The Trail Crew – Part 1: Switchbacks

"A trail is a promise," said Idris. "Whoever walks it should never wonder if it will hold."

"That's very poetic for a man holding a shovel."

"It's the shovel that taught me."

Callum laughed and swung the pick. The Rockies rose all around them in grey and white towers, with a river of blue-green glacier water far below. It was eight in the morning on his third day with the trail crew, and his arms already ached in places he hadn't known he had.

Callum, twenty-nine, a graduate student in ecology from Calgary, had taken the summer job for money and fieldwork. He'd expected hard labour and bad coffee. He had not expected Idris, thirty-four, the crew leader, a tall quiet man with grey eyes, dark stubble and a way of explaining things that made even drainage ditches sound beautiful.

"Water is the enemy," said Idris. "You have to give it somewhere else to go."

They worked ten-hour days in the high country, building rock steps, clearing deadfall, laying wide gentle curves into the hillside. The crew of six lived in tents at a base camp beside a lake, ate big dinners around a fire and went to bed before dark. Callum fell into his sleeping bag every night too tired to think and woke every morning more alive than he had ever been.

On the evening of the fifteenth day, as the others played cards by the campfire, he wandered down to the shore. Idris was there, skimming stones across the glassy lake.

"Join me?" said Idris.

Callum picked up a stone. It sank like a coin.

"Sideways," said Idris, laughing. "Let me show you."

He stood behind him, guided Callum's wrist, and the stone skipped six times across the gold water. Neither moved.

"Callum."

"Yes?"

"I'd like to say something. I'm not very good at it. I would like to kiss you, if you want that."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Lake Water.

Continue the story: Part 2 – Lake Water.