northbound?

I left the shelter with gusto – my Aleve kicked in after about 15 minutes of hiking. My joints and muscles loosened and I began what was to be a 25-mile day for me. My tracker connected as I walked and messages from home began rolling in. It was clear that a certain man in my life was frustrated by my lack of communication. His protective nature wasn’t jiving with this lack of connectivity or his girlfriend’s crazy whims. I turned on my phone and checked – I had 2 bars! This was unheard of…I quickly dialed his number. Voicmail. I left a message (which he saved and plays for me every time I consider another solo hike) that started with a simple “hi, I miss you...” and quickly deteriorated into unintelligible sobs. It actually pains ME to listen to this message, so I can only imagine what it did to him. I cried for missing home, missing him, missing my girls. I cried for the dampness of my feet. I cried for being so cold, for being so lonely and so bored. I hung up and took a deep breath, and then for the next three hours I put one foot in front of the other. Nothing more.

Misty and foggy morning on the trail

Storm looming, and I smell pretty bad too.

As I walked, I couldn’t shake this strange feeling – was I going the right way? I replayed the morning in my mind…leaving the shelter, what I had passed. I think it’s right. I mean, someone at the shelter would have noticed that I was heading out the wrong way…rigtht?

I eyeballed every tree, every bush and rock – had I seen that one before? It all looked new and different, and it all looked exactly the fucking same. I would pass a rock and think, “oh, I would remember that rock if I had seen it before. This must be the right way,” but the feeling wouldn’t go away. It started to rain. Of course it did. As I stepped across the summit of a mountain, I looked down and noticed the marker embedded in the ground right at the summit’s peak. I had passed over dozens of these markers, never stopping to look at one. This one caught my eye and I stopped to take a photo of it. As I did, I noticed the elevation was listed on the marker…5,527 feet. I took out my map – soggy and damp - and delicately opened it. Oh, the elevations were listed here too. Cool, I hadn’t really thought to look at that before. I scanned my day’s course for a peak that matched the 5,527 on the marker. Nothing. Hmmm, I unfolded the map further to review the previous day’s course…my stomach already tightening in preparation. And there it was, Thunderhead Mountain at exactly 5,527 feet above sea level.

bitches!

I came to a dead stop. I was: Stunned? Defeated? Weirdly still hopeful? This was denial at it’s best and brings to light one of the “dangers” or at least irritations of solo hiking. There is NO ONE to bounce an idea off of. “Hey, do you think we might be going the wrong way? Do you think it’s possible that we have spent the last 3 hours hiking through the rain in the wrong direction? Could it be? Because I am looking here at these elevations and they match up. And if we are…will you kindly prevent me from throwing myself off this mountain?”

No. There is none of that. And so, what happens is that you have this debate inside your lonely, sad, cold, wet, foggy, isolated brain and you ultimately argue with yourself until yourself wins the debate. If you are me, then that means YOU ACTUALLY KEEP GOING THE WRONG DIRECTION IN THE FACE OF ABSOLUTE INDISPUTABLE FACTS. That’s “hope” people…some powerful shit.

I pulled out my tracker and sent a desperate message to my boyfriend – “Am I, by chance, going the wrong direction?” I walked on and saw a bandana in the trail, dropped by some passing hiker. My mind flashed instantly to Bluebird’s water bottle, wrapped in a similar bandana. CLUE! And yet, I hiked on…I mean, I slowed down…but I kept going. I just kept replaying leaving the shelter that morning. I replayed arriving the night before. Which way had I turned?? There is a saying among hikers who have faced this exact dilemma, “Right in, right out,” meaning if you turn right to enter the shelter, you turn right when you exit it the next morning. I had done that, hadn’t I? This was maddening! And then, as I rounded the next corner, I saw the sign. I didn’t have to read it to know what it said, because I had, in fact, passed it the day before. “Derrick Knob Shelter…6 miles” and an arrow pointing in the direction I had just come. I had just hiked 3 hours going the wrong way (I realize you were already there, but this was news to me).

What happened next was a surprise even to me – I didn’t fall apart. I didn’t even hesitate. I simply stopped, did a 180, and walked on. I don’t know if I was just numb to the curse of the Smokies by now or if this was one of those moments where you just pull your shit together and do what you have to do. I didn’t even allow myself a moment of resentment for the hours and miles lost on a day that was already to be a long day. I simply kept walking because what else could I do? I smiled as the rainstorm I had walked through began to shower my face again. My spirits lifted as I accepted the situation and just marched onward. My tracker pinged with a message from my boyfriend. It read, “ Yes!!! Turn around!!!” followed by, “So sorry! I know this will kill u but be strong and push through honey!”

Remember I said this might be a love story? I might just learn something about love while alone in the woods? So, this was one of those lessons. To have someone cheer you on while they are hundreds of miles away, dry, warm, and presumably well-fed is a pretty special thing. Having that person be an enthusiastic partner while you prepare, helping you make this all happen (I will write later about the logistical madness behind doing a hike like this – the spreadsheets, oh the spreadsheets!) and supporting you in this idiotic idea is a pretty special thing. But knowing they are doing all this while at the same time wishing you wouldn’t, to me, that is selfless. There is a magic little spot between “you sound miserable, quit now” and “this was your idea, so deal with it” – and when I read the messages exchanged while I was out on the trail, I see how this man’s love sits right in that spot. “I know you can do it. Thinking of you. I know you’re struggling. You’ve got this – but if you don’t, call me.”

It seems simple now, but I can never explain the internal struggle you can experience out there. Not wanting to let anyone down, not wanting to let yourself down. If you give up and leave the trail, it will haunt you. I know this from experience and from others who have done it. One minutes I am weeping and calling home, begging someone to support my decision to quit…the next I am on top of the world and feel like I can do anything. Surfing that wave remotely when the only communication you have comes from intermittent messages from a GPS tracking device is trying even if you are dealing with an emotionally stable hiker – which I am not.

(To understand how these messages come across, get out your flip phone from 2002 and have a go at a meaningful text conversation, preferably somewhere that has only occasional coverage. It’s even better when the timing of the messages gets out of whack and they get out of order. I mean, can you even imagine being on the receiving end of these?!)

Having someone who understood that I wanted and needed to push myself, even when it was really, truly awful – but who would literally drive through the night to pick me up if I needed it – well, it was honestly the thought that I went to sleep with at night.

And so, I headed back to where I started my day. In the end, I spent 6 hours of hiking to gain zero miles. As I passed the shelter where I started my day, now vacant, my spirits lifted. It was noon and I began my day’s hike (with a good warm-up) toward Clingman’s Dome. If I made it to my goal shelter for the night, it would be a 32-mile day through the mountains. I picked up my pace and hiked on.

I had gone in left, then out right. Classic.