20 Miles Later

I have a few blisters on my left foot from the last part of the hike. But the first 17 miles went really well! Becky coordinated a backpacking trip with Katie and Mindy (professionals compared to me!) and myself this weekend. On Friday afternoon we were just getting our bags packed, and my Friday evening we were still crawling along in traffic making our way to Port Clinton. We did not start hiking until 8:30pm! A thunderstorm had just finished, and the sky was clear as could be as we made an ascent up switchbacks to inaugurate our fresh beginning. Two miles later, headlamps illuminated and sweat pouring from...everywhere, we set up camp at the top of the ridge, a mile before the next spring. Becky managed to get a modest fire going after struggles. Later, we packed the food in the bear bag, only then realizing that we had far more than enough food for four people and three days. We needed two bear bags. And we were too tired to actually hoist them. So we set them far off, and laid down beneath the stars. Becky and I hastily set up the tent beside our tarp, just in case someone might chicken out through the night, and seek more secure lodgings.

Saturday was beautiful. The breeze blew as we made our way out around 9:30. It was a good thing we got moving that early, because we had a pretty strenuous hike ahead: at least 10 miles (we never were quite sure), and lots of it uphill. The trail grew rockier and rockier. We stopped at Pulpit Rock. I thought it was the Pinnacle at first, not sure how anything could be grander, but no: the Pinnacle and our lunch stop still lay 2.4 miles ahead, according to the other hikers about. And there were plenty of other hikers around on Saturday and Sunday. I don't know if ya'll have noticed, but it's been raining nonstop this June! This was the first suitable weekend for backpacking, and everyone and their dog was taking advantage of it. Having reached the Pinnacle, we stopped for an hour's rest to eat lunch. I pulled out George MacDonald for the first time on the trip. What a lovely hour. Hawks soared at my feet in a blue sky that reached the whole way to another range of mountains. The sun warmed my back after the breeze had chilled it, and I guarded my peeling (no longer red) legs in the shade of the protruding maze of rocks, trying not to think much about the rattlesnake spotted just down the trail. After the Pinnacle, Saturday ended in a beautiful three miles of spacious trail with few rocks. Katie was relieved most, having only brought trail runners. Her feet were howling and we were ready to eat again. That night we ate as much of our supply as we could: rice and beans, mashed potatoes, hot dogs, s'mores, I'm not even kidding.

Sunday, we had little idea what the trail looked like ahead. The guidebook became somewhat more vague, and the mileage ahead was also questionable. Even so, we did not leave our campsite before we had consumed a multi-course brunch: oranges, muffins (baked in the orange rinds), oatmeal, pudding (made with french vanilla creamer and water), granola, this is not a joke.

Sunday's first miles were smooth. Then we climbed steeply, not descending often, but coming to ridges only to ascend again. Soon my right knee started to be painful during descents, a dull aching at first. I am mostly convinced that it was just tired. But we were not simply going to set up camp; we were going to keep going, and so was my knee. It only grew angrier, though, apparently deaf to all inner pleading, so I began to plead outwardly. I'm sorry to say that I started to cry during our last descent. We took a break, and my companions all took various objects from my pack, and the pack itself. During this interlude, a fellow about our age was climbing up the same trail, a guitar visible from his pack. We all had enough time to joke about him playing me a song to make me feel better before he was within hearing range. Upon seeing our distress, he offered whatever help he could, his hand down the mountain, reassurance that our goal was not too far; even his mobile number, in case we should suddenly have need of it; he offered everything, that is, except to play a song. In the end, Mindy and I headed down the mountain arm in arm, Becky and Katie gerryrigged my pack to Becky's pack, and the mountain minstrel continued on his kind way up the mountain. He had lifted our spirits; just what we needed. The way up the River of Rocks trail was arduous, I daresay a good deal more arduous for my companions with the added weight. I limped blithely along, admiring the river bed that was made of nothing but large rocks. I kept thinking about what it would be like to encounter a "river" actually made of moving, flowing rocks. Painful, probably. We played the word association game. We counted steps. We counted rocks. We drank water. And more water. And still we had more up to go. When we saw cars above us, we took heart. With more water and one last, steep push upward we arrived at a third lookout (not rivaling the Pinnacle, but probably worth the seven bucks they charge at the entrance, through which we left, and so were not charged.) Our elation was visible. It may have scared the little children, actually, with their kind parents, out to enjoy the Sunday afternoon, to be set upon by four boisterous, unshowered hikers who had never been more satisfied to reach their destination.

A few minutes later, our packs safely smelly in Mindy's trunk, rain began in a short, earnest burst. Thank you, Lord, for holding onto the rain's tail just long enough not to endanger our adventure!