Final Reflection

Night Hike
As a young child growing up in Salt Lake City, Utah, the Boy Scouts was always in my life. My older brother was always earning a badge for some sort of skill or another, my father was always going on hikes or camps with the boys in our home troop. I was, on a constant basis, hearing stories of amazing hikes, camps, and adventures. So when I turned 12, it was just natural that I would join Troop 243, earn merit badges, go on adventures, and, like every other young man in the scout system in Salt Lake, earn my Eagle award before I turned 16.
On my adventure as a Boy Scout, I conquered many daunting tasks. From 4 mile hikes, to a 100 mile bike trip, I did just about everything. I learned how to start a blazing fire with only one match. Then, I learned how to do the same thing with no match. After that, like any young boy would do, I continued my evolution of fire starting and learned how to start the same fire with a cigarette lighter and a can of bug spray. We learned just how much sunscreen we'd need in order to not be crispy and burned, but at the same time not feel all oily and lotiony all day. I swam an entire mile in a cold lake without floatation devices. I found the right, and wrong, way to sharpen my knife collection so they'd stay shiny and ready to be used for anything from woodcarving to cutting my food. The incorrect way brought life lessons of it's own. From the most efficient way to put a band-aid on myself, to how many Tylenol I'd need to stop my recently stitched up wound from throbbing.
Somewhere along this exciting path of learning experiences, ghost stories, and sunburns, I came to terms with some very unexciting facts. They include the following: you will get bitten by mosquitoes, hiking in the dark will have to happen, Mother Earth has her own schedule (if it's gonna rain, it's gonna rain), you will ALWAYS find at least one rock directly under where you place your sleeping bag.
Most of these facts of camping and hiking have become minor inconveniences in the years I've spent in the great outdoors, and some of them have become surprisingly enjoyable to deal with. Hiking at night is one of those enjoyable inconveniences. It's happened countless times, and I've grown to hope that it will happen countless more times.
Jump ahead to the year 2010. It's the centennial anniversary of the Boy Scouts of America. The exact date is June 15th, and I decided to go on a hike with some friends of mine. We hiked up Bell's Canyon in Sandy, Utah. Bell's is a small little canyon, rich with wildlife and moisture. It's spend years being cut into the Wasatch Mountains by a heavy flowing river with gorgeous waterfalls. The trail itself winds through trees, shrubs, and super green plants, all the while climbing higher and higher through the mountain. As my friend Sean and I climbed, we saw beetles, caterpillars, moths, and plenty of water. The end result wasn't super impressive: we stopped climbing about 45 minutes from the destination, due to a storm on the horizon and super sore muscles. Little did we know what the hike down had in for us!
The views of the city, the foliage, and the cliffs were breathtaking! As the night started to creep in and the sun started to sink, bats began to appear in the darkness. I started to become both excited for the dark, and nervous for the storm that was soon to break in the valley. We heard the nearly subsonic sounds of toads croaking in the trees.
The most exciting, however, was the two massive, black moose we nearly got attacked by. Sean was in front of our two man caravan. We were discussing something that was probably less than important when we both heard the sound of antlers in the trees to our left. I got all excited at the prospect of seeing a huge deer buck, looked over, and saw a black mass. It stood about 9 feet tall at the top of the head, and another half a foot at the top of the velvety antlers. We stopped immediately. One of the lessons we had both learned in our years of scouting is that, while a moose is an herbivore, it WILL kill you if you scare it. Especially if you come between a mother and her calf. We retreated to a boulder about 15 feet up the trail so we could see over the trees to assess the situation. To our relief, there was no calf, and the two moose were both male. Our relief was only temporary, as we still didn't want to come within throwing distance of the two massive mammals. We began throwing rocks into the bushes surrounding the moose in order to make them both leave faster.
Our efforts were successful, as the moose wandered away from the trail, and we made it down to the trailhead to meet up with some friends that had left before us. One girl voiced her concern for the other hikers having to hike in the dark. I was so enthralled by the idea of hiking in the dark that I almost wanted to go hike more! It didn't make any sense to me why anyone would dread the idea at all! Not to mention hiking in the dark in an area so full of life! My childhood was so full of other dreadful notions that I welcome the thought of a night hike. The more bats, darkness, moonlight, and sounds of rolling thunder, the better.
It made me wish that everybody could have experienced the mountains the way I had as a young boy. While I understand that not all of mankind have been lucky enough to have been raised in such a beautiful, mountainous area, I have trouble truly understanding what it must be like to not have those experiences in their lives.