Published
Amanda always admired skilled hikers, and even more, loved a good view. When luck introduced good weather to a day off, she would be outside—and today was no different. In fact, it was such a superb day that she thought it fit to take on a challenge: Mt. Castor.
Mt. Castor was not your average tree-loving, stone-stepping, gentle-waterfall-having, light-breeze-sweeping, everyday kind of hike. It was hard, and wore that difficulty proudly on its face; made of vexing angles, violent running water, various very vicious looking bundles of bushes, and trees. So many trees, all that could be seen of the mountain at a distance was a wall of green occasionally split by scattered, sharp, steep, stone scrambles.
Not wanting to waste any time, she set off, having already picked, packed, planned, and prepared for such a hike as this. The path was steep, winding, and stubborn from the start, seeming to only offer flat sections of rest where humans had to otherwise force them to exist. This was not the worst of it though. Deep, thick, heavy, viscous, unrelenting, unwavering, and maybe even unsurprising (given the unkind nature of the mountain), brown mud blanketed the already unfriendly pass; and for Amanda, this was unamusing. She had planned for a dry hike, and so, only had on her slip-on sneakers, which as you can imagine, were not the right sort of shoe for the job.
No sooner had she taken her hundredth soggy, slimy, slippery stip-stomping step through the mud, a crackling came from the bushes. This caught Amanda off guard, as she couldn’t picture a creature picking such a thorny amalgamation of intertwined brambles for a home. Imagine her amazement when, all at once, a beaver came pushing through the roots. It also greeted her with surprised eyes, as it thought the path too tumultuous for an attempt by— well, anyone on a day like today.
The brown beaver, sensing the muddy struggle Amanda had endured to get to that point, had an idea. It turned aside and buried its head back into the brush from which it had emerged, feverishly digging left and right to find what it was after. Amanda, still standing silently stupefied by the beaver at her feet, patiently waited. For what else was there to do in a moment like this other than to think of a way to make it work, or wait for a way?
Thankfully, waiting must have been impatient, as soon the beaver re-emerged dragging in its mouth two rather perfect professionally sculpted hiking poles made entirely of wood. The beaver was saving them to use in a dam it had planned for one of the nearby rivers, as beavers do when coming across loose things. But after noticing poor Amanda’s plight, figured they would best be used to aid in this particular predicament.
Slip, slide, and sink no longer! Amanda made great use of the beaver’s gift, allowing her to steady herself and dig into the muddy muck beneath her feet. Bidding the beaver the best before heading on her way, she broke off a bit of a big, beautiful, brown-frosting-having, butterscotch-chip-holding, brownie from a bag in her bag as a small thanks. The beaver, not being much of a sweets animal, thanked her all the same before retreating back into the brush.
So Amanda continued on, and continued she did, stopping only occasionally to pull assorted food or water from her pack. It was during one such stop that she found herself at an impasse. Before Amanda stood a stream, or well, only a stream by name, and very much not standing at all. It was tossing, turbulent, turning, traitorous, and rather terrifying-looking; and even worse, there was no way around. Massive, bulky boulders sat framing the entrance to the waterway, hugged tight by an assortment of foliage that looked altogether unkind and very unwilling to let go of the rocks they’re rooted on.
With nothing else she could think to do, she sat, waited, and thought. For what else was there to do in a moment like this other than to think of a way to make it work, or wait for a way? Thankfully, waiting must have been impatient. Looking up from where she sat, as if called to her aid, a beaver came trotting up the path behind her.
The brown beaver in question was the same one from before. It had been toiling in its unhomely home after their last meeting when it began to worry a great deal about the wooden hiking poles. They were made of good wood, after all. So the beaver followed Amanda—or rather, followed the poles—to ensure their safekeeping. All the same, Amanda was glad to see her brown friend, for whatever the occasion, as much like before maybe the beaver would be able to offer a fitting fix to the kerfuffle she has found herself in.
The beaver did indeed have a fix—one especially becoming of a beaver. Reclaiming the hiking poles, it set to work building a dam while Amanda gathered whatever sticks, branches, and bracken she could find.
