Monday, January 27, 2014
The sun had set.
Dusk had risen.
Darkness was on the horizon.
I stood on the side of the mountain having lost the trail, feeling so very stupid. Carol, how could you be so dumb?!?
With my iPhone, I had called the Ranger Station to inform them I had lost the trail. I called three times. No answer.
Dang it. I need to call 911. After I get hold of someone, I'll text Hubby and let him know. The power on my smart phone read "22%."
On my iPhone screen, I tap "911" and tap "Call." A female voice comes into my right ear through my Bluetooth earpiece, "911. What's your emergency?"
I respond, "Hi. I've lost a trail on the south side of Pilot Mountain."
"Okay. Are you in any danger?"
"No, not in any danger. I have water and proper clothes and my head lamp. I called the Ranger Station, but there was no answer. My cell phone has 22% power left."
"Do you know if you are on the Surry or Yadkin County side of the Park?"
"No, I don't know. I was on Mountain Trail which comes out at the road where the parking lot is for horses."
"Okay. We'll get you out. I'm trying to get a lock on your phone. I'm going to call Surry County since we're not yet sure which county you are in. I'll keep you on the line while I call."
While the female operator is getting in touch with Surry County, I try to access my text ability on my phone to send Hubby a message. Usually I can access it while on a phone call. But, on the 911 call, I can access nothing except 911.
"Hello, mam?" the female voice is back. "I have Surry County on the phone with us now."
"Hi Miss Welch. What trail were you on?" the man from Surry County inquires.
"I was on Mountain Trail. It's not in the main park at Pilot Mountain. It goes down to the parking lot where horses are unloaded."
"Hmm. Are you near Canal Trail?"
"No, not that I know of. I've never heard of Canal Trail."
The male operator and I speak for a moment about my possible location. His name is Mike.
"Okay we have a lock on her phone," the female operator from Yadkin County chimes in. "You are in Surry County Miss Welch, so Mike will take it from here. Good luck!"
"Thank you!" I reply.
"Okay, I have you on my radar, and I see where you are. Do you have a compass?" Mike asks.
"No. Only on my iPhone, but I can't access anything except the 911 call."
"Do you know which direction is south?"
"Yes; I'm pretty sure."
"Okay. Head south."
"Yes sir. Will do."
Mike is kind as we chat on the phone and I share with him how stupid I feel, that I've hiked this trail around fifteen times. He responds that it can happen to the best of hikers reassuring me not to feel embarrassed. But I still feel embarrassed.
"Is there a way you can call my husband and let him know you have me on my cell?"
"Absolutely. What's his name and number?"
I give Mike Hubby's name and cell phone number. I hear Mike speak with someone else in the communication room. The someone else calls Hubby.
"Okay, we got in touch with your husband. He's on his way from Statesville to Winston. I let him know we'll update him and that you are in good hands and that we are going to get you through the woods."
"Thanks."
"Now, as you head south you are going to come up on a wide open area," Mike directs me.
"Okay, I'm not there yet. My power is down to 18%."
"No problem. We are going to get you out of there before you run out of power. I'm trying to get another lock on your phone."
We chat as I hike through the darkness and layers of leaves. While my headlamp illuminates the forest trees, I look for any of the red dots that mark the trail. How can there be no red dots? I'm still in wonderment that I lost the trail.
Mike is cordial as we talk about hiking and the woods. He is keeping me company. I feel I'm in good hands. I don't have any fear really; I know that I'm not that far from the road. I'm also keenly aware how easy it is for a hiker to lose her bearings and end up going in circles, especially in the dark.
After another fifteen minutes Mike gets a lock on my location.
"Okay, I have a lock on your phone again. You are headed in the exact direction I want you to go. Good job! You aren't too far from the open field. Just keep going south."
After a couple more minutes, I spy the field.
"I see it!" letting Mike know. "I know this field. The trail is to the east over the big mounds of dirt. But I'll not try to find it, I'll keep heading south."
I am tempted to hike over the humps to find the trail; I'm still embarrassed that I lost the trail and I know it's just on the other side of the humps. I abandon the temptation quickly. Plus, I wonder if there might be rusty barbed wire hiding in the hump-brush that may surprise my shin. My headlamp can't pick up everything in sight though my trekking poles would probably hit any wire before my shin would hit. I stick with my southbound, unmarked route with Mike as my guide.
I walk out of the field and into some thick brush. I move my head up and down scanning my headlamp over the ground and the space in front of my body.
"My phone is at 10% now," I inform Mike.
"We got you," Mike responds. "We'll get you out before you lose power," he reassures me again. "You are going to come up on another big wide open area in a few minutes. It's a bigger field that the previous one."
"Okay." We continue to chat as I head south for another ten minutes.
