Page 66 of Wild About You
Finn agreed to said hard launch last night, both of us deciding we don’t want to be a secret—and that the cat was out of the bag after several stolen kisses during our hike to the checkpoint. Our GoPros probably didn’t capture actual lips locking, but the simultaneous footage from Finn’s camera of the view over my shoulder and my footage of his chest—and any accompanying audio—probably said it all. With filming almost over, there’s limited time for others to be in our business anyway, and we want to like each other out loud. He probably didn’t realize just how loud I can get.
“In all seriousness, we’ve been through so much together on the trail. All kinds of ups and downs, both metaphorical feelings-y and literal mountain-y in nature. And in nature. God, even when I’m not trying, I’m punning.”
Finn laughs, the smallest glimpse of a jolly ho-ho-ho but the only one I’ve gotten so clearly on camera. Viewers don’t know how lucky they are for that. It takes effort to bring my focus back to what I was saying.
“I’ve grown so much, and I think Finn would agree he has too”—I look to him and he nods—“and I feel lucky that by random chance, I could do this with him by my side. Falling for Finn was the easiest part of Wild Adventures. I didn’t even have to try, and I couldn’t have stopped it if I wanted to.”
With that, I lean over and kiss his cheek. He unlinks our hands and throws his arm over my shoulders to pull me in to his side, dropping a kiss atop my head. I squeak and probably angle the camera at our shoes for a second before righting it. I plan to fix the camera back onto my pack now, but before I can, Finn speaks, looking right into the lens.
“With anyone but Natalie as my partner, you wouldn’t be seeing me here right now. I’m sure I would’ve taken my ass home quite a few challenges ago, along with whichever poor soul got stuck with me. But instead I got her, and whether we win today or not, it’s the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
I turn to him with my entire heart in my eyes, finding that he’s already looking at me the same way. Without breaking our gaze, or his stride, he adds, “But if it wasn’t already clear, we’re going to win today.”
* * *
“For the last time,” Burke Forrester announces with all the importance he can imbue with the words. “Ready…set…adventure!”
Hand in hand once again, Finn and I set off on our last leg of the Appalachian Trail. While Enemi sprints away, a weary Zeke following shortly after and an even wearier camera operator and producer behind them both, we pace ourselves with a jog. You’re welcome, film crew assigned to Team Finnatalie. The crew with us will switch off with a new producer and camera operator pairing every so often throughout today’s journey, as they haven’t gotten as used to jog-hiking as the competitors have.
I wish Finn and I had the option to periodically tag out with fresh, energized Finns and Natalies. We’re supposed to be hiking about six miles in total, mostly along a side trail separate from the other team’s with an unknown number of stops and challenges along the way. It’s going to be a long, strenuous day, and I feel as ready as I’ll ever be.
Which is not very ready, but more than I would’ve been when we started this whole thing, in my un-broken-in boots that destroyed my poor feet. Now, these puppies are callused. Rugged. They’ve seen some shit. Six miles is child’s play.
Finn and I each keep our eyes peeled as we go, switching between watching our steps and looking for an orange envelope on the right side of the trail. That was the only instruction we were given to start out with—to continue north on the AT and watch out for two envelopes hanging from trees, marking where each team’s side trail begins. As is generally the case in a Wild Adventures finale, Burke didn’t give a whole spiel with a theme, nor any other hint at what obstacles we’ll meet today. Because the greatest adventure of all, apparently, is to fumble around in the dark and hope your team is the first to run smack into $100,000. All he really emphasized, with ominous precision, was to carefully read each instruction given and follow them to the letter. Even though we have a camera operator and producer with us for the journey, they definitely won’t be helping out or holding our hands.
Good thing reading and hand-holding are two of Team Finnatalie’s passions.
“Here we go,” Finn says, and I look up to see him nod toward our right, steering us to the edge of the trail where an envelope hangs from a branch. Leaning against the tree is what I’m pretty sure is a saw, one long piece of metal with sharp teeth down one side and a handle on either end. Beside it is an opening in the undergrowth, a less trodden path than the main AT but clearly the beginning of a side trail.
I take down the envelope and tear it open, then pull out the couple folded papers inside and begin to read the top one. “ ‘Finn and Natalie, your path to the final checkpoint continues this way. Take your saw and follow the enclosed map to your next stop, where another envelope awaits with next steps. Happy trails!’ ” I look up. “Well, that’s cute. Why haven’t we been saying that more?”
“An oversight,” Finn agrees, indulging me. He reaches down and picks up the saw by one handle, hefting it in a way that makes me think it’s heavier than it looks. He nods to the papers in my hands, the second of which is our map. “Lead the way.”
The words are music to my ears. I guide us down the narrow trail for about a half mile, most of it steep and dizzyingly curvy, before we get to the end of the map and the next orange envelope. I’d worried the envelope would be easy to miss, but I shouldn’t have—it rests atop a “fallen” tree that completely blocks our path.
“So we’re obviously cutting this thing up,” Finn says from the other side of the downed tree trunk he’s easily climbed over in the time it’s taken me to open the new envelope and scan the instructions.
“Slow down there, Paul Bunyan. We’re supposed to…” I trail off, holding out a hand to still his progress. Then dropping it when I reach the end of the page. “Okay, yeah, we’re cutting it up.”
No matter how much Finn likes me, I think he still likes being right a little more.
The instructions say to cut up the section of tree blocking the trail—marked at either end in orange paint—into at least three pieces. We will need to roll the smaller log sections all the way to our next stop, however, so we should cut them as small as we need to in order to transport them as quickly as possible, making as many trips as we choose.
“These things are always heavier than you think they’re gonna be,” Finn says once I’ve explained this, his voice straining as he bends to pick up the saw again after a break from holding it. “Let’s start with three pieces, then try out rolling them around. I bet we’ll need to do at least four or five. You about ready?”
“Ready?” I ask dubiously, not trusting his easy-breezy tone.
He swings the saw up onto the top of the downed tree, and it lands with a reverberating clang. “What, you thought I was doing all the work? Crosscut saw, Hart. Take your handle.”
If my parents could see me now, I find myself thinking a while later, not for the first time since I’ve been on the trail, and likely not the last, they would shit themselves.
“How did you get to be such a princess?” I can hear Mom chastising.
“Guess you like ’em high-maintenance, huh?” Dad “joked” with the first boyfriend I ever introduced to him, an accident never to be repeated. The two of them had made countless comments about me not knowing what real work is, false wishes of good luck making a living at playing dress-up. They’d even put down Granny Star for “spoiling me rotten.”
But here I am, standing Burke Forrester only knows where in the Appalachian backcountry, yanking a tool I’d never seen in real life before today back and forth across an entire tree trunk. It’s brutal, intense work. It felt nearly impossible when we first got started that I’d even be able to lightly score the bark, let alone cut clean through the whole thing. Finn talked me through it, told me how capable I was yet again, probably pulled more than his weight to begin with, but gradually, I found the rhythm. Two cuts down and halfway through another, I feel unstoppable.
This princess can work her ass off. I’ve got dirt so deep in my fingernails, it might be there forever, an AT souvenir. New blisters and bumps and scrapes every day. I also still have perfect winged eyeliner, if I haven’t sweat it off. I might be high-maintenance, but I can maintain it all myself. I’m strong and clever and still like to look good. And I’ve found someone who sees and appreciates all these facets of me. It’s an incredible feeling.