Pre Hike 23 April 2018

I am on a training hike with Julie and Ed.  We are hiking at Mohican State Park in Ohio.   It’s almost 10pm and I am lying in my Zpacks Duplex tent listening to the flowing river hidden over the nearby embankment.  The rippling current in the darkness rushes over rocks covered in light green moss and curves around delicate channels that suddenly disappear into the broad expansive flowing current.  The water encounters rocks and curves in the landscape creating a steady pace of a rippling and gushing roar.  The cries of distant coyotes howling fill the night with far off mystery.  Sometimes their howls seem very close and then suddenly seem to be echoing from the surrounding hills and ravines.   I feel calm and at peace lying my sleeping bag waiting for sleep to come.   The hike today was only 7 miles but I was able to slowly get my hiking legs back under me, stepping with assurance and confidence.   I am still in process of testing out gear.  And I feel really good about my new pack - the Zpacks Arc Haul.  I was carrying about 25 pounds today including water and food.  I know that I will most likely carry more on the PCT - more food and definitely more water.  But the pack feels really good on my shoulders.   The Zpacks Duplex tent feels spacious and welcoming after hours of hiking.  

But I can’t seem to fall asleep.  And I wonder if it’s because I am so excited to be out on a trail again.  Or if it’s because I am staying awake to take in all of the sounds of night.  The cuben fiber fabric of my tent is somewhat translucent.  Through the pale canopy overhead I can see the glowing moon shining small slivers of illumination through the tall trees.

I wait for sleep to come.  And I reflect on the day’s hike.   We arrived around 2pm, loading our packs onto our backs, securing hip belts, sternum straps, load adjusters.  Trekking poles are elongated and set at predetermined heights.   And then we are off.  We are hiking.  I find myself pulling ahead.  The path is very well maintained and fairly clear of rocks and tree branches.   I fly by day hikers with young children eager to see the local water falls.   I am eager to get onto one of the side trails that are not as popular so I can hike alone with Julie and Ed.   But Ed has decided to leave us where the path divides.  He will make his way to the agreed upon camp site while Julie and I take the longer route.   We hike up and then up some more only to descend through fragile brush layered among tall trees.  Suddenly my mouth is very dry and I am reminded that I often don’t drink enough water when I am hiking.   I have 2.5 liters with me and that should be enough to get to our campsite where I know I can filter more water.  I swallow the water and feel refreshed and ready to move on.

The air is lightly warm with a soft breeze.  The sun shines through the pale bark branches that are just now starting to bud with spring.  I suddenly realize I am alone and look back toward the way I came waiting for Julie to catch up.  We check in and make sure we are both okay.  With smiles and assurance we move on.  Now we pass no other hikers and the quiet solitude gives me a small uneasy moment.   My mind drifts toward unwanted scenarios of sudden injury, getting lost.   But those thoughts dissipate as quickly as they appear.  Moving forward on the path gives me purpose – a task that I can accomplish.  

And I do. 

After fording the calf deep river, we arrive at camp and begin the camp chores of setting up tents, blowing up air mattresses and setting out sleeping bags, cook pots, food.    Ed gets a fire going and soon we are sitting on rocks and logs watching the yellow and red and sometimes blue flames reach for the sky and then disappear.  The darkening wood sparks and cracks and shifts. 

And I find myself shifting.   I find myself removed from the daily life of getting up in my bed, showering, throwing on clothes and going to work.   I find myself living right in this moment.  And I am so grateful to have Julie and Ed here with me.  We alone will share this experience and hear the never ending river and the soulful cries of the coyotes.   And we will fall asleep with smoke from the fire hovering on our clothes and lacing the air we breathe. 

And sleep did come. 

And then morning.  And then the hike out.   And I suddenly thought about having five months of such vivid and impressive experiences  - each one remarkably unique.   And then I silently wondered if I am really able to persevere -  to live those exceptional moments.