420 friendly...

“Are you 420-friendly?” asked one of my two camp mates for the evening. Andy and Mojo were out hiking the trail for a few days…camping “like cowboys” which apparently means they don’t have tents and they like to get high. A lot. “Yeah, do whatever you want,” I replied in my best “what do I look like, some 40 year old mom who had to think for a minute about what ‘420 friendly’ might even mean?” kind of voice. “You want some?” they kindly offered. I politely declined. By “politely” I mean that I spared them my rationale of needing full use of my faculties should I need to kill one of them in the night. I can’t complain about my camp mates though – despite their seemingly questionable judgment in opting to not bring along a tent or the strange way they whispered to each other in the sort of way that leads you to believe they are plotting against you – because I had literally prayed for them. My first day on the trail was a 21-mile hike…ambitious by any standard…and I was cracking by the time I reached this campsite. Normally I plan to make it to a shelter to camp near a spot where people predictably gather at nightfall, but on this night there wasn’t time to reach one. The sun was fading and so was I, so my only option (other than just pitching my tent in some random spot along the trail) was Campsite 113. Closed for many years due to “bear activity,” it was the only reasonable option for the next 12 miles. And so, as the sun fell from the sky and my feet dragged along scraping the tops of rocks and roots, too tired to be lifted to their proper height…I prayed that someone would be at the campsite with me. And I failed to be specific.

 

My first day on the AT took me from Stechoa Gap in NC past Fontana Lake, across the damn and into the Great Smoky Mountains. The Smokies were no joke. Miles and miles of climbing and decending and really only one road crossing (ie. escape route/rescue route) in the entire 80+ mile stretch. They seem to have an environment all unto themselves, with the feel of a rainforest and a storm constantly brewing. They are intimidating and inspiring and exhilarating. The highest point on the entire trail, Clingman’s Dome, sits at their center. I should reach it by day four. 

I exchanged just enough niceties with Mojo and Andy so as to be seen as a human should they decide to murder me in my sleep (yes, this is how I think). I asked about their jobs, told them about my girls. They were young and harmless and I turned in, leaving them to their “cowboy ways.” I read 1 page of my book and started to drift off to the sounds of the forest and the whispers of men.