TRAIL DAY 88
Wed, May 18, 2016 Another day to contribute to the rainiest May in Virginia’s history. And why didn’t it bother me? Am I uniquely suited to Mother Nature’s menu being, in flesh and blood, a mere morsel at her banquet table? Is the rain just a “sauce” for the meal? I don’t know – but, it is a fact, that the weather on the trail was just another color in an artist’s extraordinary pallet.
Being the schmalzy soul I am, I must confess that I was deeply moved as I hiked day after day and saw so many brilliant natural colors and heard the winds whip up the leaves and branches overhead.
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?
There must be some of the “savage” in me. Perhaps Pocahontas made inroads into my soul when I was a boy, the youngest of two, who took to the woods in suburban Connecticut where my brother and I were raised by two very social and alcoholic parents. Maybe I found solace there in the uncritical gifts of the earth. I am moved by the depth of spirit in the Native Americans and their appreciation of the natural world which birthed and sustains us.
You think you own whatever land you land on
The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim
But I know every rock and tree and creature
Has a life, has a spirit, has a name
I remember a TV ad featuring Will Sampson, a Native American actor of the Muskogee or Creek Nation – a very large and impressive man. He was standing by the side of the road in native dress as a car drove by. An occupant threw trash out the window and it landed at the feet of this large Native American man. His expression never changed as a single tear ran slowly down his cheek.
That silent, emotional scene plumbed my pristine depths and resonated with an unspeakable something way down in the core of my being as if the source and goodness of life itself had been violated in a moment of profound sadness.
Read the lyrics to The Colors of the Wind and listen to the music. I pray the Native American spirit is not lost for good. We consume so much of the earth. We walk and scar it with paths to get closer. We fly in airplanes through a limited atmosphere to deliver messages about global warming. We live with insoluble paradoxes every day. May love for the gifts we have been given ever guide us through the maze of contradictions toward the highest good.
Back to the rainy day. We just kept going through the wet and mist, past the occasional tangle of woody limbs, taking in the glistening colors of green, purple and yellow accented against wet brown leaves, damp-dark earth or the rust-grey wood of decaying trees.
I remember well, Bunky coming up behind me. I had stopped to fill my water bottles at a stream running across the trail down a hill on the west side and a fair distance from the Blue Ridge Parkway. She stopped to do likewise and then pulled out ahead of me. I got her attention so I could take a photo just as Theo was mid-shake.
Bunky was a much stronger and faster hiker than I but it was not long before each of us came to The Guillotine where she took a picture of Theo and me facing execution. I must have gotten one of her final moments as well.
Doesn’t this formation evoke wonder at the time of its occurrence? What forces were at work to bring this about? When? Was it from an eruption or did the ice age push this rock into place? Did the ice even get down this far? A friend farther north will suggest it did not. To see this evidence of earth’s history reminds me of the sense I had looking into the Grand Canyon in 1993. Seeing the numerous layers of earth descending down a mile into the Canyon was like looking at the mind of God. So here. We were seeing the result of a huge force that had done its work a long time ago in human time but only moments or seconds ago in geological time. Mystery and wonder!
Granted a last-minute reprieve, Theo and I carried on and, needless to say (why do we say that?), I took more pictures: odd plants, tumbling moss, spider webs bejeweled in rain drops, greens of many shades, ferns and tall, lush grasses. What a banquet!
I feel for those who were on a tight schedule because of school, work, visas, or because of some self-made compulsion. How much they were forced to rush by and not see. I felt blessed for the time in my life this goal was finally being realized. Time, health, work, funds and family all came together to allow this experience to happen. I believe my gratitude will never wane.
At 1:00 p.m., Theo and I stopped for lunch. He lopped his front paws over my right paw and relaxed awaiting the last bite of my sandwich which I had become accustomed to giving him. If I haven’t said before, he also got every other bite at morning and afternoon snake times.
At mile 771.1 we came to the Thunder Ridge Overlook. I was no longer suffering as I was descending from Tinker Cliffs and would have welcomed the view but it was not to be and I had no complaints. You take what you get. There would be more and I had certainly been very, very fortunate to have the views I’d had so far.
Now, perhaps this is a good time to talk about different kinds of footwear.
I started out with ankle-high boots and loved them. As you know, I then went to low cuts which killed my toes for the long haul. My fault. I must not have appreciated the pressures in the short time it took for the purchase.
Some hikers hiked in thin, flat-soled sandals or very light shoes that had toes. A gal I’d meet farther north, “Outstanding,” was given to flimsy footwear. Maybe I have a picture of her shoes when we get there. A toe-shoed hiker obliged when I asked to take a picture of what he wore.
We faced more of the same as we head into the wilderness just south of the James River. I remember a long descent and another short climb followed by another descent. I remember, too, wondering if I would find other hikers at the campsite at the foot of the hill. You do hike your own hike but when you bed down for the night it can be a little comforting to know that others are doing the same nearby.
There was no one around when I got to the misty, damp campsite. I searched the area for a good place to pitch my tent and rejected an elevated, grassier section for a flat area in the wide open lower part of the campsite. AWOL mentions a spring 100 yards west. I found it and got water and cooked. As I ate, a few guys showed up. There were no greetings. They went directly to the elevated area, pitched 2 tents after checking out the best spots and turned in.
Night fell.
Day #88 Cornelius Creek Shelter > Maple Spring campsite 12.2 miles