Blood Mountain Adventure

So, I've already told you about our autumn hike near the Richard Russell Scenic Hwy. The next day we got up and headed out for Blood Mountain. It would turn out to be an epic excursion (and a long blog post). Typical for us, we had a rather late start- getting ourselves and the three boys up and fed, pottied or changed, packed and into the car takes determination. By the time we'd arrived at our destination, picked up some sandwiches, pottied or changed everyone again, and suited up for our hike, it was about 1:30 pm as we actually headed up the trail. Still, that gave us at least 4 hours before we expected nightfall- the hike is just under 2 miles to the summit, so we still felt we'd have enough time.

From November Hikes 2008

It was a chilly grey day, but we were well dressed in layers and the hiking soon warmed us up. It was perfect hiking- we were all in good spirits, enjoying the beautiful woods and the fresh, damp air. Littleman took the lead, and we continued on up the mountainside.

From November Hikes 2008

Damp autumn leaves covered the trail, and the air was thick with their rich, decaying scent. The palette of brown sparkled here and there with visions of color: flashes of fire, drops of golden amber, speckles of dessicated amethyst that delighted my eyes.

From November Hikes 2008

From November Hikes 2008

It wasn't long before we stopped for a quick bite. When hiking with kids, it's good to stop for snacks or sips of water pretty frequently. You don't have to stop long, but you will find they are much happier with frequent refueling in small doses. Happy kids make for a happy hike!

It was getting colder, so we were anxious to get moving again. Soon we could glimpse the summit of Blood Mountain looming over us. It looked so close, but we knew from long experience that it was probably further away than it seemed. We were having too much fun to mind that!

From November Hikes 2008

The trail gets much tougher as you near the summit. Before you know it, you are traversing steep switchbacks, climbing stairs and clambering up rock piles. I helped Billy put Mr. Sweetcheeks in another carrier, because it was getting to be a bit much for a 3-yr old hiker. Sweetcheeks probably could have done it all himself, but the pace would have been very, very slow- and we needed to beat nightfall. So we continued on up the mountain, careful not to slip on the piles of crushed leaves.

From November Hikes 2008

Unfortunately, my camera battery died sometime around then. I was SO disappointed, because the views at the top were stunning! Sigh. Sorry about that.

Anyway, we continued up, and up, and up. 2 miles is not far for us, but we'd forgotten how tough the trail is nearer the top. Littleman was fantastic, trooping right along, seemingly invincible. It was getting chillier, so we started pulling on hats and zipping up jackets again. Each bend we looked up the hill to see sky behind the trees, seemingly indicating that the end was just over yonder. But we knew that most likely, more hillside would materialize as we followed the twisting trail. We were all still feeling great, and the forest was gorgeous. But sunset was fast approaching, and we began to worry that we just might run out of time. Littleman started lagging at last, and near the top he began to cry. It was a tough hike for him!

But finally, we broke through the rhododendron thickets onto a wide rock face near the top of Blood Mountain. The dense grey sky overhead stretched toward the west, where clouds broke apart and sunlight streamed through in pink-golden splendor. The mountains marched away, ridge upon ridge, fading into sapphire sfumato. Light poured through the clouds in great shafts onto the hillsides. The wind was bitter, but everything was such a feast for the eyes that for a moment, there was nothing but elation. It was the sort of euphoric intoxication that makes all our toughest hikes well worth the trouble. When people wonder why on earth we would put ourselves through some of the conditions we face outdoors, I am at a loss to describe the pure joy and reward that such moments hold. The sense of accomplishment, of connectedness, of wonder- it defies description and simply must be experienced to be understood.

I did have a 12 month old on my back however, so getting out of the cold wind was a priority. Plus it was obvious that sunset was mere minutes away. Littleman perked up to see that we were almost there, so we pushed on to the summit and went straight into the shelter. The shelter on Blood Mountain was built by the Civilian Conservation Corps back in 1934. Inside it has two rooms with windows, a fireplace and a large sleeping platform. No fire for us, though! It was damp and chilly but at least we were out of the wind. We ate and drank, and made the kids run around a bit to keep warm. There was no time to explore the beautiful mountain top- that would have to wait for another day. Dusk was approaching fast and we needed to head back down the mountain. We knew it was more important to be rested and fed than to hurry, though- we could hike in the dark if we had to. The trail is well-maintained and heavily used, with clearly defined blazes all along- plus we are familiar with the terrain. Better to be fueled up and ready, hiking a little later, than to have cranky kids and our judgment possibly impaired by fatigue and hunger.

Soon we bundled up for the hike down, back in good spirits and still ready for adventure. We'd hoped to start our descent by 4 pm, but it was closer to 4:45. Still, we figured that wasn't too bad. As we came out on the rock face below the shelter, I paused to admire the sunset- the sun was sliding down from a strip of clouds, moments away from the horizon. It blazed an improbable fuscia pink, turning the very air rosy around me. It was freezing though, and I turned back to the trail. Just as I left the rock, I heard a far-off rumble. I stopped to listen- it sounded like thunder, but that seemed so unlikely. No rain was predicted for today, it hadn't looked like rain when we'd set out, and I couldn't spot any rain clouds now. I shook my head and started off again, wondering if there was a quarry somewhere off in the valley.

