Get Lost

Remember when 'get lost' was a popular saying? It was right around the time 'get a life' was making headlines. Now, they weren't really very insulting. We took them in stride. But after actually getting lost in the forest today on my way, I can safely say, being lost is not something I would wish on anyone, not even my most devious enemy.

There's a panic to getting lost. At first, you remain calm and collecting, you're rational, but as the foliage thickens and the trees grow denser, that levelheadedness gets left behind. Then you're traipsing through the forest, with no path in sight, silently cursing yourself for being so ridiculous and seriously doubting whether you're going to make it out alive. After all, there are bears and cougars in these woods and - wait, what's that? Did you hear that noise? Something's following me.

It goes from 'nice walk in the woods' to 'I'm going to die out here' pretty quick. I was foraging my way through ferns and shrubs and trees and stumps for about twenty minutes until I found a massive rock. Upon this rock, I searched for a break in the trees, a path or road, something to tell me what way to go. Since I'd climbed up, I figured climbing down was my best bet, but there was a cliff involved and I wasn't dressed for rock climbing. From here, it went downhill, but not literally, even though that was my plan. Images popped into my head. Ones of search and rescue, cadaver dogs, and a bear dragging me off by my ankle. As my body temperature went up and dehydration started hurting my kidneys, my thoughts only worsened.

Now, I don't ever plan to go off path. It's happened once before, the scenario similar to this one, but that time I had Dixon and my phone. Both worked as a blanket of comfort in a somewhat trying moment. This time, though, I had nothing. No phone. No dog. No water. No composure. Don't worry, you don't have to lecture me. I know how stupid the whole situation was, but I didn't get lost on purpose.

So, how did I get there?

The path ended. It simply stopped. There I was, in the blistering heat, already having ran/walked over six kilometres, hungry, thirsty and tired, determined to get home. Up the path I walked, and walked, and walked, until it just stopped. Well, stopped isn't accurate. A bunch of trees had fallen in my way, causing me to think a landslide must have happened and the path surely must have picked up on the other side. It didn't. And when I turned around to go back, I must have been discombobulated because I seriously couldn't find the path again. Thus began my great adventure into new territory and what happens when you have an overactive imagination.

In the end, I didn't die. But I will never say 'get lost' to anyone ever again.

No Thank You.