The B side

The post that I wrote the other day, (Rocks, and more Rocks) is absolutely true.

But there’s a lot to a hike- even a 4 day hike- that goes on in the head. My self-talk is informed by my gender (woman hiking alone- a cultural curiosity- one guy actually asked me if it was “ok with my husband that I was out here alone”), my age (seventh decade of life), my physicality (not in top condition), life experience (the brutal attack and death of a college friend 45 years ago that still informs my world view) and my own general insecurities and anxieties.

There are a lot of decisions that one makes on a hike. As well planned in advance as it may be, the number of choices that one makes from moment to moment- calculating foot placement- to hourly choices of when to rest, to bigger choices about where to set up one’s tent… it’s a lot. Read on to hear the self-talk on my otherwise beautiful AT hike last weekend. Or, just stick with yesterday’s post. It was nice.

Day One. Drop off.

I am super nervous about these things: Rattlesnakes and copperheads. Bears. Falling and breaking a bone. Having to climb steep hills and not being able to manage my heart rate.

The initial climb out of Swatara Gap has been making me anxious for weeks now as I have planned this trip. I’m glad that it is happening first thing, because after that, it’s all a ridge walk.

As we say goodbye, Glenn spies a garter snake in the parking lot. I consider this a bad omen. I tell him that I am nervous. He tells me that “he’s seen me hike before” and that I’ll be fine. I appreciate that.

Day One. At the Top of the Hill.

I made it. I am relieved. I take a selfie because this seems like a significant moment. In reality, the climb was only about 1100 ft. which, in AT climbing terms is baby talk, but I’m happy, nonetheless. Now I can worry about other things like snakes and bears.

Day One. 1 PM.

I’ve arrived at the shelter where I planned on spending the night but… it’s too early to stay here. Because of my anxiety, I insisted on leaving early and so, by midday I’ve gotten to my destination, a shelter down a steep hill that is boxed in with forest and no view. There are no tenting spots right at the shelter. The tenting spots are back up the hill on the other side of the trail on the path down to the spring. If I stay here and camp, I’ll likely be alone. That doesn’t sound fun.

I make the decision to press on another 4 miles to the next camping opportunity, a shelter that is more of a shed with a caretaker living next door. There is a spigot on the caretaker’s house for water and a port-a-potty and an outdoor electrical outlet on the front porch to charge my battery and phone. I press on to that site, rocks be damned. Rock fields are abundant in this section. A giant boulder field with one tree in the middle bears the white blaze, directing the route. I am a little discouraged and tired.

Arriving at the campsite I scope it out. Inside the shed are two young men smoking pot. I greet them and they do not respond. My “spidey senses” tell me that they are not problematic, but I’m going to tent outside and just hang my food bag inside from one of the hooks in the ceiling that has a dropped line and an upside down tin can that will keep the mice from getting it.

I enjoy a nice night in the tent, getting up at least 5 times to pee in the woods. No bears.

Day Two. Morning.

I wake up and get to the electric outlet to plug in my phone to charge even though I still have battery life left (lots of it) and yet, this is the last electric plug that I expect to see in 3 days. My phone is my primary navigating device that tells me how much further I have to travel each day, the elevation of the hike, the availability of water. While I carry a paper trail map, I don’t want to lose the capacity to check the app on my phone.

When I approach the house to retrieve the phone, there is a dog on the other side of the door barking and snarling at me. Did I mention that I am also afraid of dogs? I grab my phone and go.

Phone charged. Battery at 100%. I head out.

Ferns and forest are lovely. Rock sections challenge me. I stop frequently to look around, listen, catch my breath. I wonder about my aging body as hikers 40 years younger than I am politely overtake me and seem to glide above the pointy rocks, traveling at three times my speed. I try not to compare myself to them but I do, anyway. How many times today have I remarked in my head that I am woefully out of shape?

As I make my way, there are two overlooks noted on my trail app. Both of them offer views of the PA valleys but I keep my distance from the edge of the rocks, knowing that copperheads have been nesting there recently. (I read it in the app.)

Day Two. Mid day and afternoon.

I make a steep descent into a gap and then up again, stopping every 50 yards to catch my breath and get my heart rate down. My father died in his 30s from a heart attack so I am always anxious about meeting a similar fate although there are no indications that I’m in bad cardiac shape.

The steep descent led through the floor of a micro-canyon and to a place called “Devil’s Graveyard, ” a boulder field of some notoriety in Berk’s County. I know that this is the name because another hiker that I passed wearing converse sneakers and with no pack and no apparent water, was standing off of the side of the trail acting a little weird. (maybe I came up on him as he was peeing). He asked where I was headed (not a question that solo female hikers ever answer truthfully) and he said that if I were going to the Devil’s Graveyard, he would come along. I kept moving and kept my head down. When I got to Devil’s Graveyard, I made a sharp turn and continued to the campsite for the night.

