Hikers Only, II

Monday, January 27, 2014

Most of Mountain Trail isn't distinguishable from what seems infinite corridors appearing as could-be trails that wind through the trees. Red dots placed on certain trees blaze the true trail.

The forest floor and the trail, for most of its 2-1/2 miles, is covered with layers of fallen leaves. A hiker doesn't consciously register the crunch-crunch sound of her footsteps; like a train that passes day in and day out, the crunch blends with the air one breathes, not consciously noticeable.

Today as a hike, I notice the leafless trees towering above me in all directions. I notice the charred trees left from the 2012 wildfire. A scripture enters my mind. "I see trees as men"...or is it "I see men as trees..."

A poem begins to take form in my thoughts. I stop to try to type the lines into my "Notes" app on my iPhone. All I do is get irritated with the tiny keyboard and that I can't enter the letters-to-words quickly enough. I stand in one spot and pivot in a small circle as I click ten photos with my iPhone of the tall, slender, towering, bare trees. Maybe I can remember the lines to my poem..."Let there be trees, and it was so..." I repeat the remaining lines over and over, only to later forget them.

When I arrive at the section on Mountain Trail where forest shrubs and large boulders make the trail more easily identifiable, I figure I am about 1/4-mile from the trail head where it intersects with Grindstone Trail. I survey the sky to figure how much daylight I have left. Forty-five minutes maybe? I better head back to the car. I'll be sure to follow the red dots and not the red flags on my way back.

As the sun dips lower in the sky, the temperature drops. I take off my scarf and my sleeveless pink vest I'd changed into earlier when my body had gotten heated. My bare torso again feels the chill of the air. I pull my black cowl-turtleneck over my head. I don my pink vest over the black shirt and wrap my gem-tone, multicolored scarp around my neck. It's my favorite scarf that my children have me for Christmas a few years back.

I hike, being careful to look for the red dots on the trees.

But, as my feet crunch through the layered leaves, I become absorbed in thought and in the music going in and out on my Bluetooth.

It must have been twenty minutes later, I look up. Where are the red dots?

I turn off my Pandora music. I about face and retrace my steps. No red dots.

Damn it; I lost the trail. Carol. Gawd. Okay, those dots must be around here somewhere, or the red flags that mark the new trail. If I keep heading south, I'll run into them at some point.

But I don't.

Stopping and looking around, I sigh. There's a dry creek bed. I can follow that down until I see some red dots that cross the bed. I can't be far from the trail and I know I'm not that far from the road.

I attempt the dry creek bed for only a few yards. The leaves are too deep and my footing unsure of how far down in the leaves my weight will take my feet. With my luck some rocks or sticks will trip me. I abandon the creek bed for the forest floor.

The last of the sun's circular rim disappears; I fish my headlamp from my hip pack. Another sigh. Oh fuck. At least I have cell service. I'll call Hubby and then I'll have to call the rangers. Damn it. How embarrassing.

It's around 5:45 and Hubby would be getting ready to leave work. His commute home is forty-five minutes. Mountain Trail is another forty-five minutes from home. That puts Hubby at least 1-1/2 hours away.

I tap the numbers for Hubby's cell into my iPhone. "Hey. I think I have a problem; I've lost the trail."

"Okay. Are you alright?"

"Yes. I'm not in danger or anything. I can keep hiking south and I'll find it. But, it's getting dark and I only have 22% worth of power left on my phone. I better call the rangers. I am so embarrassed."

"Let me look up the ranger's number and text it to you to save your cell battery. No need to be embarrassed."

Within a minute I receive a text with the phone number. A few seconds later I receive another text, "No answer."

I call the number three times. No answer.

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Click below for Part I, Part III, and Part IV:
Hikers Only, I
Hikers Only, III
Hikers Only, IV
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