In drama, the third act is when the action reaches a climax, leading to a resolution.
The prince finally slays the dragon and marries the princess.
In this story, three trail-weary gentlemen abandon their heavy backpacks and walk the road toward Stronach, more than 30 miles from where they began the journey at the Marilla Trailhead on Day One.
Stronach was our final destination, our unwitting princess. The trail, of course, was our dragon.
Day Three was different than the rest.
The first two days of our grand hike had been brilliantly sunny. The final day was overcast.
Day One, we got on the trail around 9:30 a.m.; Day Two, after the epic 20-mile hike, we didn’t get started until 11 a.m. On Day Three, we hit the road around 7:30 a.m., eager to bring the adventure to a close.
But everything was reaching a climax, mostly the toll the trip was making on our bodies.
There were blisters and bruises. Sore muscles and joints. Mental and physical exhaustion.
It was anguish pulling on the boots that last day. It hurt to breath. We took to River Road and moved slowly toward town.
We were loving every moment of it.
SLEEPING UNDER THE STARS
The night before, we were still firmly at the tail-end of Act Two.
We were camped on the Little Manistee River off of Little River Road, just a touch west of Six Mile Bridge. Despite having my old man and his Jeep along for the ride after our shameful five-mile shuttle down Koon Road, we weren’t living like car camping kings.
I haven’t yet mentioned the rations. You’d think walking 10 to 15-plus miles a day would mean our bodies needed thick juicy steaks and energy-giving carbs like pasta.
Not so.
Not only isn’t it practical (or sanitary) to hike with raw meat in your backpack, I think it would be unnecessary. (Bears, I’m guessing, would think otherwise.) Now, if you take a glance at me, you can tell I’m in the Clean Plate Club: no French fry left behind.
But on the trail, the body -- and the mind -- transform. Your normal hunger is vanquished. I just didn’t have much of an appetite.
Which is good, because all we had to eat were noodles and soup heated on a small backpacking stove.
Food on a backpacking trip, after all, is nothing more than basic fuel.
When “dinner” was finished, we hung out by the bonfire under a black canopy of night sky spangled with stars. Before crawling into our tents for the last night in the woods, we pondered Act Three. Unlike characters who live in the predetermined world of a drama, we free-willed human beings have the creative power to author our own tales.
Lives are rife with endless possibilities.
In the morning, we’d only have about a six or seven-mile hike to Stronach. Then we would be done. Our main decision was to relieve our backs from the burdens of our packs. We’d leave them in the Jeep. I was amenable to this -- especially after the shuttle. We’d already cheated. What did going packless matter?
Then suddenly, I was starting to get brave again.
“Kids used to walk to school farther than that,” I said.
Since we’d had a fairly normal day of hiking -- only 13 or so miles -- I was feeling cocky, though I may also have been emboldened by the flask of whisky I was sipping from.
Falling asleep that night, I had visions of myself jogging those miles not only to Stronach, but all the way to Lake Michigan where the entire town would greet me, hoist me on their shoulders and parade me around.
Ah, you gotta love a little snort of the good stuff before bedtime.
I never slept so good in my life.
STRONACH CALLING
Everyone woke early.
Six a.m.
There was no grumbling, just precision-like packing up. Two days in the woods had turned us into a well-functioning unit.
Our bodies still quaked with pain, but we had a few measly miles left, and we weren’t going to lollygag.
It was Stronach or bust.
Chris couldn’t even pull his boots on one more time. He’d bought a new pair for the trip and they weren’t properly breaking in.
“I’m going to throw them at the salesperson’s head when I get home,” he said.
Instead, he wore a pair of sneakers. We loaded up the Jeep and hit the road.
Walking without a pack was strange at first. The pack gives you purpose.
Instead, we just looked like three dudes walking down a rural road. I’m surprised we didn’t get stopped by the cops for being suspicious characters.
Little River Road follows the Little Manistee River on the north side into Stronach. It’s mostly federal forest on either side until you get closer to town, when homes and cottages appear inside the trees.
It was a casual walk. There was no great mileage we needed to achieve.
Our journey was coming to a close.
It began to settle in when we reached Stronach Road. I had forgotten to mention to the fellas that it’s a trucking route.
A semi whooshed by us, nearly knocking us on our backs. There were more houses and barking dogs.
We were back to the world humans had built.
The Jeep scooped us up near Water Street and we were whisked into town without any fanfare. We were too tired for anything other than a shower and cheeseburger. Our feet and legs were numb. Our spirits weary.
But I definitely felt a subtle spark.
We had made it.
We had finally made it.
AFTERMATH
The journey is never over.
It’s part of memory, part of my story.
And that’s one of the reasons I had proposed the hike to begin with: to alter my personal narrative a little bit.
Our post-industrial lives are filled with dread and monotony. We work, we watch TV, we scoop processed food into our mouths and we sleep.
I like to think that there’s more, that if we break out of the quotidian, we can better understand what this living business is all about.
The frontier may be settled, and there may be no lands left to explore, but the mapped world gives us the opportunity for inward exploration as we check out the non-manmade world.
We humans are shrewd manipulators of nature, so shrewd that we assume we are not a part of it anymore. That’s why it’s so easy to listen to arguments that will lead to the destruction of our habitats.
As a culture, we tend to think of nature as a thing which we don’t have a connection with anymore. It sadly becomes a “lifestyle” choice.
“Oh, I’m into the outdoors. I’m into nature.”
Well, we’re all part of nature, and nature is a part of us. No amount of movies, make-up and Chevy Malibus will change that.
What also made me want to go on the trek was to experience the land around me in a more intimate way.
I can safely say that Manistee County is one of the most beautiful and rugged areas in the state. The woods, rivers, meadows and glades are a treat.
I will carry them with me internally forever.
As for the fellas, we’ve been in constant correspondence since our adventure.
“Dude, I’m gonna come back up there and walk those last five miles to make it official,” Moldovan e-mailed me when he saw yesterday’s installment.
My brother was more ambitious.
“What other areas up there need to be hiked,” he wrote me the other day. “I’m ready.”
I told him it’s a big county.
I’ll be up for it as soon as my feet are.
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