Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [130]
After fighting through rain, snow, fog, cold temperatures, high winds, oppressive humidity, and blazing heat, the weather for our climb up Katahdin was perfect. The sky was blue, the air was warm, the wind was calm, and there weren’t even any bugs. We started up the mountain at daylight with my brother. My dad remained at the campground and prepared a picnic for our return.
The trail up Katahdin is mostly, well, up. The path follows the rocky spine of the mountain for most of the way, but then, about a mile from the summit, it flattens out and follows a gradual, exposed slope toward the beckoning brown sign on top of the mountain. That sign, that rickety piece of painted wood that marked the mountain summit—that was the end of the Appalachian Trail.
Nightwalker touched it first, followed by Mooch, but it didn’t feel like any of us had really finished until all three of us laid hands on the sign and raised our poles, hands, and mop stick into the air with a conquering yell. We hadn’t conquered the mountain or the trail. We had conquered our doubts, fears, and weaknesses.
After a few minutes of hugs, shouting, and celebrating, the boys and I started the traditional photo shoot by the sign. It was great to have my brother there, not only for moral support, but also as a photographer with a digital camera—especially since Nightwalker had broken his.
We took solo shots, group shots, silly shots, and triumphant shots. Before leaving, my brother let me scroll through the dozens of photos to make sure that we didn’t want to retake any. I laughed at the pictures; I didn’t know my smile could stretch that far. To an outsider, the images of dirty sun-worn travelers by a brown mountain sign would mean very little. But those who could appreciate the hard and trying story preceding those photos would understand that the pictures are worth more to me than anything I have ever owned.
When the photo shoot was over, we turned around and started to hike back down the mountain. I don’t want to say that climbing Katahdin was a letdown, because it wasn’t. But I thought I was going to have an epiphany once I reached the top. I thought I would feel different at the brown sign marking the mountain summit.
But when I was there, I was just happy.
Driving back home to North Carolina with my dad and brother, I had a lot of time to think. I thought about how strange and somewhat demoralizing it was that the same journey through a mountain range that had taken me four months to hike through could be completed in two days by car.
I also thought a lot about Homer’s Odyssey and its hero, Odysseus, my namesake. In college we had a class discussion about whether the tale of Odysseus taking ten years to return home in the midst of magic, gods, distraction, and disaster could be a real story. I was the only one in the class who thought it was possible.
Now it all made sense. I had just spent the past four months traveling a 2,175-mile footpath. And during that time, I had been struck by lightning and caught in a blizzard. I met a pirate, escaped a stalker, and encountered illegal drugs. I walked with a moose, avoided serpents of supernatural size, and fought with dark armies (of bugs). I suffered unexplained ailments, underwent spells of fatigue, and was rescued countless times by complete strangers. My best friend was a traveling comedian and minstrel, and I happily took part in a romantic subplot with a mysterious and handsome man. I had been met by a higher power Who guided me along the path, and even when I came face to face with death, I continued to seek out life.
But now that it was all over, I wondered: what did Odysseus do once he was back home?
21
HOMECOMING
SUMMER 2005 TO SUMMER 2008—3 YEARS
“You need to know that the trail can and will