alone in the woods?

A light blue Mercury Marquis pulled up at 6:30am...my shuttle was here to take me back to the trail to continue from where I left off. I made small talk (as best one can at 6am while driving through the twists and turns of the mountains) but I could not shake my anxiety. It's a very strange thing - to be doing something you like to do, WANT to do...but to also feel dread and fear. I felt this before my last hike so I knew it would dissolve over the miles once I was out there and hiking. It took us a long time to make it back down the long forest service road I had walked up when I came off the trail. It was still dark under the tree canopy and it just seemed like the universe was giving me all the time in the world to change my mind. Finally we pulled up to the exact spot where I had come out of the woods a couple of weeks ago. My shuttle driver helped me get my pack out and then stood there watching me struggle into it (note: I think I have figured out how to put this thing on in a less humiliating fashion. I will need to post a video!). He too seemed to be giving me time to make the decision to step back into the woods. I thanked him and turned toward the NoBo (Northbound) trail marker. Then I took my first step back into silence and solitude.

Despite the break I had taken from the trail, my body fell right back into rhythm...which is to say that my back began to ache instantly and my hip, which had started to bother me at the end of my last trip, picked right back up where it left off. So, I found myself stopping pretty early to dig through my pack for Aleve. I had set aside two bars to eat during the day...but again, stopped to dig out two more during my hike (which was a little alarming because I had only budget myself to eat two a day. The first half of the day was pretty uneventful - just absolutely perfect weather and mild terrain. The temperature was in the 60s with a glorious breeze. I stopped midday to change my socks and I noticed they weren't sweaty like the normally were by this point. As I headed out for the second half of the day, things changed quickly. I was about to meet Albert Mountain.

I had heard that Albert Mountain was a challenge. I had heard that you have to put your poles away and boulder up it using your hands and feet. When I first met Albert Mountain, I thought I must be in super human shape! I was moving quickly. I was using my poles. I was patting myself on the back. And then, I rounded a corner to see this:

Hmmm, this was a red flag for sure. These blazes mark the trail but this was the first time I had seen one on the side of a rock face. I quickly put my poles away and settled in for what was the toughest climb of my hike to date. Albert Mountain was not long, but he required you to bow to him. There is likely no way to climb Albert with any dignity. Imagine climbing a steep rock wall that dropped off behind you to, well, let's just say you didn't want to look AND add in the 45 pound pack that seemed to want to pull you down that rock wall. To keep your center of gravity low you had to basically climb on your hands, feet and knees and you couldn't take a break for fear of losing you momentum and slipping backward. I envisioned the thousands of people of all ages, shapes and sizes scrambling over the top of this. But - I LOVED IT. It was the coolest thing I had seen on the trail this far and at the top you were rewarded with a metal water tower that rewarded you with spectacular views. I should say it rewarded you with views if you were not petrified of heights because as I (attempted) to climb it I began to breathe harder than I had on the mountain itself. I clung to the metal rails and was nearly to the top when I decided that I actually couldn't even imagine stepping foot onto the platform at the top. I would just buy the postcard on this one. I turned and slowly headed back down the stairs. 

From Albert Mountain I headed toward the shelter I was planning to get to for the night...Deep Creek Gap Shelter. It was an ambitious day with over 21 miles of hiking, but again, I really felt good. My only concern was that I had only seen two other people on the trail and both were heading the opposite direction. I was sure there would be a lot of people on the trail given the holiday weekend, but my initial apprehension was creeping back in as the afternoon wore on and I began to consider a night alone on the trail. With about a mile to go to the shelter, I came around a corner and saw a black bear in the trail. I froze. It saw me and took off running. Um...do you know how fast bears can run? Because I did not. WOW! When I was hiking with The Guys, all they had wanted was to see a bear. They would be so jealous. I instantly began to root around for my camera (iPhone). I realize that it might have been a better idea to root for, say, some bear spray (I had none) or even my knife (so I could tickle it?) but I am not the first hiker whose first thought was "I have got to get a picture of this!" (Nancy, calling you out here. http://takeahikenancy.com) But there was no time. I spent the last mile to the shelter whistling, clanging my poles together and telling myself how much the bear was obviously more scared of me than I of him (he didn't try to take my picture after all). 

I stumbled upon the shelter. It was odd...it was so quiet and there was no sign to mark it. I barely noticed it in the woods off to the left of the trail. I realized instantly that there wasn't a sole there. Gulp. I made my way down to it and checked everything out. The shelter itself was solid enough. There was a covered area with a picnic table and then another three sided structure with a sleeping platform. Someone had (creepily) made wind chimes out of sticks and aluminum cans and had hung them around the shelter in what I could only assume was some satanic ritual (ok, I was over thinking it, true). The quiet was disheartening...I had honestly not considered that I would be alone at a shelter. I was told that never happened. I had never seen fewer than five other people at a shelter. Surely, SURELY someone would come into camp soon. BUT...in the meantime, I did have this fantasy of setting my tent up inside the shelter. I can't explain why I wanted to do this but it's a big no-no if other hikers are at a shelter. So, I set up in the shelter and went about making my dinner. I could barely eat. The sun was setting and there was no sign of company. I packed up my food into my bear bag and went to hang it on the bear cables. Umm, where were the bear cables?? I found the hook where they HAD been...but they were gone. They had taken them down. I had only heard of this happening at one other shelter and that was because they had closed the shelter due to three aggressive bears in the area. My heart sank...was that why no one was here?? I pulled out my map and the next shelter was 8 miles down the trail. No way I could do that and who is to say it would be any better? I began to string up my own bear cable.

