Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [12]
As the shadows of the hardwood trees lengthened on the trail, my heart began to race. I decided to stop well before nightfall so my friends could catch up.
I arrived at a trail intersection and looked for a place to set up my tent. Searching for a flat spot off the trail, I heard something behind me and turned, hoping to see Sarah and Doug. Instead, an elderly couple wearing day-packs came walking down the trail holding hands.
“Hello there!” said the man. “I’m Daddy Lee and this is my wife Big Mo. Are you a thru-hiker?”
“I’m trying to be,” I replied.
“Are you hiking by yourself?” Big Mo asked with a hint of concern.
I remembered Warren saying at the workshop that even if we were hiking alone we shouldn’t share that fact with complete strangers.
“Nah, I have some friends right behind me. I’m waiting for them to catch up.”
“Well, then you should come with us,” said Big Mo. “We’re hiking down this side trail to Long Creek Falls. It’ll only take a few minutes and you’ll get to see a waterfall and some Native American carvings. You can leave your pack here so your friends will be sure not to pass you.”
I hesitated. I typically didn’t accept invitations from strangers, especially if it meant following them deeper into the woods, but this couple was in their late sixties and they were holding hands, and I was desperate for company, so I accepted their offer.
My trust was rewarded when, after a quarter of a mile, we reached a cascading waterfall bordered on either side by large rhododendrons. Beside the falls, Big Mo led me to a large granite rock with faint figures carved into the side.
“Legend has it,” she said, “that over three hundred years ago at this very spot the Native Americans sacrificed six European explorers who were part of one of De Soto’s expeditions.”
I traced the thin carvings with my fingers. Discovering this piece of history so close to the trail made me feel insignificant. I realized I was a small traveling vessel in the depths of an ancient mountain chain that was rich in stories.
Daddy Lee was well versed in Appalachian Trail news and culture, and on our hike back to the trail junction he warned me about hikers who were known for stalking and stealing from people along the trail.
“Watch out for a hiker named Tarzan; he’ll steal your pack and gear. And look out for Fire starter, he likes to hike with women and always ends up making them feel uncomfortable.”
When we arrived back at the trail junction, I was relieved to discover that my pack hadn’t been stolen, but disheartened that Sarah and Doug still hadn’t arrived.
“Well, we’d better get going so we can make it to our car before sunset,” said Big Mo.
“Have a great hike,” said Daddy Lee. “Just stay with your friends and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Despite the couple’s kindness, Daddy Lee’s parting words proved unnerving, especially since I found myself alone once again.
I pitched my tent and waited to hear the sound of Sarah’s and Doug’s heavy boots approaching. I ate a cold dinner of trail mix and peanut butter, then I brought out my headlamp and read an evening devotion outside my tent. Still my friends did not appear.
My hope faded with the daylight, and after searching in the darkness with my headlamp one final time, I entered my tent to prepare for bed.
I would have been less intimidated about my first solo campout if I hadn’t just heard a harrowing story of Indian sacrifice and been warned against criminals who lived along the trail. My mind was racing and my body was too tense for rest. I was tossing and turning when a soft rain started to drum a gentle rhythm on my tent. The steady shower turned into a harder rain, followed by thunder and lightning, followed by sleet. I decided that this would be a very unpopular night for looting and marauding along the trail. Eventually, feeling warm, dry, and relatively safe inside my tent, I fell asleep.