The campsite was lovely. There was a stream running through it, a blocked off part for swimming, and even a few tent pads. I soaked my feet in the cold water and, wow, did it feel good. Just across the way, three teen boys had their camp set up and were busy playing with firecrackers. M-80s. The loud ones. I prayed for their supply to run out. It did. Then they packed up and left. Other campers arrived- Dads and kids, a scouting outing of some kind, an older guy with two teens, and we greeted each other as I set up my tent. I got my whole camp set up: tent erected, sleeping bag and sleeping pad out, cookstove and food ready for supper and… I looked up… to discover that I was camped under a “widow maker.” (dead tree.). I investigated the other clearly marked camp site. It too, had a dead tree hovering above it. I broke down camp and moved to a third spot, still slightly within reach of a falling branch if things got windy. This led me to googling wind speed and the forecast. I figured that I was ok. I was.

Day Three. Morning

This day began with another steep climb out of the holler. I fretted about bears as I made the very slow ascent, singing and praying canticles out loud to make sure that the bears knew that I was on my way. Surprising a bear doesn’t seem like a good idea. I was super anxious until I rounded a corner and… there was a guy. He got to “enjoy” some of my singing, I guess, as I made my approach. I told him that I was “singing to the bears” and he laughed, telling me that he doubted that there were any around. How did he know? Was he the bear police? Having crossed his path, however, I was now confident that he might have chased any bears off, unwittingly, and it was now ok to proceed without singing every hit from “Oklahoma” that I knew. (I am sure that the rocks and ferns appreciated it.)

Afternoon.

I carried on through some lovely sections of trail that included more fern fields and, then, a burn field- a place where the trees had burned and only the undergrowth was yet growing back. This was in the heat of day – and the sun was shining- and each scary rock was now obscured by grass and ferns. (When I remarked on this later to a companion at the shelter, she said, “Oh, wasn’t it nice to be out in the open!”) Yes, it was. And, the hidden rocks persisted for at least 2 miles.

“Where did you hide the shelter?!?”

The last shelter that I stayed at was a long way off trail- almost a half mile. About halfway in there was a stream that was running high and I noted that this was the water source that I would revisit later, when not weighed down with a pack.

The shelter was, as the guide promised, “nothing special,” but it was in a clearing that made my heart sing. There’s something about those shelters that are backed up in to the shoulder of a mountain that make me feel so empty and lonely. This one had a fire ring, a composting privy, a grove of trees, lots of space for tenting and a good “feel” to it. Sick of setting up my tent every night, I decided to stay in the shelter. If I didn’t have to break down my tent, I could get an even earlier start in the morning since I had a long day ahead and a scary steep 15% grade descent in gravely rocks into the town of Port Clinton.

I set up my sleeping quilt and sleeping mat and hung my backpack out of the way of mice.

As I rested, two folks came along- and then another- and we had a quiet and nice time talking and eating dinner and getting ready for sleep (at 7:30). As we tucked into our sleeping spots, I asked the young woman beside me about her experience of mice in the shelters. “Oh, ” she remarked, ” They don’t bother me. I snuggle into my bag, zip it up and let them run up and down and across me.” I replied, “But I have a sleeping quilt, not a full zip bag!” She said, “well, tuck it in as best you can, under your legs.” It was hot that night. I didn’t want to be “tucked into” a down sleeping quilt, but I did, for fear of the mice. Turns out, there were no mice that night. All was quiet except for our snoring.

Last day: Hiking out.

It was a long day of more ferns and rocks but what is most memorable is the crazy descent that was about 1.5 miles into Port Clinton. It would make your mama weep. It would have made me weep except that I had to keep focused so as to stay upright. 3 bugs (gnats) flew- at different moments- into my left eye. I finally donned my baseball cap to keep them away. With one good eye I traversed sideways down the gravely path wondering, all the while, why it is that I prefer down hills to up hills.

When I was nearly at the bottom, two teenagers passed me by. I was resting a corner of a switchback and remarked, “Oh, I’m just letting my toes stop screaming.” (toes on steep descents push against the front of one’s shoe) and the young man said, “Ma’am, are you all right?” OMG. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” I felt like some old hag that Hansel and Gretel had discovered in the deep of the woods. I got to the bottom, ate my lunch in the shade of the rail trail and headed through town to the meeting spot where Glenn would pick me up.

Moral of the Story

It’s not as bad as you think it’s going to be?

It is as bad as you think it’s going to be but you need to stay in the positive?

Research, previewing Youtube videos, asking other hikers what’s coming up: is that smart… or is it better just to discover what lies ahead when you get there?

I dunno.

When I finish a hike like this there is a great feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment. There are rough moments and… there are beautiful moments. The challenging self-talk and worry and anxiety (“Is this other person an axe murderer?” “Is this tree going to fall on my tent?” “Is a bear going to be around the next corner?” “Is a mouse going to climb into bed with me?” “Is my phone going to die?”). It’s a lot. But it is not so much that I do not persist. I am already planning my next hike. I’m sure that the bears and rattlesnakes can’t wait.