Behind Mt. Baldy by Christopher Cummings Page A

ham and eggs and two muesli
bars. Then he heated another cup of Milo.
    The other boys all included a
shave as part of their morning routine. Roger surreptitiously ran his hand over
his chin but it merely confirmed what he knew. It would be another week before
his downy fur needed a scrape. It gave him a twinge of jealousy, particularly
for Graham and Stephen, both of whom seemed to sprout several millimetres of
bristle overnight.
    Instead Roger concentrated on
polishing his boots and then on washing his mess tins and cup. To do this he
walked down to a small beach on the edge of the lake and crouched to scoop up
some sand to scour the utensils. It was only then, as he felt the relative
warmth of the water, that he remembered the horrible events of the previous
day.
    Instantly his entire body seemed
to be covered in goose bumps. He looked out over the still water of the lake.
The mist seemed to steam and roll in wisps and Roger was seized with the
irrational fear that another body would reach up out of the dark water and drag
him in. As quickly as he decently could he swished the sand and water out of
his mess tins and stood up.
    Roger found he didn’t want to
turn his back on the lake but he forced himself to do so, knowing it would look
silly to the others if he walked backwards. He returned to the others, trying
to appear calm but uncomfortably aware that his heart was thumping hard. In
spite of the morning chill his forehead and hands went sweaty.
    Luckily none of the others seemed
to take any notice. Graham and Peter were busy rolling up their bedrolls.
Stephen headed for the toilet so Roger followed him. By the time Roger came out
of the toilet the first rays of sunlight were touching the tops of the trees
across the bay. The fog had thinned and other campers were up and about. A few
hardy souls could be heard splashing in the shallows.
    “Looks like another fine day,”
Peter said, indicating the cloudless blue sky which was being revealed as the
fog thinned.
    “Probably be hot later,” Graham
said.
    Stephen had just packed his
sleeping bag. He looked out of the shelter and called. “Come on Roger. Roll up
your bedding so we can drop the hutchie.”
    “Aren’t we going to wait for the
sun to dry it?” Roger asked.
    It was Graham who replied. “No. We
can be on the road by seven thirty if we move and then we can make up some lost
time.”
    So saying Graham pocketed his map
and quickly pulled out his tent pegs and hauled the sheets of wet plastic off
onto the grass. Peter went to help him.  Stephen then unpegged the other
shelter and dragged it off, exposing Roger’s bedding. Roger didn’t complain. It
was the routine in their cadet unit and it was easier to pack up then. He
consoled himself with the thought that they weren’t ‘tactical’ in which case
everything would have been pulled down and packed before First Light.
    Fifteen minutes later the four
boys stood with webbing and packs on beside the toilets.  From a tap they
refilled their water bottles (four each) and had another big drink. As soon as
he heaved his pack on Roger was instantly aware of his sore shoulders and stiff
muscles. He couldn’t avoid several groans as Graham started marching.
    They went up to the main road and
turned right. It was a lovely morning, cool and pleasant. In under the
rainforest the mist was still trapped and big drops of condensation spattered
down in a steady shower which made the road surface quite moist and soft.
    Roger felt easier as his muscles
warmed up and lost their stiffness. He still found it an effort but he kept up
with the others. They were all in a good mood and Graham and Stephen kept
cracking silly little jokes.
    Half a kilometre further along
they crossed Downfall Creek, a real little jungle stream which gushed noisily
under the road through a culvert. The road then went east. The sun reached the
tree tops overhead and the mist evaporated without the boys really noticing.
After fifteen minutes march