The Elephant’s Foot

Craig sat forward for a moment to stoke the coals in the fire, prompting a few sparks to jump upwards and catch on some smaller pieces of wood he’d added before the flames died down.

A cool wind rustled through the grass as he reclined back in his chair, beer in hand.

He looked up at the moon, which peeked back at him from behind the trees atop the cliff, its gaze casting light across the valley.

The Elephant’s Foot, they called it. Craig squinted and tilted his head. He couldn’t see it. To him, it looked more like someone had left a large hockey puck at the edge of the valley.

The first time Craig had camped here was almost twenty-four years ago. His dad had brought him to see the famous landmark.

Even then, he couldn’t see the resemblance.

He remembered getting out of the car, excited to see a huge elephant, only to be dismayed when he discovered it was a two-hour hike to get there.

Simpler days.

Craig reached into his backpack and pulled out another beer.

Craig was deep in thought about that visit. He remembered asking if he could have a beer too, and his dad telling him he was too young.

“I’m almost six!” he had protested.

His dad had eventually relented and pulled out a beer for him too. Looking back, Craig knew it had been alcohol-free, but he remembered acting like he was drunk all night.

Well, as much of the night as a five-year-old could manage.

Behind him, the tent unzipped.

“You staying out all night?” Lucy asked, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes.

“Just a while longer. I’ve only just opened one for my dad,” he replied, tilting the bottle slightly in his hand.

Lucy seemed to understand and retreated back into the tent.

Craig turned his attention back to the Elephant’s Foot. The way the trees subtly swayed in the wind on its head, the small outcrop halfway down its face.

“Hedgehog,” he said aloud.

“Sorry?” Lucy replied from the tent.

“That’s what I told my dad it looked like.”

Lucy poked her head back through the door.

“Look,” Craig said, pointing. “See the trees on top? Like spikes.”

“I suppose,” she replied, stepping out of the tent to sit in the chair beside him.

“And that outcrop? Little nose.” He smiled.

Lucy smiled too and took his hand.

Craig remembered the visit he’d made with his dad when he was thirteen.

He looked down the valley towards the river running through it.

They’d spent most of the day fishing.

“It’s not about catching anything,” his dad had said. “It’s about spending time with those who matter to you. Enjoying nature. Feeling at peace.”

“Still, it would have been nice to catch something in the six hours we’ve been here,” Craig had replied, taking a sip of his non-alcoholic beer.

“Four and a half,” his dad had corrected.

“Time for bed, I think,” Craig said, draining the last of his beer. “Got another bit of a hike tomorrow.”

“I know,” Lucy replied, squeezing his hand before letting go.

Craig picked up the empty non-alcoholic beer bottle from the ground and placed it back in his backpack alongside his own, the glass clinking against the jar inside.

They’d been hiking for a few hours when they finally stopped for a proper break.

Craig relieved his shoulders of the large backpack and removed a camping stove and gas bottle from it. Lucy took out a pack of sausages and hot dog buns.

They perched side by side on a log beside a ravine, the smell of cooking sausages and the sizzle of the pan filling the air around them.

“This is where my dad told me he had cancer,” Craig said quietly.

Lucy simply rubbed a hand across his shoulders.

His dad had pulled two bottles from his bag. This time, he had handed the regular beer to Craig.

“I’m still only seventeen,” Craig had said, but his dad had just smiled and taken a sip of his alcohol-free one.

“This might be our last time here together,” his dad had told him. “Remember those appointments I’ve had recently?”

“Yeah,” Craig had replied, a lump growing in his throat.

“They found cancer in my bowel. It’s spread. They told me there’s barely a five per cent chance they can clear it.”

By some miracle, his dad had held on for years. Towards the end, though, it had been rough.

He remembered seeing his dad, a shell of the man he once was on the outside, but just as wise as ever.

Still full of terrible jokes that he could barely get through without coughing.

He had finally passed away three years ago. It had taken Craig those three years to work up the nerve to return here.

“We’re here,” Craig said to Lucy, looking up at the outcrop high above them he’d once called a nose.

Craig took off his backpack and pulled out the jar.

It was lighter than when he had set off. At each stop along the way, he’d deposited a handful of his father’s ashes, letting his dad mark the landscape like he had marked Craig’s own life.

“These trips meant everything to me. I learned more than how to set up a tent, how to fish and how to burn sausages,” he said. “I learned that being with someone you love is infinitely more valuable than any possession. I learned that peace is important. I learned not to take for granted everything good in my life.”

Craig opened the jar and tipped it over. The last handful of ash cascaded out, billowing at an angle towards the ground as the breeze carried it away.

“I love you, Dad.”