Date: 2013-04-26
From: Indian Grave Gap, stealth camp

To: Apple Orchard Campsite
Miles today: 13.1

Some days are marble, some days are mud, and some days are just shit.The day started off well. I slept hard. None of my campsite mates were snorers. I woke up, made breakfast, packed up and bid them farewell. The trail climbed up through a quite oak forest. The ground was still covered in brown leaves, and the trees hadn't yet started to bud. The trail opened into a long grassy bald as it climbed up to Beauty Spot. One of Tom's favorite places is a spot called Pretty Place. He took me there once, and while this looked nothing like it (the other was a forested overlook), the name made me think of him. The sky was dotted with puffy clouds that cast dainty shadows on the hills and valley below. You could see houses below, but they felt so far away, so far removed from where I was. I unloaded the pack off my back and decided to treat myself to a half-hour of yoga. It just felt right. My body reveled in loving attention. I felt my breath. I stilled my mind. My hips and hip-flexers needed opening. I decided to head on. I passed a couple coming in the opposite direction- section hikers from Virginia. They gave me a pep-talk, and then pointed to the mountain in front of me, Unaka Mountain. The guidebook said that its summit was covered in dense spruce, so I had deduced that that was the peak to which I was headed. It hadn't particularly intimidated me; it was just where the trail was headed, so it was where I would be heading, too. Anywho, they pointed to the mountain and said, "Now I know you've been looking at that mountain and dreading it." Well, actually I hadn't until you just mentioned it. "But it's not as bad as it looks. It only took us an hour to climb it, and that says something!" Okay, I thought, it didn't look that bad, but it really must be a cinch! We bid our farewells, and I headed up the mountain thinking that it was going to be a walk in the park. Mismanaged expectation #1. The climb sucked. There were lots of loose sharp rocks and roots to pick through. My ankles were killing me by the time I got to the top, and it took me well over an hour to get to the top. Darn them! Once I reached the dense spruce forest, it was dark and smelled strongly of cool spruce. I heard a howl, and I howled back. It was Sky Pilot and Odette. They were slack packing in the opposite direction. I told them of the couple and their misinformation about the climb up. They told me that the climb down was much easier. It was "sooth and easy on the feet." Mismanaged expectation #2. I stopped a little ways up in a sunny opening and had lunch with Blimy, Peaches, Elf, Tex, and Mouse. They, too, were in awe of my BLT wrap wonder. Again, I felt quite proud of my lunch. I looked at the scab on my knee. It was almost healed; only about the size of a dime. They headed off, and I was a few minutes behind them. I headed down Unaka, over the rocks and roots. And at the moment that I least expected (it always seems to be when you least expect it), my right ankle turned in on itself and down I went. I left knee dug deep into the black loamy soil. The pink new skin and little dime-sized scab were gone, and it their place was a dollar coin-sized clod of wet, bloody dirt. Inflation sucks. I stood up and looked around to see what had tripped me up. It was a root the size of my forearm that looked like a elbow. I rammed my hiking poles into the ground next to it and shouted a word that rhymes with "duck". A warm stream of blood started trickling down my leg. I hooked my finger under it to keep it from leaking into my socks. With the other hand I dug in my bag for some wet-wipes. I got the wipes and used my teeth to get the package open. I could taste the chemicals on my tongue. I held a wipe to my leg as I dug through my pack for my first-aid kit. The wound wasn't serious, but it was bleeding profusely. I had blood all over my hands and leg and a stack of bloody wet-wipes piling up on the ground. A couple of hikers passed, and I smiled, "Oh, I'm fine. I'm fine." It looked like I had sacrificed a small animal right there in the middle of the trail. There were splatters of blood on my boot, blood on the ground. My ego was crushed. I used an alcohol wipe (or 3) to clean the wound. There was a little lip of pink skin full of dirt that looked like a lip full of chewing tobacco. I took out my mole-skin cutting scissors and cut it off. I cleaned it up and patched it up as best as I could. I was really crying by now. Not out of pain, but out of frustration and fear. How many more twists can my right ankle take? I'm not even 20% of the way. What if there had been sharp rock there instead of dirt? I hobbled down the trail. My vision blurred by tears. My mouth was tight and contorted. Gaspy, sharp sobs were coming from my throat. I wanted my mom. I wanted Tom. I wanted to crawl in their lap and just cry and cry. I wasn't feeling strong or independent or self-reliant or brave. I was tired and frustrated and hurt and scared. After a mile or so, I stopped at a fallen tree and took my pack off. I sat on the tree and propped one foot on my pack and the other on the trunk. Times like this called for wine. I didn't have wine. I pulled out a Snickers bar. Chocolate. I opened the package and the chocolate coating crumbled out onto my lap. I picked off the pieces and ate them. Emperor came along, and as soon as I saw him I started crying again. This was going to be a full-on trail melt down. He was so sweet. He tried to console me and give me a pep-talk as best as he could. Poor guy, it had to be awkward. He assured me that Little SAS would be along shortly. As promised, she came down the hill. She gave me a hug, and I cried again. The more tears I wiped away, the more that followed. They stayed with me for awhile, letting me get the cry out. When there was nothing more they could do, they let me be and moved on. I turned on my phone and sent Tom an email recapping my frustrations and anxieties. And then I put my pack back on, stood up and started walking north.A bit later, my phone started ringing. It was Tom. It all boiled back to the surface. Just hearing his voice allowed me to un-shoulder all the junk for a few minutes. It was a relief. I finally limped into the campsite a little after sunset. There was a large group tenting in the area. I visited with them for a bit and laughed at my melt-down. I boiled some water and cleaned up my knee. I wasn't the least bit surprised when my meal tipped over and poured out onto the ground. History repeats itself. And as before, I used the wind screen to scoop it up, put it back in my little cooking pot, and I ate it, grass and all.