Soon the stream was dammed—well, dammed enough to cross what had previously been uncrossable. Amanda hopscotched and skipped from rock to rock and soon found herself on the other side. As she did before, she reached into a bag within her bag and broke off a bit of a big, beautiful, brown-frosting-having, butterscotch-chip-holding brownie as thanks. The beaver considered this a rather small payment for what would have been impressive work in the beaver community, but bowed its head in appreciation all the same. It would have preferred not to admit it, but after their first encounter, it had begun to develop a liking for the sweet treat.
Once again, they parted ways. The beaver stayed behind to dismantle the temporary dam—and, of course, reclaim those very valuable hiking poles, and Amanda continued on. As she climbed, the trees grew shorter, the boulders grew larger, and the mountaintop drew nearer.
So near it was that it almost smacked her in the face. In the middle of a small clearing, enclosed entirely by a ring of thin, thorny, grumpy-looking, moss-covered trees, stood one tree unlike the rest. Pressed into its trunk was a plaque bearing the words, “Here stands a tree, surrounded atop Mt. Castor. You’ve made it… enjoy the view.”
Amanda found this rather mocking, for there was no view, and so there was nothing to enjoy. She searched for a secret entrance, peephole, hidden vantage point, any glimpse of what lay beyond the surrounding trees—but there was none. Amanda, defeated, sat disappointed. After everything the mountain had demanded of her, she thought it owed her something in return, and its debt remained unpaid.
By this point, the beaver had finished dismantling the dam and was once again doing some thinking. Despite having lived on the mountain for time out of mind, it realized it had never seen the top. Since it had already traveled most of the way, and still harbored some hope that the brownie was not yet finished, it began its final trot toward Amanda.
Blissfully the beaver barreled on, eyes closed, and feet beating the ground as it stip-stomped and stamped its way along.
THUD!
So blissful was its barreling that the beaver failed to notice it had reached the summit until its nose smacked flat against the tree in the center of the clearing where Amanda sat. Fixed now right in front of the beaver’s face was a plaque (Evidently not the same plaque that Amanda had read just minutes earlier, as the beaver and Amanda (when at standing height) had a more than 4 foot difference between them). It read “Here stands a tree, surrounded atop Mt. Castor. You’ve made it… enjoy the view…. Little guy.”
“Little guy?” the beaver thought, looking around. It was already offended by the lack of a view and being insulted by a plaque only made matters worse. The beaver was, after all, of perfectly average beaver height, which made the message feel suspiciously personal. The beaver gave one final trot around the clearing, joined Amanda beneath the tree, and sat.
With nothing left they could think to do, they continued to sit… and wait… and think. For what else was there to do in a moment like this other than to think of a way to make it work, or wait for a way?
In the meantime, Amanda drew from a bag within her bag the last bit of the big, beautiful, brown-frosting-having, butterscotch-chip-holding brownie and handed it to the beaver. At any rate, she wasn’t all that hungry, as disappointment sat heavy in her stomach. The beaver understood, for it was disappointed too. With the last bit of brownie still caked between its teeth, it reached for a branch to pick it free—and an idea came to it then. It remembered: it was a beaver, and beavers know wood, so it went to work.
The beaver stepped to the edge of the ring of thin, thorny, grumpy looking, moss grown over trees and began to chew, and chew, and chew. One thin, thorny, grumpy looking, moss grown over tree at a time, it felled them and stacked them in a neat pile. The wood was not quite up to five-star dam standards, but it would suffice in a pinch—and no sensible beaver would turn down perfectly usable wood.
At chainsaw’s pace the beaver worked through the trees, unbeknownst to Amanda, as at this point, she was still thinking and waiting. But in no time, none of the surrounding trees stood proud. They had all met their end at the hands… no, the mouth… no, the mighty munching maw of the beaver.
The beaver then bip-bopped and bobbed its way to Amanda’s side, now rather proud of the work it was able to accomplish. It then booped her on the still crusted over muddy shoe, and in one nimble motion, climbed onto her shoulder.
Amanda opened her eyes and rose from where she sat. Before her stretched the best view she could have imagined. At last, the mountain had paid its debt in full—and with interest.
Before them stood slopes, gullies, trees, and valleys
A green, brown, and gray finale
Cloud-filled skies split by beams of light
An expert hiker’s paradise
Amanda stood there gaped in awe
The beaver perched with muddy paws
In the end she got her wish
And the beaver too, found a tasty dish
Now all that’s left for them to do
Is tear their gaze of Caster’s view
Somehow make their way back down
Until sunny skies, brings their new friendship back around
—Connor