MOUNTAIN MAGIC with Ann Hite

MOUNTAIN MAGIC with Ann Hite

A Hike In The Woods (or Surviving a Humdinger of a Walk)

Sometimes mountain magic comes in subtle forms that aren’t noticed until later after one gives some thought to the circumstances.

Dear Reader:

As of this writing it has been four days since this upcoming story took place. The tale is about three women, who decided to hike part of the Appalachian Trail (from here out called AT) in search of a lookout that rivaled all other lookouts. These women were my two daughters, Ella and Cassey, and me of course.

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We three were all experienced in day hikes. My honeymoon was a two night backpacking trip in the mountains. We were sure of our skills as hikers and were confident in our choice.

Dear Reader:

Can you see the trouble headed our way? Mountain magic has its ways of straightening out those of us who think we know more than we do.

I blame myself for the events that took place because I should have known better than to take off on a hike without a physical map. The AT has weak phone signals at best and mostly none. I should have understood the value of a compass, a real hand-held compass. I should have done many things to prepare for this trip.

The day had bright blue skies and crisp cool temperatures. The three of us were staying in a log cabin with AT access within a ten minute walk. The owner of the rental cabin had provided us with written directions to Woody Gap some four to five miles away. We had a good breakfast, dressed, and headed out with four bottles of water, two bananas, and a pack of crackers. After all, we would be back at the cabin for lunch. I estimated the hike one way would be anywhere from eighty minutes to two hours. So the round trip would take no longer than four hours at the most.

Dear Reader:

Please remember these estimations.

We walked the paved road and took the left at the house indicated in our directions. It was a nice wide gravel road that ran in front of a big two-story gray house. I wonder now if the residents didn’t say to each other as they watched us. “There go some more fools.”

We reached an old wooden sign telling us we were about to step on Henry Gap. This was nothing but what my granny would have called a pig trail. So narrow we had to follow behind each other to stay on it.

Dear Reader:

Omen number 1 that was ignored. Three independent souls from city life out hiking on their own. How good could the day get?

When we reached the AT ten minutes later the path was slightly wider and hugged a ridge with a pretty decent drop off into a valley. There was no sign marking the pig trail where we entered to go back to our cabin. Did any of us notice this? Nope. We hopped on the AT and plunged forward.

The narrow ridge trail was littered with rocks and roots. The steep embankment held large outcroppings of boulders here and there. Everywhere were different landmarks to remember. A tree that looked like a loop. A big granite overhang. We couldn’t get turned around.

Dear Reader:

Turned around is another term for lost.

The trail dipped down which is just as hard on your feet and legs as climbing a steep incline. What goes down must come up or level out. The AT was only wide enough for single file walking. Three young men loaded down with large packs came up behind us. We squeezed against the steep embankment to let them pass unless we might be run over.

Dear Reader:

Omen number 2. Some people had done their research and were well practiced for this trail.

The three of us scooted down the path. The sun moved higher in the sky and a strong wind picked up, howling through the treetops. By my calculations we should have been to the overlook…Of course our pace was hampered by steep terrain. My Apple watch was timing our miles at forty-one minutes. How could this be? I walk fifteen to seventeen minute miles every day. At the bottom of a steep incline a babbling brook with a long foot bridge with no handrail waited. I inched my way across in fear I would step off into the water and wet my boots that were not waterproof.

By this point we were silent as we made our way to the elusive overlook. This independent woman was concentrating on not breaking down in tears.

Dear Reader:

I nearly broke out in a hissy fit when we came to the sharpest switchback I had ever seen. Unbeknown to us we were climbing at our steepest point.

I kept encouraging my daughters that the land had to level soon. Both wanted to throw rocks at me. We passed many more hikers coming from the opposite direction. These were through hikers headed to Maine. I personally hated them since I was struggling to hike five miles. The Apple watch told me we were coming up on five miles. This could mean only one thing. We were almost to the overlook. At that moment the sky opened to pure blue and we saw a large exposed granite rock ahead. The view was the grandest vista I have ever seen. I can’t give you the words of what this looked like, only that surely the path to Heaven looks somewhat like this. I was joyously speechless. My breath left my body at the rolling mountains in front of me. My daughter snapped a photo of me with the view in the background. Then we took a selfie together. Smiles of gratitude spread across our faces. Only four hours had ticked by.

