Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [111]
Nightwalker and I spent much of the day talking. We talked about our families, our friends, high school, college, childhood memories; we talked about what we wanted to do and where we wanted to go after the trail. We would talk until we were talked out, and then there would be a long silence until one of us thought of something else, and then we would talk some more. Hiking with Nightwalker made the climbs seem less steep and the trail seem less difficult.
Unlike Nightwalker, Mooch actually made the mountains seem bigger and the climbs feel harder. It’s very difficult to hike when you’re doubled over laughing. No matter how dire the circumstances, Mooch could always make me laugh. He had an endless supply of jokes and self-deprecating stories.
When my stomach muscles ached from laughing and my face was sore from smiling, I would ask Mooch to sing a song. My musical taste consisted of whatever pop songs were overplayed on the radio, but Mooch didn’t sing those. He sang folk songs. I didn’t recognize most of the tunes or artists, except for occasional ballads by James Taylor or Bob Dylan, but that made the words even more magical.
Mooch’s voice was beautiful, pure, and earthy. For someone who constantly told very crude jokes, I was amazed at how sweet and innocent his melodies sounded. Mooch would sing me over mountains, along ridgelines, beside lakes, and at night he would always have one last tune to share before we went to bed.
I was missing proper support in my shoe, on my pack, and in my hand. But now I had two other hikers to lean on, and that was more important than having the right gear.
When the boys and I reached the top of the stair-stepper climb up to Franconia Ridge, the unprotected ridgeline provided spectacular views of New Hampshire. There were tall mountains in every direction, and although they were called the White Mountains, they appeared in dark shades of blue, green, and purple. The sky was cloudless, and the rocky outcroppings of the ridge made everything feel rugged and primitive.
There were several day- and section-hikers on top of the mountain as well. They seemed to be enjoying the view too, but something about coming all the way from Georgia gave me a sense of ownership. I felt connected to these mountains in a way that the other tourists could not understand. They were looking out over the same vista that I was, but I was certain that it struck me with a beauty and significance that they were unable to appreciate. I had worked really hard for these views, and the feeling of accomplishment I had on top of Franconia Ridge was more stunning than the scenery.
That night, at our campsite beneath Franconia Ridge, Nightwalker asked me on a date. I knew that our feelings were mounting, but I didn’t realize they would come to such a formal head. I said yes, and together we left Mooch in Garfield Ridge Shelter and walked to a nearby boulder, climbed on top, and watched the full moon light up the distant mountains.
I was still uncertain about my feelings for Nightwalker. I knew that I liked him, but I didn’t know how much. I wondered how starting a relationship now, toward the end of the trail, would impact our lives off the trail. I worried about the perception of being like most female thru-hikers, who couldn’t stay out of relationships along the trail. I thought I had come out here to be independent, not to find a boyfriend.
Despite my indecision and mixed emotions, the one thing I was sure of was that sitting on the boulder with Nightwalker was the best date I had ever been on. I didn’t have to dress up, I didn’t have to worry about appearance or impressions. The air was filled with the songs of crickets and insects, and we were in the one of the most beautiful places I had ever been, under a full moon, on a warm summer night. In the end I gave in to the setting and my feelings, and confirmed what my heart felt with my lips.
I thought the kiss would make things