by Ina (Grade 7)
I craned my neck and looked up in awe at the top of the tallest mountain in Maine, Mount Katahdin. It was massive. The beginning wasn’t too hard. I was surprised because it was the hardest trail. Glancing down, the ground looked like a thick carpet with hints of gold, red, and orange. Casting my eyes out farther, other mountains turned purple, then blue, then slowly faded into the sky. In front of me was a tower of rocks. Was it the top? I was getting excited and then my heart sank. We had rounded the rocky spire and to my disappointment there was another rocky climb waiting up ahead.
We ate lunch behind the rocks to shelter us from the bitter wind that tore through my hair and then we set off again. Clambering up the rough side of the mountain was exhausting. I was cold and wind-bitten and just wanted to stop, maybe have a helicopter come retrieve me, but I slogged on because I had no other choice. Grasping at rocks and heaving myself up, I slowly worked my way towards the top. After what seemed an eternity, small orange pebbles appeared on the ground. This signaled that the last leg of our journey would be scrambling across rock crumbles that slid and shifted under our feet. Following the remains of big rocks were lichens and mosses that covered the ground, adding effect to the thickly misty air. Finally, the long awaited moment came and the summit was reached. The clouds swirled about and occasionally parted, granting us a glimpse of the embroidered tapestry below, with sapphire lakes and flame-colored trees.