to realize that several dozen or even hundred people would participate with them in climbing up and down that mountain.  A teenager doesn’t speed because his or her friend’s opinion is overly important. He speeds because a cop’s opinion doesn’t exist.

I shattered the boys’ worldview.  At a narrow section of trail, I brought the first scout to a halt.  My presence caused him to realize, “At this speed, one of us will fall off.”  The slowdown telepathically spread to the troop.  The flock of starlings slowed and sheepishly looked at me, the adult, for approval.  I nodded and they lumbered past.  The last boy said, “Thanks mister.  There’s some more up there.”  I replied, “No problem. You boys be safe.” Fat chance.

I came to the top of the rise where I first spied the boys when I saw the stragglers.  Two scout leaders, and a smaller child.  His green jacket was too big and his steps too small.  I thought nothing of it as I grunted, “Howdy,” and continued up.

“Aaahhh!”

I whirled around to see the smaller child grasping his ankle.  The scout leader was awkwardly retracing his steps to a sharp turn in the treeless path.  A man-sized boulder blocked the path and hikers were supposed to flow around it.  Slightly to the left of the boulder sat the small child who obviously had failed at the maneuver.

“Scottie!  Did you roll your ankle?”  “Uh huh.”

Emasculation began to creep over our hero and he said, “I think I can stand.”  He braced a hand against the boulder, grunted against his swollen ankle, and crumpled back to the path.

I was fifteen yards away.  I knew I should show concern.  With two scout leaders close to the child I assumed it would be safe to restate the facts, “He rolled his ankle.  You guys need anything?”

The hat-less scout leader bellowed down to the rest of the troop, “Tell Robert to stop.  Jake, bring up the first aid kit.” Scottie drank water from his over engineered canteen while the other scout leader untied his shoe. The hat-less leader turned to me, “We should be okay.  Thank you.”  I could see Scottie wiggling his toes and flexing his ankle.  He only grimaced.  There were no howls of a broken bone.

“Alright.  Godspeed Scottie.  You still have about fifteen thousand feet.  It is going to be a long day.”  I regretted the words as soon as I said them.  I should have encouraged the kid so I said, “But, I believe in you.”

At this point, James showed up panting with a red backpack.  I turned around and began attacking the scree leading to the next flat section.  I thought, “Don’t slip and look like an idiot in front of the kid you just terrorized with compassion.”  The rocks underneath me gave a few inches, so I put my hands to the steep ground for stability.  I heard muffled conversations and grunts below me, but I assumed my adventure with the scouts was over.  “Focus on the rocks. Focus on your hands,” I told myself.

When I reached the top of the scree I dusted myself off and decided it was time to look around for a bald eagle.  I looked for a silhouette against the waves in the Turnagain Arm, no luck.  But, I scanned up the valley and saw a hovering shape, a buzzard with a white head.  I breathed out, “Wow, this is where I live.”

From my perch I glanced forty yards below me to the now huddled troop.  Everyone was looking through their packs.  The Good Samaritan in me shouted over the wind, “Do you need anything?” The hat-less leader hollered, “If you have some fresh Ace bandage, that would be great.”  He held up a moldy and overstretched specimen.  I began sliding back down the scree, toes first, butt almost touching the ground.  “Yes!  Be there in a minute.”

When I reached Scottie and the troop, I could see everyone was pausing.  The adults didn’t have the tools they needed.  All the boys were daydreaming, kicking rocks, or punching each other.  They were a very calm bunch given the circumstances.  I greeted the sitting boy, “Hey Scottie, we’ll get you fixed up and down the trail.”  I pulled my pack off and a slight panic ran up my spine.  What if I hadn’t packed the bandage?  I would be one more unprepared adult.

I clawed out my red first aid pouch from my pack.  Yes, I put a fanny-pack in my pack.  The Ace bandage was pressing against the open zipper in anticipation.  “I’ll let you take care of it,” I told the hat-less scout leader as I handed him the bandage.  “Thanks,” he said as he took the bandage and passed it off to the hat-wearing leader who was running the OR.

The waiting rooms small talk began on the mountainside.  “So where are you guys from?”  “Yeah really.  That’s a long way to drive with the troop.”  “Oh me, I am from south Anchorage.”  “No, never hiked this trail.  It’s really steep.  Are you training the troop for something big?”

Scottie was wrapped up and pushing toward standing.  He limped a few steps and the rest of the troop began to lean downhill toward the van.  I could hear the hat-wearing troop leader murmuring assessment questions to the standing boy.  I quietly advised the hat-less leader, “I don’t know if you are allowed, but I’d give him some Tylenol or something.  He still has a long walk.”

“James, do you have any pain meds?”  “What are those?” “You know, Tylenol, Ibuprofen.  Stuff you take when you have a headache.”  James shook a bottle from his pack, “The red ones in there say Advil.”  The hat-wearing nurse directed Scottie to swig the pills and extra water.

I prepared my exit by saying, “Well, I’m glad you all are okay.  Be safe on the way down.”

“Thanks for the help.  Scottie, what do you tell the man?”  Scottie squinted into the sun, “Thanks mister.”  I smiled back, “You’re welcome, and remember, always be prepared.”