After lunch (hot dogs and potato chips) the kids went on a nature hike--scavenger hunt. Brad and his friends from Cabin One were given a list of nature objects to find. Some of the things they were supposed to collect, and some of the things they were supposed to draw. This was because things like wildflowers should not be taken out of the forests. If everyone who went out in the forest gathered wildflowers, soon there would be no more wildflowers. It was a part of learning low-impact camping.

Cabin One hiked down into the trees on the north slope of the ridge. They had everything on their list except for a drawing of one squirrel, and a drawing of one bird. They were in the forest. Brad was trailing behind the other five boys, watching them push and shove each other as they stomped down the trail. Maynard seemed to be getting along pretty well. Their laughter and shouts rose with the breeze.

“Hey, you guys!” shouted Brad. “Pipe down.”

Petes turned around to look at his friend. He was carrying his scavenged treasures. His right hand held a two-foot long stick; he was smacking bushes with it. In his other hand was a pine cone. “What?” he called.

“You are scaring the squirrels away,” Brad shouted. This is stupid he thought, shouting scares them away too.

Petes stopped. “Hey you guys, wait up.”

All the boys, except Maynard, stopped. Maynard kept stomping down the trail.

Brad caught up. “We’ll never find a squirrel or a bird if we don’t be quiet.”

“Oops,” said Willie.

“Let’s split up then,” said Petes. “We’ll be quiet, we’ll walk quiet, and we’ll find birds and squirrels.”

“Yea,” said Willie. “Like Indians.”

“I think we should stay together,” said Tucker Bradford. “I bet we are supposed to stay together.”

“Too late,” said Petes. “Look, Maynard’s already gone.”

“Some can stay together, and some can split up,” said Brad. “But we gotta be quiet.”

Tucker and the other two boys from Cabin One decided to head down the trail following Maynard. Brad wanted to go off the trail to the right. Petes took left. Willie decided he would backtrack down the tail, but quietly this time.

They all took off in their separate directions.

As soon as Brad stepped off the trail, he relaxed. He realized that he had been wanting to be alone all afternoon. He was still feeling unhappy. The talking, laughing and shoving didn’t seem any fun. He wanted to stay sad, maybe even get more sad.

A little ways off the trail he found a small stream of water. Green watercress was growing tightly around the trickle. The breeze smelled sweet.

Brad sat down, took off his boots and socks and stuck his feet into the cold water. The sting on his hot toes was refreshing. There was a whisper of sound from the countryside that began seeping itself into his skin. The shade, under the trees, was comfortable, the grass soft.

It was peaceful and quiet. He sat there a long time until he heard a knocking in the trees across the brook. Something fell from the tree. Brad looked up. A squirrel peeked from behind the trunk, then ran out on an exposed branch.

Brad sat still. The squirrel did a quick little jump, turning around on the branch, and darted back to the tree trunk. It circled up the trunk, then out on another branch. “Chich-chich-chich” it sang.

The sound reminded Brad of Mr. Spensor’s rasping voice. “Proper equipment, you can-NOT tumble. It is im-POS-sible.”

Brad shook his head to clear it of the voice. The squirrel jumped to another branch, looked like it was eating something. Little bits of something showered out of the tree.

Brad smiled, watching the squirrel. Then he heard another voice in his head. It was the pony-tailed guy from the park. “We’ve forgotten who we are,” the voice said. “We’ve forgotten who we are.”

What about squirrels, thought Brad. Have they forgotten, or do they remember? As if in answer the squirrel sat up and flipped its tail. Quickly it jumped to another branch, ran to the trunk, around and down, and out on a close branch, where it sat. Looking at Brad.

Brad remembered the scavenger hunt. He pulled his notebook and pencil from his fannypack and tried to draw the squirrel. The tail was big and fluffy, head little, eyes round and black, little nose. Brad laughed out loud at his scribbles. The squirrel jumped, startled, scurried up the tree and disappeared. Brad laughed again. The squirrel certainly hasn’t forgotten how to be a squirrel, he thought. And he knew he hadn’t forgotten how to draw because he had never known how. His squirrel picture was terrible, but it would have to do.

He shoved the paper back in the fanny pack and pulled on his socks and shoes. How does a person remember who they are when they’ve forgotten? he wondered.

Brad decided to climb the tree. He knew that he had always loved to climb trees. Here was a tree, he was going to climb it.

The first branch was pretty high up. Brad had to stretch to reach. He caught the branch, walked his feet up the bark of the tree, and pulled himself onto the branch. After that, it was like climbing a steep round ladder. Brad went up, testing each branch with his weight, not looking down. The branches got smaller as he gained height. Finally one broke as he tested it. Seemed as good a time as any to stop.

Brad noticed he was out of breath. It was exciting. He was in the best tree in the forest. He could look out and see the cabin in the clearing on top of Baldy Mountain. It looked like most of the kids were back from the scavenger hunt. Dusk was filling the creases in the mountains with deep shadows. An owl hooted in the distance.

From below he heard a loud crack, like a big stick breaking under someone’s weight. He looked down and saw a flash of red in the trees. Must be Maynard, Brad thought. It was a long way down. Brad felt dizzy, but held on tight to the tree. “I remember when I wasn’t afraid,” he said out loud. Then he climbed out of the tree.

The watercress in his little brook was smashed by a large foot print. Brad wondered if his foot had done that. Was it Maynard?

“Maynard?” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Petes! Hey guys!”

Off in the distance he heard an answering call. Brad trotted back out to the trail and found his friends.

“We been looking for you,” accused Maynard. “Where you been.”

“Up in a tree,” said Brad. “I think I saw another footprint.”

Maynard went white again. “A big footprint?”

“Awh, shucks,” Brad said, shaking his head. “Probably my own footprint. How would I know. I probably stepped in the creek, in the mud.”

Willie was the only one who didn’t seem worried. “There can’t be anything bad here,” he said. “This is camp. It’s for fun. This is just a set-up for good ghost stories. I know cause Jimmy Johnson told me about last year. Last year it was bears.” He strutted ahead of the other boys, proud of his information.

“Gotta be true,” said Brad.

“Gotta be true,” repeated Petes.

The boys headed up the trail toward the cabin. Brad looked down at his boots, noticing they were dry, no mud.