Here we are, nearly a month into our journey and 340 miles since the start. As predicted, honey moons don't last forever. Since I last wrote, I feel like I've been to hell and back in a lot of ways. The joy in simple things and the pleasure in overcoming challenges have only grown more prevalent... But so have the challenges. Currently, I'm sitting in my tent, reveling in the warm night and dry sleeping bag in comparison to the storm we endured last night. Just the simple fact that my clothing is dry and my rain tarp is hanging on a tree next to my tent, rather than being helplessly blown about, feels like luxury.
As the weeks have gone on, Caroline and I have stopped hiking together every moment of every day. Partially because it is a lot of time together but mostly because this is a reflective experience for both of us. Often, we spend the mornings hiking alone or hiking with others, have lunch together and then hike to the place we will be camping that night. Yesterday began exactly that way. I woke up and left camp earlier and Caroline was having a slower day so we didn't reconnect for lunch. Instead, I ran into a "trail angel", which is the term out here for people who help out thru-hikers by giving food, rides into town, water etc. It's shockingly common to suddenly stumble upon a group of past thru-hikers who have set up a table with fresh fruit, candy, cold drinks-- basically everything a hiker could want! Some people just enjoy being involved with the Thru-Hike and meeting new people even if they don't want to hike it themselves. Basically, the conclusion that I've come to about these acts of kindness and the "angels" who always seem to appear when you need them most is this: we are out here living with just what we can carry on our backs. The smallest thing (a ride into town to use a proper toilet) means EVERYTHING. You can fill someone with joy just by giving them cold filtered water. I can only imagine that "trail magic" and "trail Angels" exist because they can be a part of the journey and play a crucial role on the trail by giving simple, yet deep, joy.
Anyway...the trail angel I met yesterday was driving a big, colorful van and asked if I needed anything. Laughing, I said, "a bathroom" and she immediately offered to drive me and another hiker into town. I bought some snacks and waited for Caroline when I returned. She texted me that she was going to take her time that day so I decided to push on without her and we agreed to meet at the next shelter 5 miles away.
2 miles into the hike, it stated to rain. Sprinkling at first and then down-pouring and eventually hailing. Everything was soaked in minutes. My boots were filled with so much water that I felt like I was walking on sponges. As water soaked deeper into my backpack, gear, clothes and shoes, everything got even heavier. Annoyed, I hiked faster figuring that I only had 3 miles to go and would reach the shelter soon. About half an hour passed and I noticed a power-line, which I remembered was the marker for 1 mile until the shelter in the guide book. Encouraged, I pushed on, thinking I would reach the shelter in about 15 minutes. Suddenly, the woods opened up onto a huge, broad bald on the top of the mountain. Rolling hills of meadows as far as the eye could see. I was shocked but figured still that this must be the small gap before the shelter. The path was completely flooded at that point and the sky blackened with a huge clap of thunder and bolt of lightning. I started into the meadow, thinking it would lead to the shelter but as I approached the top of the hill, another enormous rolling bald began to appear. I saw 3 tiny dots moving up the bald and realized they were 3 of the hikers I had been chatting with an hour ago. Shocked, I was brought back to reality by the sudden, overwhelming boom of thunder and immediate strike of lightning, which meant the storm was very close. I quickly realized not only was I farther from the shelter than I had thought but I had miles of wide open, exposed, rolling fields in front of me, which were sitting in the eye of the storm. I panicked and began running, trying to reach the shelter before the storm enveloped the bald. Suddenly, I realized I was in the middle of a field, thousands of feet up, holding metal poles. I had visions of myself being struck by lightning and all of the sudden my mind drew a complete blank on what I had been taught about the basics of electricity and safety when hiking during an electrical storm. Metal conducts electricity, I knew that and lighting hits the tallest thing around, right? So was I supposed to be close to the trees since they were wooden and taller than I? Or would that put me in danger of being struck if something near me was hit? How much danger, really, was I in? Was I panicking unnecessarily? How often do people actually get struck by lighting? The odds were in my favor. But that's what everyone thinks. I suddenly remembered the 15 mile stretch of trail we had to skip due to an uncontrolled wild fire ripping through North Carolina. Wild fires often start with lightning, don't they? My mind began racing with another whole set of fears. I saw myself engulfed in smoke and flames because I had run into the woods to avoid getting hit by lightning. I wished I was with Caroline. Surely she would knew what to do. But I wasn't. I had only myself and I had to get to the shelter, fast. I snapped back to reality and noticed a tiny dot of a person in front of me. I recognized him as a man I'd seen on the trail every now and then journaling or listening to music. He was never in any rush and seemed to always be calmly hiking at his own pace. But now, in the storm, he was sprinting in a b-line away from the trail through the bald and into the woods. I wasn't sure if he was heading there for cover or for another reason but I decided that I needed to follow my instincts and get underneath the trees. I kept the trail in sight and eventually caught up to him. We briefly acknowledged the danger we were in but mostly we ran in silence towards the shelter. It was all we could do at that point. It felt better just to be with someone else, and as the trail went back into the woods, I knew the shelter would be within sight soon. After what felt like hours, we reached the shelter. I left a note for Caroline and went to set up camp. She soon showed up and we talked about what had just happened. Thinking back to it now, I can imagine how ridiculous I looked soaking wet, crying, hyperventilating, talking to myself and sprinting across a meadow into the woods. I was at my raw, unfiltered, core self. You don't get to experience yourself that way very often. It's not a state you can imagine or force yourself into. It comes with deep, adrenaline-filled fear. It is a complete lack of control. When you're in that place, you have only yourself to trust.
This story is not meant to scare relatives or friends who might be reading this or to discourage anyone from taking on a great adventure. It is quite the opposite. This is what I came for. To see myself fully and to trust myself. Like life, there are times when you feel terrified and completely out of control. There are times when you are alone and you have to make your own decision and trust that the choice you make is right. There are trail Angels and fellow hikers out there providing support but, ultimately, I am the only one responsible for myself.
Those are the times when you really see your raw, unfiltered self and learn what you are capable of. Those are the times when you grow stronger. Those times are terrifying but rare and precious. Today, I walk just a little bit taller.
Its a dangerous business going out your door. You step onto the road and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.
