When tromping around outdoors I know it’s best to
always be prepared, as the Boy Scouts say, but over-preparation can make a
backpack pretty heavy, which becomes an issue for a guy in his 50s. That’s one
of the ironies of backpacking. You are more likely to get into trouble (broken
bones, hypothermia, exhaustion) when you are old – the very stage at which it’s
impossible to carry equipment to cover those emergencies. Of course, one way to
resolve this dilemma is to hike with young guys – preferably former Boy Scouts
– who are still willing and able to carry all the extra stuff. It’s sort of
like life insurance. Travelling in groups spreads the risk – or, in
backpacking, the weight – to manageable proportions, and if you can free ride
on someone else’s equipment without their realizing it, so much the better.
For example, I have been known to suggest to some
of my younger friends that one should never backpack without a first aid kit.
If they see the wisdom in that and stuff one in their backpack, then I won’t
have to carry one. The same ploy works for water filters, tarps, rope, knives, can
openers, magazines, maps, even extra food. Of course, this strategy isn’t
always successful because my “younger” friends are in their 40s, so they aren’t
exactly wet behind the ears. But some of them are still conscientious enough to
carry stuff that we might need but probably won’t, thus making my load lighter.
So that evening at McGee Springs campsite we hung
our food bags on the bear-proof, steel cables and retired to our tents. It was
a quiet, uneventful night, as most nights in camp are – no bears, no deer, no
skunks, no noise; at least none that we noticed. We slept pretty well under the
spruce, buckeye, and birch trees. I enjoy sleeping outdoors, but the real
purpose of this trip would come tomorrow: Raven Fork – the long, beautiful
river that flows from the slopes of Hyatt Ridge, Hughes Ridge, and the main
ridgecrest between Pecks Corner and Tricorner Knob – the large, wild watershed
that forms the heart of the southeastern quarter of the Smokies.
The old Raven Fork Trail begins high on Hyatt Ridge
near McGee Springs. Its first mile weaves along the crest of Breakneck Ridge,
which Greg insisted on calling Brokeback a few times, just to aggravate me. (I’m
sure he was joking, but it was good to be sleeping in separate tents.) Breakneck
sounds intimidating, and I suppose there might be an interesting and perhaps
tragic story about its origin, but the hike itself wasn’t too formidable. Greg
and I lost the faint trail a few times in tangles of briers, rhododendron, witch
hobble, and dog hobble resulting in a few scratches and bumps, but for the most
part the old trail was still recognizable.
There was even an occasional piece of old, brittle,
blue tape tied to a branch to help us stay on course. Greg and I are both
typical guys who like to be self-sufficient and to figure things out for
ourselves, but these small, plastic clues are perfectly fine. They are fragile
reminders that others have been here before and were kind enough to share their
knowledge with those who would come later – namely, us. Those little, blue
messages from the past let us know that we are the latest incarnation of
“wilderness enthusiasts,” as some of the books say. Sometimes you can derive a
lot of satisfaction not by being the first to do something, or the best.
Occasionally just being a link in a chain is enough. People have done this
before us, and people will do this after we are gone. The fact that we don’t
even know these people adds a bit of intrigue to the story. If we continue these
off-trail and old-trail treks, I’m going to start bringing a roll of surveyor’s
tape with me, so I can add a few pieces along the way so that a few years from
now another hiker – the next link in the chain – can find his way. He won’t
know who put the tape along the path, which is not a problem because it’s the
where and why, not the who, that’s important. [To be continued.]
1 comment:
It's no ordinary place. There is a story behind it.
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