A Cabin Weekend Get Away: Shack up with your favorite MFA

I was supposed to be spending this weekend in a cabin, with other MFA's, writing and drinking and marry making. I was going to set off on Friday night with two other first year MFA's, Natalie and Kathryn. Except, we didn't quite make it to the cabin...

We left campus at about 5:10 pm and had to stop by Kathryn's cabin to grab her stuff. After everything was situated we hit up the gas station to top off the car and grab some wine. While we were there we also found, and purchased, 30 proof chocolate whip cream. It's delicious. More on that later though.

The drive to the hiking spot is 50 miles. We chatted, listened to music, and in general felt pretty optimistic about our trek. At the outset of our journey, still on the road, we stopped for a moose that ambled across the road, the stiff fur on his long legs catching the sun. Kathryn, our driver, joked about how dumb moose all looked, but I couldn't help but feel as if it was a majestic sight. We drove past rolling hills, trees, trailers, general stores, trees, and a very hokey diner with a stove pipe chimney releasing smoke and heat above the spindly trees. Our next left was the head of the trail that would lead us to the lower angel creek cabin. As we pulled in, a beautiful dog with a thick white and grey coat ran into the trees. It looked almost like a wolf.

There are three possible trails to take in order to get to the cabin. Of the three only two really make sense, and of those two, one looks much easier. One arched above the cabin, taking you north west, the other arched down a south west path, and the third took us west. According to the map we had, the trail west was the smartest option. It was the most direct path toward an evening spent by a fire, with wine and writing and good company. So we went west.

There is a saying which creates tension in a story pretty easily. It's a go to phrase. You've all heard it, "Little did we know." And so, little did we know, the trail west is best used in winter time. It starts out innocently enough. Very clearly marked, colors tied in the trees, little metal signs with stick-figures of skiers and snow-mobilers. And most misleadingly, a yellow sign with an arrow pointed the direction we were headed, "Cabin." We were excited, joking about how easy the trail was and how it would take us no time. Three miles? Ha!

The first signs that things were not as they seemed came in the form of puddles in the dips on the path. I attributed the water to the recent rain we've been having. However, as we continued to trek into the valley where the lower angel creek cabin lay, dirt gave way to moss and tussocks. There weren't many good places to step and our shoes were soon water logged. The first moment that anyone began to seriously worry was when Kathryn, attempting to power through a particularly watery section, got sucked into the muddy water up to her knee. She had already rolled her ankle a little and wanted to avoid the uneven, watery ground as much as possible. Once she got stuck in the ground, there was a moment when I think everyone thought to themselves, "Is this really happening?" It certainly went through my mind.

Natalie set down her backpack on the driest spot she could find and attempted to pull Kathryn out, but there wasn't much solid ground to get a good footing on and I feared they would both go down. Kathryn sighed and said, "Oh, is this how it ends?" While it may not have been the end we were all worried that she was going to have to even out her weight by sitting or leaning forward into more water. Having wet pants and shoes was bad enough.

Luckily (however lucky getting stuck in a bog can be) she sank down right next to a tree, a young pine. With the help of a little leverage and going at it from a different angle she was able to pull herself out. And so we continued on, deeper into the valley. This point was probably Kathryn's lowest, but as the trail became less and less clear, Natalie was finding her own low lasting a little too long. At one point, because the footing was so bad, she actually did fall.

We followed a path that continued to get overgrown, the orange markers far and few between, until finally we saw one in the distance. The hope was that this one would set us on a clear path again. We had to be close to the cabin. We'd been walking for almost two hours and were losing daylight rapidly. I forged over the tussocky land as quickly as possible in an attempt to find a trail. I kept stopping and looking for clearer markers, but there were none. When I reached that orange tie in the tree there weren't even moose tracks to indicate that any living thing had gone that way recently. At this point, with the sun resting on the shoulders of the hills, we decided to turn back.

Walking back was almost a relief, although I had wanted to get to the cabin. We planned to go to Natalie's apartment and stay the night. We talked as much as possible to ignore the dying light and deter any moose in the area. There were fresh tracks on the trails we had used to get so efficiently lost. There were plenty of things to mark the way we had come, the first large patch of water, the leaning tree that I'd almost been hit in the head with, the five gallons of water just sitting on the side of the trail, and the signs which had instilled such a false sense of security in us. We talked about when someone might start to come and find us, what we would do if we couldn't get out, how the area reminded us of different, bleak literary narratives (the marshes and moors of LOTR and Wuthering Heights). Natalie drove us home barefoot and I sat in the back with my feet in a plastic bag. We decided to name Kathryn's car Ande: A Near Death Experience.

We made it to Natalie's apartment and joked about exaggerating the story, about adding a real wolf, Kathryn getting stuck up to her chest, a group of moose chasing us down. Honestly, there isn't much to exaggerate without feeling exhausted anyway. Our pants and socks were so full of boggy mud-water that Natalie put them through the wash twice. We had a mini-picnic on the living room floor with all the food we were going to eat in the cabin, each of us drinking our own bottle of wine. We even had the alcoholic whip cream, not on smores but on pudding snack packs. It was delicious.

We stayed up until almost three in the morning, slept until noon, and had a delicious and large meal at a little place called the Cookie Jar at around 2 pm. Although we didn't have a writer's get away we managed to have a good time. And to not die, which we all found to be the highlight of the hike.