For about four hours, Greg Harrell and I walked
along and in Raven Fork. The water level was low, and there were many exposed,
streamside boulders and gravel beds for us to walk on, but at some point it
became easier to just walk in the water. Every time we off-trail hike along a
river, we end up in the water. We call it going over to the dark side. I don’t
know why. It just sort of happens that one of us tires of rock hopping and
steps in to the water while the other tip-toes along the rocks at the edge,
trying to stay dry. It’s at this point that the wet one taunts and tempts the dry
one to join him. “Come on down, you sissy, the water’s fine. Everybody’s doing
it. Come over to the dark side.” At that point the dry hiker knows he’s been
too timid, not wanting to get his feet wet. The male ego that expands with a
good taunting compels him to get wet, so he steps in.
Hiking in the river is a bit slippery, but on a
hot, summer day it’s delightfully comfortable and clean. Sweaty and dirty? Just
take off your pack and dunk yourself. The water can be breathtakingly cold or
refreshingly brisk. Your choice. And the soggy boots and socks are but a small
price to pay.
This river hike was such a pleasant, easy, off-trail
experience that I felt our purpose shift as we worked our way downstream. At
some point we were no longer simply on an off-trail adventure; we were now
looking for good fishing spots for our next trip here. And there were plenty of
them -- dozens of runs, riffles, channels, chutes, and plunges. And, best of
all, lightly fished. Surely not unfished, but several miles from the
nearest road.
Sure, lots of other fishermen have had the same
thoughts: drive deep into the mountains, hike away from the road, fish virgin
water. And some of them have pursued those thoughts all the way to the river
with a fishing rod in their hand. But how many do it, how far do they walk, and
how often? The answer is probably “not” – not many, not far, not often. In
other words, Raven Fork is not such a secret that fishermen will get mad at me
for divulging its name in print. It’s not an untouched secret, but it is
remote, so we will come back. Maybe not often – after all, it’s a three hour
drive to get here, then the walking begins – but regularly.
The day ended with a 3.6 mile walk on Enloe Creek
and Hyatt Ridge trails back to our tents. After a day of rough, wet, off-trail
hiking, an officially-maintained trail feels like an interstate. You can shift
into overdrive and set the cruise control. However, the fact that almost every
step of the first 3 miles of this final stretch was uphill caused my transmission
to grind to a halt several times. At least we were carrying 10 pound day packs,
not 40 pound backpacks. We had covered exactly 10 miles today.
That evening we ate our uncooked meals consisting
of granola bars, peanut M & Ms, and a few other items that I can’t
remember. One thing about going cookless is that the meals are not memorable –
unless you have no fear of fat grams and sugar. Then you can eat wonderfully
and recklessly – chips, cookies, nuts, candy. It’s like being let off your
leash. But if you have any dietary scruples at all, then you look forward with
anticipation to bedtime, but not to supper. Supper is just something you have
to do. I don’t know how the younger guys
feel, but at my stage in life, that’s fine with me. Bedtime is usually the
highlight of my day anyway.
As darkness settled in we heard a couple of calls
from a Barred Owl asking, “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for ya’ll?” He seemed
to know we were eating a cold, uncooked supper and took this opportunity to
taunt us a few times before he began his nightly hunt and feast. Mice would die
tonight. He would eat like a king while we slept, but I wasn’t jealous. I had
my tent, sleeping pad, pillow, and memories of another good day in a wild part
of God’s creation. It is well, it is well with my soul.
