Never Quit on a Bad Day

But, why not?

Yesterday I challenged the hiker’s maxim “Never quit on a bad day,” and I came home just a day and a half into a five-day section hike of the AT in Pennsylvania.  I’m working on filling in a long, vertical wall map of the AT with all my section hikes (it’s like a giant “connect the dots exercise”) and I had hoped to knock out a portion of my home state this week while I continue my sabbatical journey of hiking and writing.

The hike started out a little tenuous (pun intended) as I‘ve been nursing some tendinitis in my right foot for a while.  Usually, a morning dose of ibuprofen and some gentle moving around gets me limbered up and feeling fine, but I was wondering if it might be a problem on a several-days’ journey.  

My shuttle driver (a.k.a. my husband) got up early and dropped me off at the trail head about an hour from our home at Clark’s Creek (Mile 1167.6, Nobo).  I both love and fear hiking alone in the woods in the early morning; I’ve convinced myself that if I were to meet a bear on the trail it would be then, as the light filters down through the trees and the mist makes it look like a primordial forest… but… no bears on this morning.  The climb up the first mountain to the ridge was long but not strenuous, and I felt fine.  I met one hiker on his way down- an older, local guy out for his “morning constitutional”- who assured me that other than a lack of water due to a month with no rain, all was well on the trail. I was reminded of my husband’s comment, “My only worry is that there might be little water…”. If you are reading this and planning on heading out to this section soon, please check into the water situation on Far Out.  It wasn’t super grim, but it wasn’t great, either.

Traversing the ridge of Stony Mountain towards Second Mountain was beautiful:  there were fields of ferns, the ruins of an old coal mining town to explore at Yellow Springs (the name is indicative of the yellowy-orange, highly acidic -and not potable, even when filtered- tinted water that runs in small streams in this section), a leafy canopy of leaves keeping things cool, chipmunks, butterflies, a white tailed deer, and some sweet camping spots along the way in stands of pines to take a break.  I made it to the shelter (Rausch Gap Shelter 11.3 miles) in good time, arriving around 3:30.

I was happy to meet two other hikers coming down the .3 mile blue blazed trail to the shelter not long after I arrived; my least favorite part of backpacking is, still, camping alone.  These two hikers, Fearless and Hero, are a story all their own- check out their inspirational website http://www.FearsomeIs.org that describes their mission to raise money for MS.     We shared dinner together and, after making camp, including my many comical attempts at tossing my bear hang over a too-high branch (I got it on toss #8), I crawled into my tent to read the latest edition of The Sun (yes, I carried a small magazine as a “luxury item”) while they made a small fire and relaxed, chatting, as the sun slipped behind the hill.

I didn’t sleep well at all.  Something- Deer? Racoon? Porcupine?- was shuffling around my tent between 1- 2 AM.  I was wary of turning on my headlamp to scare it away in case it was a porcupine; I wanted to remain quill-free.  I had also learned earlier in the day- in the brief moment that I had a cell signal and could check messages- of the diagnosis of a friend’s serious illness, and so I was tossing and turning, worrying about him and his family.  It was, just one of those long, bad nights. I was relieved to hear the birds at 4:45 AM and I moved about quietly, releasing my bag from the hang, making some tea, and artfully spilling oatmeal in my tent. It was chilly and I was glad to have brought my puffy along, even though the daytime temps were promising to be in the high 80s. I swallowed three ibuprofen before stuffing my sore foot in my boot.

We broke camp and the three of us headed north to our first obstacle of the day: The Rausch Creek Beaver Dam.  This creek has been dammed since 2016, the AT guide tells us, and while it is possible to make it across, it requires patience and balance to find solid, dry footing on half-submerged, rolling logs.  I’m not good at estimating distances, but I’d say that the crossing was not quite .2 miles.  Put it this way: from one end of the dam standing on solid ground, you could just make out the white blaze on the tree on the other side of the dam. In between were tall grasses, algae covered water, dead trees standing like sentries, mossy logs, and a few well-placed fallen trees.  We stood surveying the marsh and listened to the bullfrogs.   The first big obstacle in the crossing was at about 30 feet.  Stepping gingerly on small logs and branches, I made it through the wetlands to a massive fallen tree which seemed to be the best path the carry us along for another 25 feet or so.  The trick, though, was getting up onto the log which, as it lay, was about chest-high on me.  The broken trunk of the tree was close enough that you could get a foothold on it and then, using core strength and your arms, lift yourself up to a crouched position on the higher log, but… that’s a big if when you are 64 years old, have little core strength, are bearing an unwieldy 29# pack and are mildly afraid of heights.  I backed off this idea from my straddled position between trunk and log, and let my companions have a go at it.  Fearless hopped right up and walked the damned thing like a ballerina!  Hero was next, and he, too, got up on the log and made his way along towards the rest of the navigation across the marsh.  In awe, I took their picture, waved goodbye, and then retreated, back .5 miles to the 1.6 mile detour along a gravel road and up the other side of the mountain on a logging trail. 

