Wandering the Mountains Part II - Nightfall

2009-09-28: I followed the Rose River trail through the silent woodlands, enjoying the early autumn foliage, dripping rainwater, in the misty mountain air. Sometimes a solitary bird call would ring through the woodland, and sometimes a branch would crack and fall, and these things were startling in the utter silence. I walked and walked and began to wonder if I had taken the wrong path. Some of the trail markers were inconclusive, but I was suspecting that I had only misgauged my speed and that I would be back soon. The trail appeared little used as well, but I had to be close, I had to be, I thought. I had been walking for more than an hour, I estimated. Eventually, after crossing over the river (something I had not seen on the map), I sighted the end of the trail up ahead. I was relieved that I had not gotten it wrong. Except, as I approached, I realized this was not the correct end of the trail. Instead, this was a fire access road. There were a few very rural looking homes on a gravel road just beyond the edge of the forest. I must have missed something, I thought. So, annoyed but not worried, I turned back. There was plenty of time to get back.

I crossed back over the river and began looking for the path I had missed. Shortly afterwards, I found what I thought to be this path. My sense of direction had not entirely failed me. The trail began to climb, and climb, and climb, ever more steep. That it was slick with mud made climbing it difficult and strenuous. My trust in my directional intuition, and my stubbornness, prevented me from ever reconsidering this route. At times, I would do 30 seconds of climbing, and then I would rest for a minute, my heart pounding under the stress. Sometimes I had to literally crawl up the slope. I was getting tired and hungry and thirsty, things I would normally have been prepared for.

Finally, the trail began to level off. The climb had been slow, and I knew dusk was approaching sooner than I'd like. I hustled my way through the muddy, rocky forest path. At one point I noticed some unusual animal tracks - bear tracks! I started moving double time out of there as meeting a bear was not something I was ready for. After about a half mile of that, the day's light had still grown dimmer, and I decided that if I could not determine where I was and where I needed to go after another 10 minutes of hustling, I'd turn back and head for the fire access road. And just 10 minutes later, or what I estimated to be 10 minutes, I came upon a road. Or rather, what had been a road once. I could turn right - upwards, or left - downwards. Downhill sounded good to me, and neither direction seemed to go where I wanted, so I went left. Had I gone right, I would have saved myself a lot of trouble, and pain. But then I wouldn't be who I am today.

I spotted an appropriately sized oak branch and fashioned it into a walking stick. There was a bit more daylight on this side of the mountain (which I did not know was a mountain at the time), and that was a bit of a relief. Surely a road goes somewhere, I told myself. I also considered that it might be 30 or 40 miles to anything, but I quickly suppressed that type of thinking. As I walked, a bit more relaxed, down a switchback in the road, I suddenly heard branches breaking somewhere close by, and by the sound of it these were large branches. I stopped and stood still, and strained my ears to discover what was out there. The sound continued and I could not discern its direction or detect any movement. Then, I looked up. Four black bears were perched on the boughs at the very top of a huge tree. My mind raced, but fear never found me. Nonetheless, I knew it would be wise to leave as quickly and as stealthily as possible. It seemed that they had not noticed my presence, but there could have been more of them nearby. I speed-walked along the road as quickly as I could. When I came to the next portion of the switchback, I cut down then center and bolted through the tall grass along a power cut as quickly as I could manage, nearly losing my footing. I was certainly pleased to see the power lines as a sign of developed land.

I began the long trek down this shattered road, until I came upon a fork after maybe an hour of marching along. A crude sign described my options to me. If I went right, I'd be headed to "Rapidan Camp". To the left was some place called Criglersville. A "ville" sounded more helpful than a "camp" so I took the left path. I was very, very thirsty now. I hear a river running along the road, to my right, but the bank was steep and I was not sure if I could get back up. Dusk began to deepen into nightfall. The moon, fortunately, was visible and moderately bright. Eventually, I found a short path to the riverbank, just off the road. Then I was, crouching in the moonlight, over the water, scooping cool water with my filthy, worn hands into my mouth. It was the best drink I had ever taken. I pushed my face into the water and drew as much as I could hold into my mouth. I felt a certain connection with my most base instincts, and this is what was to drive me on. The night was upon me, and it was growing colder and darker, and I was not about to relent. I picked up my stick and put one foot in front of the other, one step at a time, and resolved that I would not stop.