Though many non-hikers find it hard to believe, hiking down a steep trail is much harder than hiking up. Billy was carrying Sweetcheeks of course, and Littleman was doing a great job at climbing down. It was slow going though, and the light was fading alarmingly fast. We began to realize that we'd not considered the direction of the sunlight this late in the day- we were on the shadowed side of the mountain, and though sun no doubt still shone on the other side, here we would very soon need flashlights. I was listening hard, because I'd heard another far away rumbling. It still sounded like thunder. At least it wasn't close. Suddenly I noticed a tapping noise, scattered all around through the leaf litter. It was sharp sounding, and it took me a minute to realize I was hearing light sleet. Ice was falling on the mountainside.

I exchanged a glance with Billy- he'd heard it, too. It was still very sparse, so we just continued on. Besides, we'd (uncharacteristically- we must be out of practice) forgotten to pack rain jackets or gaiters. Doh! Soon the sleet was getting heavier and the ground was getting wet. Littleman asked, "Is it raining?" in surprise. "It's sleet", I said, "frozen rain. It's getting the ground wet and slippery, so we need to slow down and really be careful when we're climbing down these rocks." I reminded him how to use his walking stick to steady himself and find solid footing before he placed each new step down. He took his time, and moved carefully. In situations like this, we tell the boys they are doing "commando training"- it appeals to their sense of adventure and accomplishment. They are more willing to make an effort and enjoy themselves that way, and to pay attention to our instruction.

We stopped to get out our flashlights. Billy, myself and Littleman each carry one. Unfortunately, Littleman's was not where it should have been- he must have pulled it out back at home. oops. Then we discovered that mine wasn't working! So here we were, in the gathering dark, in sleet and cold, no rain gear, miles away from the van with 3 young kids and only one flashlight. We couldn't believe that we'd put ourselves into this situation. We are seasoned hikers! We should know better! We were all too aware that this was just the sort of situation that can snowball into a true survival nightmare- even experienced outdoorsmen can die all too easily on seemingly innocuous outings. There was no need to panic, though. We knew that we'd be perfectly fine as long as we kept our heads and didn't get injured. There was no hurry- it was already dark, and we had plenty of nice warm clothes in the van. The white blazes were easily spotted and the trail was usually obvious. The only thing now of concern was to not get injured, and to keep the kids on our backs nice and warm. (Littleman's physical activity kept him comfortable.)

Slowly, carefully we made our way down the mountain in the icy dark. Babyman decided he had had enough of this nonsense, and started to cry. I talked to him, and we sang, and soon the music and constant motion had lulled him to sleep. An exhausted Sweetcheeks had also fallen asleep riding Billy's back. Being that I was in the lead, I carried the flashlight. On difficult sections Littleman and Billy waited as I hiked ahead, then I would turn and illuminate the trail so that they could traverse the rocks and roots. It was very slow going.

The light sleet tapered off, then came back, then tapered off again- it continued in this way before finally fading away entirely. The clouds broke up and dissipated, and as the nearly-full moon rose the forest was bathed in a magical, silvery light. The wet leaves and rocks gleamed; the light misty air played tricks on our eyes. One by one the diamond stars winked into view. Everything was fresh and beautiful, and otherworldly in a way only night can be. Littleman was obviously tired- he had to be vigilant to avoid a fall- but even so he kept pointing out wonderful details in the magical landscape around us: the moon gazing through tangled branches, crystalline drops sparkling on the rhododendron leaves, a twisty gnarled wizard of a tree. Billy and I were stunned with his fortitude, his vision, his ability to appreciate the wonder of the moment. Our hearts swelled with pride over this 5 year old boy whom we love so very much.

As I turned to shine our light on some steps, I noticed a shimmering black movement in the leaves. "Oooh, look!" I exclaimed- it was a black salamander. Gently we uncovered it and watched it hurry back to safety. "Cool!", said Littleman. I was so pleased- it's hard for us to get a look at salamanders in the wild, since they prefer dark wet places and are easily frightened away. The boys are just too exuberant. Night can be a great time to spot one, but we are seldom out in the forest at night with the boys. I was thrilled that our accidental night hike had provided this opportunity.

Gradually the trail became smoother and less steep. It wasn't long before we were hearing the cars drive by on the road below. As the lights of the Walasi Yi center came into view, I sighed- both with relief and just a little regret that we'd come to the end of our day's adventure. We helped the boys get dry and comfortable, and then bid goodbye to Blood Mountain as we headed for a celebratory dinner out. Until next time!

My Umbrella

Last month I was reading Shade and Sweetwater, and came across this post and this one about her lost umbrella. It brought to mind a story from my past (cue Wayne's World transition, doodly doodly doodly as the scene fades. . .)

