Deep down in the ditch

My friend DJ asked me to meet him on the top of flagstaff hill.

Early last week, I had told him about this journal assignment and how I had to take several ‘walks’ and record what I experienced on a class blog. He was particularly excited by this, as he is a hiking/camping enthusiast and has always been very open about his affection for the outdoors. When I told him that so far in my two years of Carnegie Mellon I had yet to explore Schenley park except form a single ice-skating adventure last year, he was shocked to say the least.

“You have no idea what’d down their do you?” I didn’t know what he was talking about.

On a map, Schenley Park seems so simple. A large plot of green on an urban background. I had often visited flagstaff hill, for sledding adventures and spring picnics, but I was unaware of what the rest of Schenley was like. When I arrived to greet DJ at the top of flagstaff hill I had imagined that we would walk to find a place that resembled that green plot on my map, a golf course or something that looked like one. DJ had another place in mind.

As DJ led me deeper in deeper into a random wooded area just off the back of the hill I began to get scared. He was leading me into what looked like a large gorge, or for me, a great fall. The snow that I broke with my steps was untouched and pure—this was uncharted land, no paths, no stairs, no nothing.

Eventually, DJ had led me to what appeared to be a series of paths and stairways, all leading deep down into the ditch. As I climbed down the multiple stairways, I kept looking up, imagining how exhausting it would be to climb back to the top. When the pathways seemed to end, we continued on.

DJ grabbed my hand and guided me over the snow covered rocks. “This probably isn’t the best time to do this,” he said, “but if we wait much longer the snow will melt and these rocks will turn into a river.”

We made our way over dead logs, muddy waters, and as we made our way deeper and deeper into the gorge it only seemed to get quieter, more still, “further” away.

DJ and I didn’t speak much; it didn’t seem natural in the deafness of the snow. The sounds of our boots crunching through snow and ice created a soundtrack that was more desirable than any spoken word.

It kept getting darker and darker. At one point, I looked up to see what had happened to the sun and realized that we were under a humongous cement archway, a structure that presumably held up the bridge by Phipps. At the sight of this daunting structure towering over me, I was immediately brought back to the ‘real’ world—made aware of the presence of society.

Aware of the situation, I was immediately upset, “We’d better go back now,” I said. I couldn’t help thinking that this archway, this large structure casting a shadow over my escapade, had defeated the purpose of my trip.

Regardless, I had felt ‘it’, whatever it was, for a brief moment.

It was worth it.

Cheers,

Meela