"I see it!" I approach the next field and come upon a large steel gate with wires three tiers high behind the gate and continuing around the field attached to posts. I inform Mike, "It's gated and has an electric fence that looks well maintained. The fence is three wires high. I can't get over it without risking touching the electric fence."
"Okay. Turn to the right. Stay as close to the fence as you can. You are going to come up on a house. We have been calling the house to let them know a hiker is approaching from the woods, but we've not been able to get an answer."
"Will do. I don't want anyone coming out with a shot gun." I stop momentarily to retrieve my whistle from my hip pack. My black referee whistle hangs on a thick red-twine necklace. I place the necklace over my head and around my neck.
"Do you have pepper spray?" Mike asks.
"No," I reply. "I left it in the car."
The dark house comes into view. There are no lights on.
"I see the house! Uh-oh, I see two animal eyes. I hope it's not a dog."
There is no barking, so I think it's probably a cat. But I won't know until I'm closer to the house.
"Be careful," Mike responds. "I'm right here and you aren't far from the road. Stay as far away as you can from the house."
****
Click below for Part I,Part II, and Part IV:
Hikers Only, I
Hikers Only, II
Hikers Only, IV
****
February 17, 2014
February 9, 2014
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.
****
Click below for Part I, Part III, and Part IV:
Hikers Only, I
Hikers Only, III
Hikers Only, IV
****
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..."
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.
****
Click below for Part I, Part III, and Part IV:
Hikers Only, I
Hikers Only, III
Hikers Only, IV
****
February 8, 2014
Hikers Only, I
Monday, January, 27, 2014
Oh my, a warm Monday like last Monday. Supposed to be in the 50s. I really need to get the 1099s done. God, I abhor paper work and record keeping. Carol all you have to do is sit down and tally how much you paid to each of your contractors; Hubby will do the rest. I know, I know. But I can do it tomorrow. I can hike today; go to Pilot Mountain. It gets cold again tonight and supposed to ice and snow tomorrow. Go hike while you can.
The 1099s were again put on the procrastination list.
After my pet-client stops, I headed north on Highway 52. Pilot Knob came into view, a giant rock against the crystal blue North Carolina sky. Pilot Knob's Indian name is Jomeokee, which means the "Great Guide" or "Pilot."
Today I'm not going to the Knob, but rather Mountain Trail, a five-mile round-trip hike which I've trekked probably 15 times. It's a great training hike with various kinds of terrain, from flat to steep to rocky to small-stream crossings. I've hiked it in daylight and in darkness. I've hiked it alone and with others. But I have rarely run into other hikers; maybe that's partly because I usually hike on weekdays when most humans are at work.
I don't think I've ever seen any deer along Mountain Trail, but perhaps some of the night eyes I've seen were deer staring at me. I have seen turkey on the trail. Mountain Trail is the only place where I've seen a turkey take off in flight. One time when taking a break and sitting on a rock, I heard a loud rustling noise. I peered in the noise direction and I saw a turkey running and then lifting off the ground! I was stunned; I had no idea turkeys could actually get off the ground in flight.
I take the Pinnacle Exit off of Highway 52 and then take a few more turns making my way to the Corridor parking area near the entrance to Mountain Trail. This parking area also serves park visitors that want to ride horses. To the south of the parking area are horse trails; to the north are people-only trails. Mountain Trail is on the north side.
In the gated parking area, on the south side, sits one lone compact red car. Though the gates are open when I arrive, I park outside the gates on a stretch of grass beside the small country road. I've parked here many times before. I'm never sure what time the rangers will close the gates; I don't want to risk Edward the Explorer getting locked inside the gates.
After I park, I get out of the vehicle and collect my hiking gear.
I check my hip pack for my headlamp, batteries, whistle, tissue, and inhaler. I put on my green parka over the shirt I'm wearing, a black cowl-turtleneck with sleeves that stop near my elbows. I clip my hip pack around my waist and put one filled water bottle in one of the bottle-carrier side pockets on my hip pack. I then pull my arms one at a time out of my green parka sleeves. My hip pack secures my parka holding the bottom part of my parka in place at my waist as I allow the upper part of the parks fall down my backside. I stuff my light-weight, mixed-fabric, pink vest into one of the parka sleeves and my scarf into the other. I put my Bluetooth in my right ear and tune in Pandora on my cell phone. I pull my purple and black Isotoner Smartouch gloves over my hands and grab my trekking poles.
As usual, I'm a lone hiker on the trail. I often hike alone. I rarely get scared on a trail. If I do, it's usually when I am closer to a road; I feel safer deeper in the woods. But Mountain Trail is not a deep-woods trail. Still, statistically, I'm probably safer hiking on Mountain Trail than driving on an interstate.
About twenty minutes into my hike I've worked up a sweat. I stop and look around; no one in sight. I take off my turtle neck. The cool wind brings a chill to my bare torso. I put on my light-weight vest. The cool wind is picking up, but the sleeveless vest gives relief from the stuffy turtle neck. I stuff the turtleneck into my parka sleeve.