* * *

I used to have an umbrella.

Not just any umbrella, but an umbrella I loved. It made me happy any time I popped it open on a grey, wet day. There were a few things that made this umbrella so special. First of all, it was big. No tiny, folding, purse-sized excuse for shelter was this. Oh, no: when you popped that baby open, it expanded like a parachute and there was no need to prioritize which part of me should stay dry. It sheltered all of me and my ridiculously overpacked college bookbag, as well. Secondly, the umbrella was long, straight and sturdy, with a strong metal tip and a classic curved handle that was carved to look like bamboo. This umbrella doubled gracefully as a walking stick (which I used often) and a self-defense weapon (which I never had to try, thank goodness). I can be very hard on things- shoes, umbrellas, jeans, cameras, bookbags, you name it- and other than a slightly loose shaft (easily shored up with clear packing tape) and a scratched-up metal tip, the umbrella remained as good as new. Finally, it was whimsical. Rather than a typical umbrella-shaped canopy, it blossomed into a bright sunny roof of tropical leaves, translucent to let the light shine through. It was like popping open a little bit of paradise to shield me from a wet Georgia winter.

I loved that umbrella.

My umbrella served me very well marching here, there and yonder from class to class on a large campus. Unfortunately I can be a forgetful person: more than one umbrella has fallen victim to my distraction, being left lonely and forgotten somewhere in my daily wake. Luckily this umbrella was large and useful enough that I kept track of it for a long time. Despite a couple close calls, I always managed to collect my umbrella and bring it home ready for another rainy day.

Until one fateful afternoon.

After a long class (I just realized a little joke: if I remember correctly, it was a Meteorology course. HA!) I gathered my things and wandered outside. I’d left my umbrella by the door when I’d arrived, so that it would not drip all over the place. By the time I left, the weather had cleared up nicely and my wonderful umbrella slipped my mind. I had to hurry to catch the bus if I was going to make it to my next class on time. My lovely, loyal umbrella was left propped in a corner, unnoticed and alone.

Well, it wasn’t long before I figured out what had happened. My schedule was packed however, and I had to rush from class to work and then home before it got dark. (My cheap little apartment was fine for what it was, but I didn’t have a car and I had to walk through some chancy neighborhoods before I’d reach my front door. I never walked home at night.) Retrieving my umbrella would have to wait until tomorrow.

Tomorrow arrived, and during my brief lunch I rushed over to the Environmental Sciences building for the reunion. When I reached the classroom corner however, it was empty. I looked all around, and asked anyone I saw if they had seen it. I checked the building’s lobby. I asked the janitor. No luck anywhere. I was beginning to think the worst: someone else had seen it’s value, and picked it up for their own! I was very upset. I couldn’t believe that after all that time, I’d simply left the poor thing behind to be picked up by a random stranger. I know it sounds silly, but darn if I didn’t love that umbrella! The store where I’d bought it had closed a few years earlier. I tried to find a new one on the internet, but it was nowhere to be seen. I was simply out of luck.

So, fast-forward a few weeks. I was walking through another part of campus, on my way to work for the afternoon. It was a grey day, lightly raining on my hunched shoulders and bowed head. (I’d still not gotten around to replacing my umbrella.) Suddenly a cheerful flash of green catches the corner of my eye. Looking up, I spot MY UMBRELLA! Held aloft by a tall woman, it was making it’s way across campus right toward me. I could hardly believe my luck! To think we’d be reunited after all! I was delighted.

The woman noticed my obvious happy interest, and she stopped with a guarded, questioning glance. Almost laughing, I exclaim “That’s my umbrella!”

Upon hearing that something about her face just slammed shut, like a cold metal door. Slowly, she began to shake her head. I couldn’t believe my eyes, and persisted hopefully, “I left it in the Environmental Sciences building weeks ago! I was so upset, I love it and . . . I’ve had it . . . for a long time. . .” My words were faltering as she continued to shake her head.

“No it cannot be yours”, she told me firmly, and moved as if to walk away.

“No really, that’s my umbrella that I lost!” I stepped in front of her again and ducked my head to look at the umbrella’s shaft, where my telltale repair of clear packing tape could be seen. “See where I fixed the shaft! It was loose and I used packing . . . tape. . .” She was shaking her head again, more firmly this time.

“No, this was a gift from a friend.” She looked uncomfortable, like she couldn’t wait to be rid of me. Maybe it’s my overactive and self-righteous imagination, but I thought she looked guilty. “It is not yours.”

“Well maybe they found. . .” I started, but she shook her head one more time and shouldered past me to continue on her way. I was left staring after her, dejected and bewildered. It’s one thing to keep a lost item you find, but it’s another thing entirely to refuse to return it to it’s rightful owner, if said person shows up and proves ownership. She could have at least taken my number, if the “gift” story were true. But, no. I watched her walk away, my shining tropical shelter aloft, fading into the grey foggy afternoon.