“You look like you’ve been attacked by something.” I looked down at the dusty bandana tied around my ankle and the bloody scratches on my dirt-encrusted leg. Benjamin was right. I had been attacked by something in the woods. It was my walking stick and its brothers-in-arms, the colossal fallen logs and slinky vines that riddled Lassen National Park’s forest floor. With jagged wood claws and sinewy bodies, the offenders scrabbled at my legs and tried their best to trip me as I traveled along the trail to Widow Lake.

I started out shiny as a new penny, with clean socks and an attitude to match (there’s something to be said for this after several days of camping in the woods). The crisp air and enthusiastic chirping of birds woke me in the early morning hours. For me, this time of day is a magical moment when camping. It happens just before the rest of the campground’s guests crawl from their tents, light morning campfires, and fill the forest with the clanking sounds of pots and pans and the savory smell of bacon.

Something in me was roused that morning. It was the energy you have as a child, before deadlines, calories, bills, and laundry become major concerns in life. I’d traveled 6 hours from San Francisco to escape these things, if only for 5 days, and to enjoy the freedom found in sleeping on dirt and eating beans from a can. I was pumped up, overeager, cocky. Looking up into the blue sky, I shouted, “I will conquer you this day. It’s just you and me, Nature, and I will prevail!” Foolish me.

“Should we do the 10 mile hike? Or should we wimp out and do the 7 mile?” I asked Benjamin as we ate our cereal. I couldn’t remember if we’d ever done a hike of either length, but I felt ready to conquer the world. I was after adventure, discovery, and a way to burn off the junk food we’d been eating for the past several days.

When we arrived, slightly breathless, to the trailhead, we decided that a 7 mile hike was probably more in line with the physical limitations of our urban bodies. We set off with a bounce in our step and an eye to the large mountainside we’d later have to climb. Walking along a winding, cinder path on the perimeter of a volcanic crater lake, we came upon a clearing of naked trees, blackened by fire, their missing appendages littering the forest floor.

It was the perfect place to pick up a walking stick. As Benjamin threw down his rejects, I picked them up for myself. I was perfectly happy to take command of a second-hand walking stick – I’ve never been good at finding my own. It was the third stick that he tossed away, oblivious to its evil nature, which became my tormentor. The staff was a patient enemy, and waited until two miles into our journey before reaching out its sharp stems to claw at my legs.

“Ouch!” My wails seemed muffled by the dense foliage surrounding me. I’d been initiated to the forest with two sharp, stinging cuts along the bone of my lower leg. Apparently Mother Nature heard my challenge earlier in the morning. I hadn’t noticed the razor sharp stumps on the walking stick that I’d cleverly named, “Cane and Able,” when I picked it up. I’d forgotten that as the story in the bible goes, Cain killed Abel.

Despite its vulgar attempts to ruin my hike to Widow Lake, I kept the stick on to aid me in climbing the steep ascent to my destination… and lunch. We sat along the shore of the lake eating peanut butter-and-honey sandwiches, bananas, and my favorite camping treat, Cheez-Its. Although the breeze was cool, Widow Lake proved to be a friendly respite from the trials of the surrounding forest. We napped in the sun on a flat piece of stone like the tiny lizards we’d seen lazing about on the rocks.

It was too soon that we had to start the return trip. I knew if I stayed there too long, basking in the tranquility of Widow Lake, the prospect of walking the 3-1/2 miles back would become more and more unacceptable. Contrary to the arrogance of my energy early in the day, I had become a mere human again, and was at the mercy of Mother Nature.

Of course, she was not finished with me yet. A sneaky vine, hidden under crispy brown leaves, grabbed at my foot as I trotted down the unkempt trail. I limped away from the crash site in pain, scoffing at the vine that sent me to the ground with a great thump. The fall had snapped my walking stick in half, thus minimizing its ability to destroy the shins of any other hapless hikers. In its eagerness to defeat me, the creeper had taken out one of its own. Unfortunately, it was at the expense of my ankle.

The 7-mile, round trip hike to Widow’s Lake proved to be a test of my fortitude. Despite the many ambushes along the way, I survived my contest with Nature, but not without disgrace. I trudged toward the campground with a humbled pace. Gone was the spring in my step. Nature had beaten me. But my weary muscles, combat scars, and short temper were quickly forgotten at the first site of civilization, if you could be so generous to call a campground by such a name. I stopped for a bit of rest at the trailhead and looked down at myself. Not only did I have hundreds of abrasions of my legs, but my last clean pair of socks was really, really dirty.