Every hiker on the AT is supposed to know how to hang a bear bag. It should be hanging 10 feet off the ground between two trees at least 100 feet from where you are sleeping. Black bears are amazing climbers so just hanging it off a branch is like inviting them over for dinner. I pulled out my orange string and carabiner and began my search for the perfect trees to use. I promise you that there was not one tree with a branch below 20 feet in the air. I tried to throw that stupid featherweight string and carabiner over anything and everything. I was wrapped and tangled in 50 feet of this stupid string. It was like a comedy sketch. In the end, I would settle for dangling it from a branch approximately 7.5 feet off the ground and completely against the tree. I actually laughed out loud when I finished, it was such a pathetic attempt. 

I went back to the shelter and got ready for bed. I put everything in my pack and put my pack just outside my tent inside the shelter. It was about 9pm when I climbed into the tent to read exactly 7 words of "100 Years of Solitude" (yes, I did bring this 900 page book with me again). I was OUT. In my sleep I could hear fireworks somewhere in the distance and in my dreams they were warlike noises. I didn't even bother climbing out to see if I could catch a glimpse. I slept right through.

At 11:30pm I was startled awake by the sound of the picnic table moving. This was a very solid picnic table, I might add...these things were made to stand the test of time (this particular shelter was built in 1965). I thought it might be another hiker arriving after dark but when I looked out I saw no light of a headlamp. The realization swept over my entire body. I knew what it was. I sat up in my tent watching through the mesh top, listening as the bumping and scooting and banging continued. I heard the creepy wind chimes as something scraped past them. And then, I saw it come around the corner toward the sleeping shelter. Turns out I would have some company for the evening. The bear made it's way right over to my tent and began nudging and sniffing my pack. My heart raced as I watch its fuzzy head tipping my bag over and stuffing its nose into my pack. I thought of the bars I had been stuffing back into my side pockets while hiking. I thought of the coffee I had left in my pack. IDIOT! But mostly, I ran through all of my options...well, both of my options. 

Be quiet or be loud. Consider both - quiet and maybe it doesn't notice me and goes away. I was zipped inside a mesh tent after all. Maybe that was the best option? Or make noise and scare it, which could go the way of my earlier bear sighting and the bear would flee or could invoke the bears anger or protective instincts. I sat in utter silence. I heard more noise in the picnic area and realized my friend was not alone. The bear, satisfied with his exploration of my gear, left the sleeping area but I could still hear them walking around the shelter house. They walked past the sleeping platform. They broke branches that sounded like trees cracking in half. This went on for the next 4 hours. At times, I would actually doze off, only to wake back up to the bear in my bag again. I can't explain this but at some point my fear turned to anger. I tried a new tactic. I growled at the bear. I slammed things down inside my tent. I even reached out of my tent and grabbed my hiking pole and began swinging it at anything within its reach. The bears would go away, come back, go away, come back. Finally, at 3am, I'd had enough. I took my pole and started swinging it like a crazy person. I screamed and growled. The bear walked (WALKED, did not run) away and I reached out and grabbed my pack - pulling it inside my tent. I quickly dressed and packed my things from the inside of my tent. Then I took a deep breath and climbed out of my tent. I didn't even look for the bear, I just began packing the tent into it's bag and stuffed it into my pack. I put on my headlamp and took off to grab my bear bag. I was getting the hell out of there. I would not just sit and wait. I couldn't be frightened anymore.

As I neared my bear bag it became obvious there was nothing left to retrieve. It looked like it had exploded. Bit of the bag were strewn around and food was everywhere. I turned and hiked toward the trail, guiltily leaving it all behind (I told myself I would make a big donation to the trail conservancy for this violation). I hiked through the night with my headlamp lighting the 3 feet ahead of me. After about 30 minutes I felt better. My heart rate slowed. I had done it! I hiked ahead replaying the last 4 hours and even the last few weeks. How much had this experience changed me? I was now walking through the woods in the middle of the night, absolutely fearless. A month ago I would have felt like I was in a horror movie if that had happened. I was suddenly so very grateful for this night and for the weeks that led up to it. I am not without fear, but I can't allow fear to dictate what I will try.

I came out onto a road and couldn't find the trail on the other side. I wasn't sure where I had lost it in the dark - but it didn't matter. I had no food, I had to hike out. I took a right just as easily as I could have taken a left and I walked. A few hours later when the sun rose, I promise you it was the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen. I took out my phone and fired it up. It still didn't have service but I was able to use GPS to find a route to Franklin (a 4.5 hour walk from there). I stopped on the side of the road and made some coffee (all that I had left) and walked along while enjoying my warm beverage (it was a chilly morning). I felt amazing. 

When I reached Highway 64 (the same highway where I had been picked up by the weirdos who wouldn't let me out of the truck) I began setting my guidelines for hitchhiking. I would only accept a ride from a woman. Or a woman and a man with children who were in proper child safety seats. Or a church bus. In the end, the first truck that pulled over (and it was immediately. I hadn't gone 100 feet on the highway) was driven by a middle aged man with a South African accent. I jumped in pushing the cans and bottles aside in the floorboard. You might be asking yourself, "How could she be so stupid...again?" but I would counter that with, "Have you ever heard a South African accent? They are beautiful and kind." The man was lovely and drove me straight to Franklin on his way to work. I told him about my bear incident and about my hike in general and even about my feeling of unease...how I had come out here seeking the space to think but now it all seemed too quiet. "There is a difference between solitude and loneliness," he said. He dropped me off in Franklin and I watched him drive off before I sat down to contemplate my next move.