There is an old Norse expression: “Lead a man into the woods and he will find his true nature. Lead an out-of-shape, middle-aged man who is too stubborn to take any kind of camping advice from his wife onto the Cape Fife trail, and he will find his true love of cheeseburgers.”
A truer saying could never be.
My wife, through some sort of witchcraft, was somehow able to convince me to hike the Cape Fife trail with her this past week. And perhaps it’s the lingering effect of the painkillers, but I have to say, I really enjoyed it! Especially the part where I got to take my backpack off.
Yes, the backpack. Somewhere deep down in my camping psyche, a place I rarely visit, a little voice was telling me to pack light — to bring only what I needed. But of course, being the independent thinker I am (and by “independent thinker,” I mean “stubborn and crotchety”) I didn’t listen to this voice and instead packed what I considered to be “essentials”: a pillow, a tuba (for evening music by the fire), a side of ham (for snacking), my complete collection of James Bond DVDs, a small TV (to play my DVDs on) and a grandfather clock (for keeping track of time). Most of these things turned out to be useless and I fully regret bringing them. But the tuba’s soft tones stoked the fires of passion inside me and also made my side of ham taste absolutely delicious!
My wife told me the Cape Fife trail was one of the more interesting trails on the island so, even though my fat little legs could barley support the impossible weight I hung on my back, we both headed out on a fairly nice Saturday with good feelings and a strong relationship.
This would soon change.
I was under the impression that this would be a short, easy hike — about 5 km through forests dotted with local flora and fauna as well as the occasional burger joint. Well, it turns out the burger joint thing was just a ruse my wife used to get me off the couch. I can 100 per cent guarantee to all you readers out there that there are in fact zero burger joints along the Cape Fife trail.
Also, I was a little surprised to find, after slogging through some very wet conditions for about nine hours, a sign informing me that it was another 7 km to Cape Fife! Yes, you read that right! Seven! So much for that “only 5 km” factoid by the suddenly deceptively devious wifey-poo! But if I’m anything, I’m a good sport so after cussing quite loudly and colourfully for about an hour, I continued on my merry way, accepting my fate with all the grace of circus clown eating a large bowl of tapioca pudding and dehydrated monkey head.
After what seemed about 20 more hours, we arrived at the cabin and I slowly and painfully took off my backpack, lay down on the nice bunk beds provided and fell asleep. When I awoke my wife had made me a wonderful soup. It’s weird how at home, I wouldn’t get too passionate about hot water with kale and wieners. But there is a magic to Cape Fife that makes this simple concoction one of the sweetest tasting meals in the world.
After dinner, with the light of the sun fading behind the dunes, we sat down to play some cards and listen to tuba music. In an effort to show my wife how much I love her, I won every card game we played. I thought she would be as happy as I was at my good fortune, but it turns out it doesn’t work that way. Even when I tried to show her what she had been doing wrong by continually laughing at her mistakes, the response was a lot less congratulatory than I had anticipated.
So that night I slept outside. And it was OK. After all I had a pillow and a grandfather clock. I missed my wife, but somehow in the end I was pretty sure I knew why I was sleeping outside… if not totally sure.
To make a long story short, we made it back OK. I looked for a doctor to tell me if my legs would ever work again but I couldn’t find one. I also looked for a burger joint, but I couldn’t find anything open. So I got the next best thing. Chicken Snackers from the Masset Grocery.