Dear Reader:

Remember this was two hours longer than my estimation.

We sat down on the giant slab of granite and ate our snacks and drank water. All was good. We set out about fifteen minutes later for the cabin. Everything was downhill from there. That was a complete lie.

Granny always said I had the ability to know something that was coming. I never took this serious, though at times, a distinct voice would shoot through my head with an important message. As we moved down the path, headed for lunch, I was sure we would be back at the cabin by 2:30. Yes, that was only two hours away but we were moving faster now.

Dear Reader:

Does someone like me ever learn?

A voice shot through my head. What about finding the pig trail? Do you know how you will find it? You will be lost. I pushed the voice away and didn’t mention the concern lest I cause a panic. But as hard as I tried to imagine where the pig trail cut off the AT, I couldn’t. Instead I envisioned a clearcut trial beckoning to me.

Dear Reader:

You must see where this is headed.

Up until this point, I have neglected to talk about my hiking boots. Being an experienced hiker, I knew not to wear new boots for the first time on a trail hike. So early the week before, I wore them as I did my exercise routine through the neighborhood at home. Four miles a day for a week. They were wonderful.

Dear Reader:

Did I mention how cute these boots were? They were so cute I decided to forgo the waterproof part and the width I truly needed.

As I began the steep descent, my toes slid into the toe of the boots. Not long after an ache spread across one of my feet and jumped to the other. Keep walking. Keep the pace. That was my mantra.

Dear Reader:

I’m sure you are aware that should you find yourself in the valley surrounded by mountains, you must have a good pair of boots so you can move fast. Darkness sets in much earlier.

The shadows stretched around us when we reached the foot bridge with no rail. This was truly the only place I remembered on the AT. Light began to fall different and trail ghosts began to switch around the view. Nothing looked the same. In all honesty I was beginning to fear the worst.

Ella, my youngest daughter, pulled out her phone to look at the trail app. Her phone had a weak signal. My phone was dead. She pointed at the map on her phone. “We have passed our cut off trail.”

The whole time we are walking. I know Cassey, the older daughter, heard her sister. I heard her sister, but neither of us acknowledged her point. How could we miss our trail? I was on top of things. In other words, I knew everything. I can admit this about myself.

A half an hour later Ella pointed out her app now showed we had passed our cut off a couple of miles back. Cassey ran ahead to see if the cut off was up the trail some. Ella screamed we had passed the cut off according to the map. This couldn’t be. We had been watching for the cut off. We needed the cut off. It was well after four-thirty. Dark was seeping in. Ella lost signal and Cassey was nowhere to be seen. I stopped in the middle of a steep incline that I was now sure I had never climbed.

God, we’re lost. It took a lot to admit this. Cassey came around a switchback. “Ella’s phone shows we missed our path back to the cabin.”

“By two miles,” Ella added.

My feet were throbbing.

Dear Reader:

I have a high tolerance for pain seeing how I had four daughters using natural childbirth. So, if I say my feet were throbbing, it was excruciating.

“Nothing looked right up there.” Cassey confirmed.

“I’ve been saying we passed the path,” Ella said.

We started back. By this time I’m limping. Two miles into back-tracking Ella stopped. “This is the path.”

Cassey frowned. “It doesn’t look like a path. Maybe we should keep looking.”

“This is the path,” Ella insisted.

It was time for mother to step in with her wisdom. “She said it’s the path. Let’s go.”

Dear Reader:

This is the kind of mountain magic that sneaks up on you, teaching you a lesson. When it comes to the mountains, one can never truly tell where they stand. Both figuratively and literally. There are always lessons to be learned and surprises to be had.

This old woman was never so glad to see a cabin in her life. What did I learn? That I should listen a lot better. That I don’t know everything. That a hiker should never get lazy and so sure of themselves. That these old mountains have seen their share of fools, and on this day decided to spare the three of us, especially the mama who wouldn’t listen to the youngest.

Dear Reader:

That is true grace. Thank goodness for the ability to say you are wrong. But most of all for younger daughters that keep insisting even when no one is listening. Talk about mountain magic!

Oh yeah, I wrote this while soaking my feet. They are on the mend. The hiking boots have been retired to be just pretty shoes for an outing. And we had the best meal I ever ate that night. Of course we missed lunch.