 Here’s the conversation that I had as I walked (imagine those two iconic figures, Devil and Angel, on either of my shoulders):

Devil:  Man, that was a bummer.  You didn’t do it. You chickened out.

Me:      I know, I feel bad.

Devil:  Well, it’s because you’re old, ya know.  

Devil:   And fat.

Devil:  And out of shape.

Me:      Yeah, I know.  What kind of hiker am I?  What a fake.

Devil:  Yup.

Silence

Angel:  ahem.

Angel:  AHEM.

Angel:   Hey, over here.

Me:      What?  I’m feeling sorry for myself. Don’t interrupt.

Devil:    Yeah, scram!  Let her stew.

Angel:  Let’s just… reframe what happened back there.

Devi:    Shh. Go away.

Me:      ???  reframe?

Angel:  Yeah.  How about being a little nicer to yourself for a change?

Me:      I couldn’t do it. I chickened out.

Angel:  But think of it this way, maybe:  You might have made a wise choice.

Devil:  Yeah, and now, you get to walk an extra 2 miles on an already long day. And you wasted a half hour thinking about how to get across that dam.  Loser.

Angel: Excuse me.

Angel:  See, I think you were smart.  It’s not about what you couldn’t do, as much as how you considered the options and made the best choice – for you.

Me:      Go on…

Angel:  Sure, you might feel unhappy about your current physical conditioning …

Devil:   (or lack thereof) …

Angel: …but you weren’t going to suddenly become a fit triathlete in that moment and so you took stock and considered the options and the consequences of what could have happened if you fell off that log…

Devil:   Oh let me name them! The consequences!  That’s right in my wheelhouse!  Sodden backpack!  Algae covered clothes!  Possibly a scraped shin in dirty water.. or a broken arm!  Trying to get evacuated in the middle of nowhere! The loss of your cellphone in the muck!  Shall I go on?!?

Me:      (shuddering)

Angel:  Thank you, Devil, that’s quite right.  It could have been bad.  And so, you made a wise choice. The right choice. For you.

Me:      OK.  I feel a little better?  Or, at least, you’ve kept me entertained until the end of this long, hot, gravel road.

(end scene).

At the top of the logging road was a sign for me: Fearless and Hero had written my trail name, “Maple” in sticks at the point where the logging road met the AT and the detour ended.  It was a  sign for me that they had made it unscathed, but also a note of encouragement for me to carry on.  It was a nice, small gesture.

I met up again with Fearless and Hero further down the trail, but by this point, 5 miles into my day, I had a feeling that things were not going to improve for my poor foot. In addition to the tendinitis making itself known, loud and clear, that it didn’t like what I was doing, I had also developed- for the first time in my life- a long blister on my heel on the same foot.  C’mon.  I had just put new insoles into my boots.  (For purposes of brevity, I won’t go into the long, sad tale of my misshapen feet and the problem that I have finding shoes and boots to fit me. Let’s just say that it’s close to impossible.)

And the water- of lack thereof- that was becoming a little scary.  The next water stop according to AWOL’s AT guide, was about 4 miles ahead- a seasonal stream- and, on the Far Out app, after that, it was another 8 miles to the spring at the shelter.  Considering the number of dry creek beds I’d been crossing, I couldn’t count on the stream up ahead and wanted to arrive at the shelter with water in my kit just in case that was dry, too. And, I still had miles to go.

Interlude to check on mental processing:  

Was this anxious worrying about water reasonable, or, was it, maybe, a little over the top? I dunno.

I was hiking solo. (Fearless and Hero were getting off after 6 miles for a B&B)

It was hot.  86 degrees.

I wasn’t sure of the terrain up ahead, except that it included climbing another mountain to get to my shelter.

End of interlude. Come to your own conclusion about my mental acuity.

I made it to the seasonal stream.  There was enough water to fill up my Cnoc bag to fill my 2, 1 liter bottles. And then, as I climbed a small ascent before a road crossing, I had a little talk with myself.  No  Devil or Angel this time, just me:

Me:      Look. Your foot is screaming.  It’s super hot.  You are solo hiking and about to climb another mountain and you’re worn out already.  You added 2 miles to an already long day with that detour. Sure, you have water, but I know you: you will ration your drinking it to make sure that when you get to the shelter that you have at least a liter left to get you through the evening if the water up there is no good. Am I right? (Why hasn’t anyone posted on Far Out about the water situation at the next shelter?  Darn.).  You could go home this afternoon and come back another time.  Isn’t the point to have fun?  Or, at least, to hike safely?  And, maybe you’re not unsafe (and fun is relative, isn’t it?), but this level of anxiety- is the way that you want to spend the next few days?

Me:      If, at the next road crossing there is a cell signal, I’ll see if I can get an Uber.  If I can, I’ll go home.  No shame.

I made it .5 miles to the road crossing.  I had a signal.  There was an Uber.

Pablo came in his red Ford Fiesta and brought me home. I tried, in my best broken Spanish, to  explain to him why I love hiking.  

Next day:  foot is super sore.  I think I did the right thing.  I still love hiking.

#

2 June 2023