I continue the northwest trek along Mountain Trail. Off to my left I see a bright yellow sign with black letters: "Don't got this way. You WILL get lost!" Trailing from the sign are small plastic red flags on wire stems stuck into the ground. They must be making a new trail. Okay sign, I'll stay with the old red-dot blaze trail.
I become lost in thought and in music as it streams into my Bluetooth, though reception goes in and out. After awhile, how long I'm not sure, I notice my surroundings. Where am I? There should be lots of rocks and certainly I should be at the corridor sign by now.
I look around. Oh geez. I somehow intersected the red-flagged new trail. I don't like this new trail. I feel like a mountain goat with my feet sideways on the mountain like this. And I miss all the rocks. Oh well, this trail probably intersects with the red-dot old trail.
Another 1/2-mile or so I intersect back with the red-dot trail. Much better. I'll be sure to follow the red-dots out. I don't like the new trail. I hope they keep the old trail once they finish blazing the new.
****
Click below for Parts II through IV:
Hikers Only, II
Hikers Only, III
Hikers Only, IV
****
Oh my, a warm Monday like last Monday. Supposed to be in the 50s. I really need to get the 1099s done. God, I abhor paper work and record keeping. Carol all you have to do is sit down and tally how much you paid to each of your contractors; Hubby will do the rest. I know, I know. But I can do it tomorrow. I can hike today; go to Pilot Mountain. It gets cold again tonight and supposed to ice and snow tomorrow. Go hike while you can.
The 1099s were again put on the procrastination list.
Today I'm not going to the Knob, but rather Mountain Trail, a five-mile round-trip hike which I've trekked probably 15 times. It's a great training hike with various kinds of terrain, from flat to steep to rocky to small-stream crossings. I've hiked it in daylight and in darkness. I've hiked it alone and with others. But I have rarely run into other hikers; maybe that's partly because I usually hike on weekdays when most humans are at work.
I don't think I've ever seen any deer along Mountain Trail, but perhaps some of the night eyes I've seen were deer staring at me. I have seen turkey on the trail. Mountain Trail is the only place where I've seen a turkey take off in flight. One time when taking a break and sitting on a rock, I heard a loud rustling noise. I peered in the noise direction and I saw a turkey running and then lifting off the ground! I was stunned; I had no idea turkeys could actually get off the ground in flight.
In the gated parking area, on the south side, sits one lone compact red car. Though the gates are open when I arrive, I park outside the gates on a stretch of grass beside the small country road. I've parked here many times before. I'm never sure what time the rangers will close the gates; I don't want to risk Edward the Explorer getting locked inside the gates.
After I park, I get out of the vehicle and collect my hiking gear.
I check my hip pack for my headlamp, batteries, whistle, tissue, and inhaler. I put on my green parka over the shirt I'm wearing, a black cowl-turtleneck with sleeves that stop near my elbows. I clip my hip pack around my waist and put one filled water bottle in one of the bottle-carrier side pockets on my hip pack. I then pull my arms one at a time out of my green parka sleeves. My hip pack secures my parka holding the bottom part of my parka in place at my waist as I allow the upper part of the parks fall down my backside. I stuff my light-weight, mixed-fabric, pink vest into one of the parka sleeves and my scarf into the other. I put my Bluetooth in my right ear and tune in Pandora on my cell phone. I pull my purple and black Isotoner Smartouch gloves over my hands and grab my trekking poles.
About twenty minutes into my hike I've worked up a sweat. I stop and look around; no one in sight. I take off my turtle neck. The cool wind brings a chill to my bare torso. I put on my light-weight vest. The cool wind is picking up, but the sleeveless vest gives relief from the stuffy turtle neck. I stuff the turtleneck into my parka sleeve.
I continue the northwest trek along Mountain Trail. Off to my left I see a bright yellow sign with black letters: "Don't got this way. You WILL get lost!" Trailing from the sign are small plastic red flags on wire stems stuck into the ground. They must be making a new trail. Okay sign, I'll stay with the old red-dot blaze trail.
I become lost in thought and in music as it streams into my Bluetooth, though reception goes in and out. After awhile, how long I'm not sure, I notice my surroundings. Where am I? There should be lots of rocks and certainly I should be at the corridor sign by now.
I look around. Oh geez. I somehow intersected the red-flagged new trail. I don't like this new trail. I feel like a mountain goat with my feet sideways on the mountain like this. And I miss all the rocks. Oh well, this trail probably intersects with the red-dot old trail.
Another 1/2-mile or so I intersect back with the red-dot trail. Much better. I'll be sure to follow the red-dots out. I don't like the new trail. I hope they keep the old trail once they finish blazing the new.
****
Click below for Parts II through IV:
Hikers Only, II
Hikers Only, III
Hikers Only, IV
****