Us and them

We were watching a documentary of a small group being given a tour of a Hawaiian volcano. It opened with them scaling the steep side on a drizzly night. The camera took an angle from above and the group leader came into view. He was on the high side of 50, but made the ascent effortlessly. His shirt was stylishly open to mid-belly, showing his tanned and flat torso. Its sleeves (and those of his open rain parka) were perfectly rolled up to just below his elbow. In spite of the rain and smoke, he looked fresh as a newly bloomed daisy. “That’s you in a week,” my companion observed, referring to a trip I’m leading.

“No, wait a minute.” The leader looked into the camera and spoke French in a perfectly modulated baritone. The voiceover translated the summary of the group’s purpose. He moved easily past the camera. The group members followed, stumbling under the weight of packs, helmets, goggles, gas masks and assorted other gear. They were fully attired and zipped up in soiled and rumpled garments. As they lurched up the incline, you could see that they were sooty, wet and disheveled. “That’s me.”

The next shot was at the rim of the crater, overlooking the lava lake. The leader stood casually on the rim’s edge, talking to the camera and still looking like a model in the L. L. Bean catalog, albeit with a continental flair. The group clung to large rocks, using their arms to shield their faces from the heat and flying ash. A geyser of lava sent them scurrying, but the leader didn’t flinch.

The next day, they were at the foot of the hill, entering a lava tube. The leader strolled through bare-headed. The group staggered, banging helmets on stalactites.

There’s one or maybe a few in every outing I’ve been on. I’m loaded down with about everything I own and still run short halfway through the trip. They don’t appear to be carrying anything and look unsullied every day. Their clothing fits perfectly, is just right for every condition we encounter and miraculously repels dirt. Mine binds or flaps around, is the wrong material at the wrong time and looks like a collection of mechanics’ rags ten minutes into the expedition. They are comfortable and serene throughout the trek while I’m frazzled and sweaty. The right implement seems to fall to their hands immediately and I’m constantly digging through duffle bags to find what I urgently need and that won’t surface until we pack up to leave.

The camera panned away from Frenchy’s smiling kisser and zoomed in on one of the group. He was exhausted, bedraggled and looking daggers at the cool customer.

Yeah, I hear you brother.