The End |
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The
end of a matter is better than its beginning -- Ecclesiastes 7:8
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| The mystics say it's not
the end
of the journey that matters; it's the journey that counts. They
are entirely wrong. The journey sucks. The end is
everything. And every "good" tramp ends where it began: at home1. It is when you reach home that you finally realise why you began the journey in the first place. You understand why you put yourself through torment, privation, and pain. You understand why you put up with your wet and smelly poly-props, socks, and companions. You understand why you attempted to sleep protected from rain and snow by a thin plastic "house" and a bag of feathers. And how you could each such disgusting fare. You undergo a remarkable transformation upon arriving at home. When you finally pull your wrinkly feet out of your boots and drag them into the hot shower; when you taste your first decent meal consisting of real food; when you sit back on the couch at last and review the adventures of the week with your friends -- it is then that you suddenly forget the long days of cold, dark agony. You don't notice your sprained ankle. Those sandfly bites no longer itch, and the lumps are gone. The burden is off your shoulders, and the shoulders are recovering. Not that they were really all that bad in the first place, mind you. They hardly bothered you. In fact, you remember they felt quite good after they got used to it, which didn't take long. Indeed, your friends are quite unjust when they make out that you were "eternally whining and moaning about how your shoulders were 'killing you'" -- your shoulders felt great the whole trip. And the cold -- why, yes, it was cold. It was quite something to shake the coating of ice off your hat in the morning. To feel how rigid the tent fabric was. To hear your mates' unwillingness to get out of bed in the morning. They were such wimps. And they thawed out their socks over the gas cooker, ha ha! And walking among those picturesque stalactites of ice was grand! The best time of the year to go, really. Sure the food was awful, and the water tasted like the soot and grease you boiled it in, but it kept you going, and you really appreciated it at the time. Yes, the track had been a bit hard to find one miserable night, and you ended up camping in the snow twenty metres from where you found the hut the next day! That was hilarious! And your friends did snore, and they are the world's worst cooks and the slowest walkers with the lightest packs, but they're good fellows really. You had a splendid time with them. Should do it more often, really. Wonder what they're doing over Easter... |
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Footnote1
There are other sorts of tramps too. These generally end in the
hospital.
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