Works by Author - Maurice D. Valentine
Mission of VengeanceFraser Island, Australia
By Maurice D. Valentine
Excerpt from Mission of Vengeance
My adrenaline was pumping strongly, and I felt pretty hyped up as I made it to the first dune. At first it was rough going, climbing up the steep embankment. I couldn't get a grasp of the fine sand, and a lot of effort was put in just to keep some forward motion. But after a few moments I got the hang of it. Within minutes I was on top of the first sand dune, and I slowly peered just over the lip. But I still couldn't see their tent. Another sand dune blocked it! Like a skittering rat across a kitchen floor, I low-crawled down the dune. But not being able to control my descent I hit the bottom with a small thud, getting sand all over my face, inside my boots, and in my underpants. Great. I was now the ubiquitous sugar cookie. The sand acted like coarse sandpaper (especially in my crotch) as I moved my body slowly up onto the bank leading to the second dune. I had just begun to crawl when I felt a presence just behind me. At first I ignored it, thinking it was my imagination. But soon it became unbearable. I turned around to see that I had company: three dingoes sat there, watching me with curiosity!
"Go away," I whispered to them. They all just looked at me with inquisitive stares. I then picked up a little sand and tossed it at them. They scattered. However, just as I was about to start moving again, they returned to their exact same positions! Now, they didn't seem angry at all. No growling teeth, just abject looks that I read as "What the hell is this human crawling on the ground for?"
Then it started to get comedic. Every time I moved, so did they. They seemed all intent on following me to my objective. Finally I said what the hell, and continued along, all the while with these dingoes walking right behind me!
Wonderful.
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Ben Nevis Blues
Fort William, Scotland
By Maurice D. Valentine
It loomed off in the distance. I could see the peak of this mammoth mountain only a few miles away from where I was standing. I knew that there lay my destination.
It looked very impressive. Very intimidating. Though there were no snow-covered peaks around here, I knew the danger that came with attempting a dayhike up this long and winding trail to the top of this 4,000-foot (1,219 m) peak. I heard the stories. I heard of the rescues, the deaths and how careless they were. But, I needed to do this. I didn't come here for nothing, now did I?
While debating the do's and don'ts of attempting this little climb, I heard voices behind me. I turned, to see a small group of four backpackers coming my way. They were all burdened down pretty heavily wearing brightly colored jackets, large filled-to-the-roof backpacks, and having heavy mountaineering boots. That made me want to examine myself. I only had my cotton tank top, an old Army T-shirt on top of that, and my Helly Hansen techie jacket. I had a pair of shorts on, and my ever-so-faithful Vasque Eclipses. In my fannypack I had a Cornish Pastie, a liter of water, and another Army T-shirt. And on my arm, I wore my diving strobe something I never left home without. I always wore it when I went on hikes, for fear of falling down somewhere and breaking my legs, not being able to move, and having someone get a fix on my position by only turning it on. Besides, it could be seen from over two miles day or night! A really neat piece of equipment. Psychological insurance, I'd call it.
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