Sunset on Mt. Cammerer (Part 7 of 7)

After about 13 hours of hiking, Keith and Greg arrived at the Cammerer lookout tower about 10 minutes before I did. They heaved themselves up the final few feet of rocky ledges and into the rustic, rock-and-wood firetower. (There’s a sign next to it explaining that this is a “lookout” not a “tower.” Okay, whatever.) They were shouting at me to hurry, and I got to the tower just as the sun began to sink behind the distant ridges. Pictures were snapped. Kudos were expressed. Feet were sore. We sat in the lovely, old CCC tower for 15 minutes, trying in vain to recuperate.

As we sat there, Greg muttered, “Boys, I just spent my last nickel.”

Well said. “Spent” was the perfect word. We were spent like mayflies after sex, quivering and dying after a once in a lifetime experience, thinking, “Yeah, it was worth it.”

Our problem was not only that we were completely spent, ready to quiver and die after a mountaintop experience, but that we still had five miles to go. The fact that the sun had just sunk over the horizon didn’t help the situation. This was the downside to being on Mt. Cammerer at sunset. We’d be hiking down to the car in the dark, and the moon would not rise to shed its light for another four or five hours. We didn’t know it at the time, but we would soon discover that the trail would be ankle deep in oak leaves, hiding the rocks and roots in the trail and making for treacherous walking. A sprained ankle just waiting to happen.

We would now descend a final 3,000’ in 5.2 miles, in the dark, in ankle-deep leaves, on sore feet, using sore legs and flashlights. The hike didn’t go well. Or, actually, it went as well as it possibly could, considering the circumstances. Amazingly, we had no mishaps, no twists or breaks. The hike was just slow drudgery, and I was almost lame by the end. The backs of my knees – hamstring tendons connecting calf with thigh – were hurting fiercely. I know it’s common to say “I couldn’t have walked another step” at the end of a tiring hike, but to tell you the truth, if the hike had been another mile, I would have been crawling on hands and knees by the end, or not moving at all.

At 8:15 pm Greg and Keith arrived at the car they had left in Davenport Gap about 24 hours earlier. I came limping in about 15 minutes later. For the first half of the trip, I had stayed motivated and moving from the combination of peer pressure, testosterone, and carbohydrates, but those had all evaporated into thin air several hours ago. Now for this last leg the only thing that kept me going was the lack of alternatives. I kept hiking down that ridge because I had to keep hiking down that ridge. There was no other choice.

At Davenport Gap we snapped a couple of pictures, got in the car, and drove toward Big Creek and I-40. There was not as much talking as you might expect because we were tired, and there was nothing left to say. About all we could manage was, “Can you believe it?” Or, “Yeah, that was amazing.” Pretty primitive conversation, actually. You’d think three educated friends could come up with something more stimulating and thoughtful, but we couldn’t. About all we could do was re-state the obvious in four-word sentences.

When it’s all said and done, our day had been the hiking counterpart of a hurricane. The rush of trees, rocks, wind, sun – it was all a blur. We were battered and bruised and a bit numb, and we felt lucky to have survived. It was one of those experiences that you’d like to tell your friends and co-workers about, but you quickly realize that they just don’t get it. Someone at work asks what you did yesterday, and you tell them that you had a great 33 mile hike in the mountains. Their response is, “Wow, are you serious? That’s a long way!” Then the microwave beeps, and they walk away to get their soup. Thud. End of conversation.

It’s very possible that this was my first and last marathon day hike. It’s as crazy a stunt as a middle aged guy can do without getting in trouble with his wife or the law. That alone is reason enough to do this trip. Although, I may have just slipped in under the wire, before this aging body becomes incapable of doing it. As Keith says, “Your only problem is that you’ve had too many birthdays.” Yeah, I’ve got to stop that.

By the way, you probably noticed that “it” never happened – no broken bones or lost equipment. Of course, there were aching muscles and joints and burning blisters, but that’s normal and expected. The weather was perfect. We had the right equipment. Our feeble bodies (barely) passed the test. Unlike most excursions, nothing – absolutely nothing! – went wrong.

I really dread the day that our dues for this trip get paid. It won’t be a pretty sight.