Reliving a Memorable Day

The familiar white blaize of

an Appalachian Trail marker

Copyright © 2020

by Ralph F. Couey

These are difficult times, and the constant consideration of them can lead to a darkening of one's mood.  Having had my fill of such contemplations, I spent some time today thinking back beyond all the sadness and uncertainty to a day that just might be described as one of those truly perfect moments.

We were living in Virginia at the time and because of the schedule I was working with FBI, I had two weekdays off.  One of those naturally was used up for errands and other tasks associated with the requirements of life.  The other one was all mine.

I had taken up hiking on the suggestion of my doctor that if I didn't want to be in a wheelchair by age 70 (much closer now than it was then) I should cease my daily runs and take up something much less impactful to my joints.  Having done my research, I discovered that the legendary Appalachian Trail ran through Virginia not too far from our home.  The trail ran through the state for some 550 miles, and I would, over five years, end up hiking about 200 of those miles.  I have clear and distinct memories of nearly all of those hikes, undertaken in all seasons and in a variety of weather conditions.  Collectively they remain some of the most cherished of the recollections which lie stored in my mind.

I suppose that, in a desire to seek out pleasant thoughts in the current unpleasantness, it was only natural that I would find myself back on that trail.

It was a lovely spring day.  The snow was long gone and the cold, musty air of winter had been replaced by the invigorating aroma of new life spread by the warm, gentle breezes.  I was full of anticipation as I drove west on US 50 to a place called Ashby's Gap, where the Appalachian ridges sloped down to a saddle through which the road passed.  To the north lay 14 miles of the challenging trail section known as the "roller coaster."  To the south, the trail passed through a state park and a wildlife conservation area.  This was my favorite stretch of the trail, a frequent choice for me.

I slowed as I approached the pass-through and turned left into the tiny and barely visible gravel parking area.  I donned my backpack and hung on my belt a can of bear spray and a buck knife.  I had already experienced three bear encounters on this stretch.  Geared up, I locked the car, pocketed the keys, and headed up the trail.

The terrain sloped up from the gap, but unlike the difficult stretch to the north, the hills were less steep.  I always anticipated this moment.  After cresting the first hill, the traffic noise dropped to a dull mutter.  After the second, the road noise vanished altogether and I was alone once again with the peaceful, healing sounds of the forest.  

Birds were active and their songs filled the air.  I could see them as they winged from tree to tree, a graceful and enviable sight.  The trees were fully leafed out and I could hear the wind sighing as it stirred the branches.  The season had produced a carpet of the lovely springtime flowers decorating.the ground.  I could just detect their sweet perfume.

The third hill brought me to the point where the path began to trace the top of the ridgeline.  Here, the trail leveled out.  The path itself, softened by thaw and rain, was soft and distinctly springy.  Buoyed by my mood, my steps were light and sure.  As I walked, I kept scanning, left and right, up towards towards the treetops, and occasionally over my shoulder.  The forest was alive, and among the trees I knew there would be a few bears prowling, grouchy and hungry after their winter sleep.  My constant vigilance didn't however impair my willingness to absorb every single sensation.  Squirrels were active and occasionally I saw the graceful forms of deer, some accompanied by spotted fawns feeding eagerly.  Looking up, I found myself matching stares with a steely-eyed hawk sitting on a branch.  

I had entered Sky Meadows State Park and traversed the many wide, green meadows that populated the area along the top of the ridge.  Here, I could see a few flowering dogwood trees, their white blooms distinctive among the new spring greenery.   The grass in the meadows was lush and green, a welcome sight after the noir palette of winter.  At the point where the AT met the Ambassador White House trail, there was a wood bench where I took a brief rest.  This spot had a very strong memory for me, my first ever bear encounter.

It was another spring day, I had come from the other direction, starting at an access just off Virginia route 55.  It had been already a long hike, so the bench was a welcome sight.  I sat down and pulled lunch out of my backpack.  As I ate, I took in what a lovely day it had been.  So inspired by the beauty and peace of that place, I began to sing to myself.  Three or four notes into my "performance," I heard a loud crashing sound right behind me.  I leapt from the bench with an alacrity not used in a couple of decades, and spun around.  As I focused my vision, I saw rapidly retreating through the heavy brush a black, furry behind.  Once I got my blood pressure and respiration under control, I went around behind the bench.  There, less than five meters behind the bench pressed into the mud were the telltale paw prints of a North American Black Bear.  Later, when relating this tale to my wife, she concluded that the bear had been attracted by the smell of my food, and repelled by the sound of my singing.  

Nice.

I continued for several hours, passing along the west edge of Sky Meadows State Park before dropping down into the area known as the G. R. Thompson Wildlife management area, a 4,000 acre spread of virgin forest.  Here, the trail tracked through forest, then became a narrow track through dense thickets.  I remembered one hike through this area, hearing the sound of steps on the other side of the thicket.  Curious, I stopped and carefully parted the thick stems and branches, suddenly finding myself literally face-to-face with a deer.  It's eyes went wide, as I sure mine did, and in an instant, it turned and vanished into the woods beyond.  

The trees were denser here and the trail took up something of a slalom as it snaked along.  

                         

According to my GPS, I had reached the 6-mile point of my hike, and time to reverse course.  Going back always seemed to take less time. But knowing that the end of the hike was coming, I concentrated even harder on the lovely terrain. I reveled in my surroundings, treasuring the innate beauty of nature.  The sights, the smells, just the incredible feeling of being alone in one of the most beautiful places on earth sent my spirits soaring even higher.  At one point, just as I was crossing back into the state park, I rounded a bend and halted dead in my tracks.  Up ahead, a Virginia black snake was making its way across the trail.  I know they are not venomous, but just the sight of a serpent, especially as one as long as this one, is enough to awaken the primal fears buried in human DNA.  As I waited for the snake to complete its transit, I took the opportunity to replenish the water bladder in my backpack.  It had not been  a warm day by any stretch, but the distance spurred my thirst.  By the time I had poured two bottles of Propel into the bladder, Mr. Snake had vanished into the underbrush.  Drinking a bit more, I continued on.  Eight miles into my trek, the call of nature made itself apparent.  Here, alone in the woods, it was a simple matter of going off trail a few meters and finding a fat tree.  Later on, as I began to hike in Colorado, it would be a different story.  No fat trees there.

Eventually, I began the descent off the ridge top back towards the highway.  Slowly, the rumble of traffic began to be apparent, drowning out the sounds of the woods.  One final descent, and I found myself back at the parking lot.  Slowly, I divested myself of the backpack and re-stowed the knife and bear spray, relieved that on this day there had been no need of either.  

As I always did at the end of a hike, I sat on my vehicle's tailgate and reflected on the day.  Ever aware of the implacable passage of time, I made an effort to affix into my memory the experience of my day in the forest.  As tired as I was after 12 miles, I still didn't want the day to end.  I hoped that my remembrance of this day would stay with me, a place of peace and beauty to which I could retreat during a darker time.

And now on this darker day some eight years later, I have returned.