Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [121]
The peak that changed everything was Sugarloaf Mountain. There weren’t any other hikers, but there was a great view. And there, in the distance, we saw her—katahdin. She was just a speck on the horizon, but we could see the end, and that affected us all in different ways.
Nightwalker was so excited that he talked nonstop for the rest of the day. He had a huge smile on his face and his voice was filled with excitement.
I was stoic. There were so many emotions flooding through me that it was hard to know what to say. I had planned to have it all figured out by the time I got to Katahdin, and instead everything seemed more complicated than when I had started.
Mooch seemed to be the most affected by seeing katahdin. As soon as the mountain came into view, he took off. Up until this point we had been the two bringing up the rear, but from that point forward, Nightwalker and I struggled to keep up with Mooch. Not only was he a stronger hiker, but he also stopped complaining, even jokingly. I guess now that he could see the finish line, he knew that he could make it.
Our proximity to Katahdin didn’t make the daily task of hiking any easier. The trail continued to test us in ways we didn’t expect.
Descending off the Bigelow Mountains, I arrived at Little Bigelow Lean-To and found Nightwalker buried in his sleeping bag and knotted into a ball. It was only 6:00 PM. Usually he would be reading, or eating, or searching for a spot to take me on a date, but tonight all I could see was his curly black locks sticking out the end of his maroon sleeping bag.
I heard a noise behind me and turned to see Mooch walking toward the shelter with Nightwalker’s cell phone in his hands. As he approached, he put his finger to his lips, signaling me to be quiet.
“He needs to sleep,” he whispered.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“I think he has giardia. He just spent an hour in the privy, and he had to dash off the trail fifteen times today. I was with him for most of the afternoon, and he just kept getting worse. He’s really dehydrated and I think he has a fever. I tried to call for help, but I couldn’t get service on his cell phone.”
“what are we going to do?”
“I don’t think we can do anything tonight, but tomorrow we can hike to a dirt road a mile down the trail. There’s not supposed to be much traffic on it, but I think it’s our best shot at getting him out of here.”
Mooch and I silently ate dinner. Then, as we prepared our sleeping bags and foam pads, we saw Nightwalker’s cocoon stir.
“Nightwalker?” I whispered.
“Uuuuunnnnnnhhhhh.” It was one of the most pain-filled moans I have ever heard.
“Hey, can I make you some dinner or get you some water?”
He pulled his sleeping bag below his eyes and then, ever so slightly, shook his head no. He looked horrible. His face was beet red and his eyes looked lifeless. He was struggling to keep his eyelids open, and I could see him shivering despite the sweat rolling down his face. I spent the rest of the evening wetting his bandana and applying it as a cold compress to his forehead.
The next morning, Mooch and I helped Nightwalker down the trail. He had his left arm slung over Mooch’s pack and his right arm over my shoulders. We carried him to the road like a wounded soldier.
The guidebook said that only one or two cars would travel this road per day, so after situating Nightwalker in the shade, Mooch and I sat down in the middle of the road. This was not the time for selective hitching; this called for a roadblock.
After about forty-five minutes, we heard a noise coming down the gravel road; standing up, we saw a car quickly approaching in a cloud of dust.
We stood in the road and waved our arms. The driver had no option but to stop. She was on her way back from a Fourth of July campout at a nearby lake, and although she didn’t