The pen draws me in
Enticing me to write
Letters appear
Words form
Images sketched
The pen draws me out
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Yerba and I continued putting one foot in front of the other. The woods were dark and dense, the terrain uneven and becoming more and more rocky. I like to hike over rocks. But I was tired. The night was dark. Going was slow.
I had to be extra diligent to keep my head lamp focused to see the ground in front of us, to pick up my feet and not allow them to drag from fatigue, to place my trekking poles in the right places so as to maintain balance. Yerba's four legs and agile body skillfully ambled the rocky path. Then she'd lay down on the flat of the path and wait for me.
What a great trail dog.
We need to keep walking. The end can't be that much further, can it? There really isn't any open spaces of ground free from trees and rocks and scrubbage on which to sleep now.
"Scrubbage." I like that word, a word my son made up in his younger days. It should make it into the dictionary, "scrubbage." Along with the acronym "AFGO." My friend, Robin, made up AFGO - "another fucking growth opportunity."
It's good our minds don't permanently record everything us humans think. Imagine all the thoughts that are going on at this moment. Oh my; it gets very noisy.
I heard someone hollering. "Carol Welch!" Then a pause. Then again. "Carol! Carol Welch!"
It was my son, Josh.
"Hey! I'm here!" I bellowed back, glad to know that Yerba and I really had made progress to our destination.
In another 30 seconds we saw each others' faces, our foreheads adorned with miniature spot lights.
"Gosh," Josh's visage went from fear to relief and he exhaled a huge sigh. "I was so worried that something happened to ya'll. I mean, I was scared that you might be lying somewhere injured...or dead. I knew you must be out of water. I was so worried."
"Nah, we're fine." I responded as Josh handed me a water bottle. I pulled out Yerba's drinking dish and she lapped up the clear beverage. "It's just taking a lot longer than we thought, obviously. The trail is rough through here. How is it beyond here?"
The water was a pleasant relief.
"It's rocky, then smooths out." Josh replied. "There's a shelter 1/2 mile or so before 19E. I asked the hikers there if they had seen you. They know I'm up here looking for you."
He figured he'd hiked in around 2 miles maybe from where the car was parked, but it was hard to tell. Hiking goes much slower in the dark, over rocks, amidst shadows. Regardless, we had a trek ahead of us.
"Yerba's really tired."
"I bet," Josh replied. "My respect for her has sky-rocketed after today. She is a real trooper."
The three of us rested and chatted a few more minutes, then started again.
Thank God Josh was there. In less than 1/4-mile we came to a rock scramble where Josh had to carry Yerba. She simply couldn't do the scramble. Had it been daytime, Yerba and I could have probably figured out a way for her to get around it. But in the dark fatigue...well, I just wouldn't have attempted it. And there was no way I could carry her over the scramble. Josh's 19-year old sculpted physique almost effortlessly performed the task.
After an hour or so that seemed like forever, we saw some lights. A round bubble glowed with an eerie haze. I put Yerba on leash.
Yerba began a low growl as we approached. A voice from the tent whispered, "Holy shit. What's that?"
I chuckled, "It's o.k. It's my dog and we're people."
I knew that "holy shit" feeling as you're parked beside the trail and you hear noises in the night and you know there ain't nothing you can do about whatever it is beyond your thin tent walls providing a false sense of security from the elements.
I hear a sigh of relief, "Thank God." Then a chuckle from inside the glow. Yerba, continued with her low growl and a few barks as we passed the alien-looking structure, I verbally assured her it was o.k.
We hiked another few hundred yards and there were a couple more tents and a few people milling about.
"Hey! You found your mom!" The voices were cheerful.
"Yeah. I was worried there for a bit," Josh replied.
Yerba had stopped her growling and was her friendly self.
That is until she began growling and barking non-stop. I turned about to see what the excitement was. A shelter.
Shelters on the AT are wooden structures. Most have an elevated floor, three sides, and roof. Some have an upstairs. All have places to hang your backpacks off the floor and ground, helps keeps varmints out of the packs.
I don't sleep in shelters. I like my tent. In fact, I love my tent; it's my home on the trail. But shelters are nice if it's raining. And there is usually always a water source not too far from a shelter.
I peered around focusing my head lamp and eyes. I laughed. About five backpacks were hanging in mid-air in the shelter. I'd bark too, if I were a dog.
The scene reminded me of the movie Cocoon.
Ghostly backpacks, suspended in time and space in the dark within three walls.
****
Home Among The Balds (part 1 of 3)
The Woods Have Eyes (part 2 of 3)
Cocoon Shelter (part 3 of 3)
****
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2 comments:
Glad Josh found you and Yerba!
SP
Hey SP,
Yah, the timing was perfect. Yerba and I would have had to stop at the scramble and just wait. I would have hated if the park rangers would have had to come out to find us due to our blunder of not meeting up at the shelter earlier in the day. Like other "blunders" it ended up a beautiful and stunning trip. And like other "blunders," life calls for caution in such circumstances. I'm glad we were somewhat prepared, in case we would have had to bed down overnight.
My and John's children have hiking in their blood from both sides of the family. John loves to hike, but isn't a backpacker.
Some 10+ years ago my mother-in-law went out for a routine day hike in The Smokies. The Smokies are literally her backyard and front porch view; The Great Smokey Mountain Park boundaries are only a few minutes drive away.
She was in her 60s. Her hiking partner for the day was a gentleman in his 80s. Both were members of a local hiking club.
They entered the woods on a February afternoon at the trail on the tail end of
The Road to Nowhere, a thermos of coffee and an apple in tow.
They thought they knew these trails. But, they got turned around and spent three cold nights in The Smokies wilderness, eating snow for hydration. There was no food. They finally came out at Clingman's Dome where they broke a window in a building and climbed in to sleep for their final night. Everything is closed on the Dome in the winter, but it just so happened that a maintenance crew was scheduled for some duty the next day on Clingman's Dome. And the duo got rescued.
My mother-in-law was quite embarrassed about the situation, though it could happen to anyone. A lesson for all of us. They hadn't told anyone they were going out for a day hike.
Familiarity can be an enemy at times.
Now, our family always tells someone where we are going hiking.
The woods are wild, and I respect that wholeheartedly. It's not a place for risk-taking...especially for those of us over 50. ;)
BTW: There are now signs with arrows and destinations on a trial post at the intersection where they got turned around on that trail at the tail of The Road to Nowhere.
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