Lost

Two years and two months ago, I lost my mom. One month later I lost my job.  Momless and jobless, I was feeling rather lost.  I took myself on a 4-day solo backpacking trip to collect my thoughts and regroup. Being lost is certainly not the best thing to be when going backpacking alone but being a wiz with a map and compass and the route-finding not that difficult, I wasn't worried that I would ever be physically lost.  It was mid-July and extremely hot. For frame of reference, Hunger Games movie fans will note that it was the same summer the movie was filmed. In the special features on the DVD, the kids talk about how beastly hot it was here in Western North Carolina during their shoot.  It was the sort of hot that makes your clothes and everything else stick to you. Bugs, dirt, a leaf or pine needles that you brushed against...everything. Water beads up on your forehead the instant you wipe it off and despite the presence of eyebrows it still drips down and stings your eyes.  No amount of wiping your face does any good.  My backpack pressing against my back and hips did not help matters. At. All.  Even rock-hopping 13 times over the ice cold creek in one day and stopping periodically to dunk my head, I was still dragging ass due to the high temps.  I could not consume nearly enough water and I refilled my 3-liter Camelbak bag several times to keep up with sweat loss.  Even an I-V would not have been fast enough!  My second day on the trail and I had been hiking on and off for only about 5 hours but exhaustion from the heat was really taking its toll.  Had we not taken so many "its so hot I cant breathe rest breaks" the distance we covered in five hours could probably have been done in 90 minutes. My dog was whooped and flopped down to rest in the shade every chance he got. 

 We both needed a dip in the creek and we needed it soon.  At about 5pm we crossed the creek for what felt like the millionth time and found an adequate but less than ideal campsite just on the other side. It was fairly slanted, rather rooty and rocky and had no existing fire pit...although with the heat I didn't so much want a fire but it would help with the inevitable onslaught of mosquitos.  I could not take another pack-laden step so I figured I'd deal with it...I've slept in far worse places before.  "This is it, Jake", I told my dog. We were both hungry and I had no idea how close another campsite would be. This one would just have to do. My pack came off and it accidentally fell to the ground with a loud thud.  I probably just dented my stove and my cook set...oh well. Despite years of being taught never to sit on my pack, had I sat directly on the ground to change my shoes I'm not sure I would have gotten back up...the pack became my temporary couch.  I unlaced my shoes but pulling them off my feet practically required a crowbar to get them to loosen their sweaty glue grip. Once off, I began the procedure of peeling off my soggy summer-weight SmartWool hiking socks.  Peeling an apple with only your fingernails would have been easier.  A bandana became an essential piece of equipment just then as I used it to dry my feet so that I could jimmy into my Vibram FiveFingers. Lots of toe-wiggling and tugging and pulling and wiggling and they were finally on. More sweat poured off my face from the shoe-change work-out.  At this point I was beyond eager for a dip in the cold creek to cool down before cooking over a hot open flame.  As I made my way across the campsite to head to the water, a large angry horsefly interrupted my path. The darn thing zeroed in on both Jake and me with a vengeance and we had to bolt to the creek to get away. Splash!  Into the water clothes and all...ahhhh, relief.  It was relief from the nasty horsefly but also from the searing brain-cooking heat.  I put my feet up and floated blissfully on my back soaking tired muscles and bones in the ice-cold waters of Harper Creek.  I floated and soaked for what seemed like forever and afterward hopelessly, soaplessly scrubbed dirt and sweat and grime from my very dirty body. Jake enjoyed it as well as the water was deep enough for him to swim and not just wade.  With the removal of his dog pack, he ran around splashing like a little puppy instead of the 10 year old senior dog he was. Eventually hunger overtook temperature and feeling mostly refreshed we went back to our crappy campsite. The horsefly hadn't forgotten about us and set about pestering Jake the moment we returned.  Hopeful it would go away, I began to pull out my stove and food. Jake jumped around like a rodeo bull snapping at the fly which was hell-bent on a painful sting to the butt. When it tired of contending with snapping jaws and flailing tail it came to torment me. I tried every trick I knew to kill that enormous and angry gray fly but to no avail.

It became very apparent that we would have to move but where would we go?  My aching feet didn't have another mile in them.  The fly's intensity increased, threatening our sanity.  Neither of us could take it any more and I said "Jake, we can't stay here". At that exact moment, the strangest occurrence of my life happened, for on those words, the fly left us alone. Sitting fly-free on my pack for a few minutes I thought we might be able to stay there after all. I told Jake, "I think it's gone, lets go ahead and eat."  At that moment, the second strangest occurrence of my life happened for on those words that damn persistent horsefly came back. Jake jumped and snapped and barked like I'd never seen him do before. The fly dive bombed me like I had threatened its young or something and was seeking revenge. If you've ever been stung by one of these things then you know its one of the most horrendously painful stings...worse than any bee or wasp.  In a fury I grabbed my open pack, stuffed my stove and food back in, barely buckled it closed and slung it one handed over one shoulder. With the other hand I reached down and grabbed my boots, Jake's pack and my trekking poles and in my flimsy FiveFingers I took off running down the trail.

The third strangest occurrence of my life happened less than 5 minutes after the first two.  A short distance of running lopsided and clumsy down the trail and we stepped into the most beautiful campsite I could have ever found. It was wide. It was flat. It wasn't rooty at all. It had delicious shade and best of all it had a fire pit with logs for seats. I slowly walked in to the campsite and gently set my pack and and the rest of my things down. The realization of what had just occurred slowly settled in to my brain and the only explanation I could think of was that my mom had come along on her very first backcountry backpacking trip.  She must have scoped out the potential campsites beforehand and when I had picked the wrong one and she "flew" in to intervene.  Why else would a fly like that pester us so badly and leave us alone when I said we were leaving?  I laughed out loud and verbally thanked her.  The instant my mouth was open to talk to her the tears came with it.  I bawled my eyes out for a little while at the very thought of her joining me for my hike.  The rest of the evening was perfect. It cooled off nicely once the sun went down and I cooked a yummy dinner. We had a nice fire and I roasted marshmallows and made s'mores. In the morning I took my sweet time and made a leisurely breakfast.  At about 11:30 I was finally packed up to hike for the day.  Even though she never made herself known again on that trip, I found comfort in knowing that I had a third party present, and I felt a little less lost. That site will always be My Mom's Campsite and is forever memorialized in permanent marker on my map.