I decided to undergo a little "trail therapy" today. I went to the Pinnacle, a nice climb up some rocks with a view. The last time I hiked here, it was summer, and I encountered a large rattlesnake just a few feet from where this picture was taken. Fortunately, today Senor Rattlesnake was taking that long winter nap under a rock somewhere.
I was sort of puzzling over which route I would take. There are a couple of different trails to the Pinnacle that leave from about the same place. I walked up the access road from the parking lot and encountered a large sign, which said, in big letters, "APPALACHIAN TRAIL." On the right side of the sign was the letter "N" and it said, "Pinnacle, 4 miles. Katahdin, 965.2 miles." Like the answer to so many of life's questions, the answer to which route I should take was, "DUH!!!!"
When I through-hiked the Appalachian Trail in 1991, there was this ubiquitous trail personality named Wingfoot, one of those people who had hiked the entire trail several times and just could not seem to leave it. He would hang around with different groups of hikers and dispense his priceless words of trail wisdom. Many times I heard him say that the trail hike was a "touchstone experience." "You will return to the memory of your hike throughout your life." At the time I was too young and too untouched to have even the faintest idea what he meant. And Wingfoot was SOOO pompous. But he was right. When I am in a tough spot, I gravitate towards those white blazes.
A few days before my first surgery, I hiked the AT in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. I was with someone who loved me enough to accompany me to any place I wanted to go. Someone who hadn't yet realized that, more often than not, those places fall into the category of "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread." When I say that we ended up climbing DOWN the Webster Cliff Trail . . . in the DARK, those unfamiliar with the trail might say, "how lovely." Those familiar with the trail would say "Were you OUT of your MIND?!" (they might also add, "If that person who was with you stayed with you after this experience, he is an extraordinarily brave and loving human being" . . . and they would be right).
Finding the trail down in the dark took a great deal of focus and concentration. It drove the fear of the cancer out of my mind. I could see the path, because the flat, trodden-down areas are a little more reflective than the surrounding forest floor. I was looking down for this subtle brightness. Every so often there would be a white blaze on a tree, which told me I had not strayed from the trail. I began to slap each blaze with my palm when I saw it. Who knew the trail was going to come to my rescue in so many ways?
Today I followed a bright path in the snow with a lot of joy. I only got as far as Pulpit Rock, where two lovely people named Tom and Kristi took my picture. I sat down on my pack and had some hot coffee and a snack, and contemplated the universe. On the way down, there were all these beautiful hike in the snow endorphins bathing my brain. I forgot to be scared. I forgot to think that any part of me might not be healthy.
Lovely... I think I need a walk on a bright path in the snow, too.... with those familiar, kind white blazes... Just love all parts of this story... Hugs, Esther
ReplyDeletefrom "The City Limits" by A.R. Ammons
ReplyDelete"when you consider
that air or vacuum, snow or shale, squid or wolf, rose or lichen,
each is accepted into as much light as it will take, then
the heart moves roomier, the woman stands and looks about, the
leaf does not increase itself above the grass, and the dark
work of the deepest cells is of a tune with May bushes
and fear lit by the breadth of such calmly turns to praise."