Today I saw my first deer. It was standing on the path facing me as I walked north. It was big, looking at me eye to eye less than 30 feet away. We had a long quiet look at each other before he walked off the path. I have stopped counting the snakes I see along the way, there are too many to remember.
June 10, 2013
It rained all night. By morning my sleeping bag was wet along with everything else I am carrying. I dressed and packed in the rain and started off down the trail. My immediate goal was the shelter 4 miles ahead where I was headed last night. The rain settled into a thankful drizzle as I began to fall into a steady pace. I began to feel optimistic about the day.
The forecast called for morning showers and thunderstorms followed by more thunderstorms in the afternoon. I began to think that I might escape the morning drenching. No way. Mid morning the skies opened up and the water poured from the clouds. I was still a distance from the shelter and already soaking wet from sweat, so I didn't bother with rain gear.
I think that rain is one of the hardest trail realities for me. I have struggled in the heat, paniced in the still lifeless air, and felt penned in by the dark covering of the forest. Rain, however, has the ability to suck away my hope. It's like a trigger that opens a chamber of discouragement inside of me.
The big test came when the trail intersected with a state road. My guide book told me there was a dinner and country store just 2.5 miles down that road. There was also a hostel nearby to escape this liquid misery. I knew that someone would give a ride to a desperate backpacker. No one would blame me for stopping. No one but me. That was the moment I realized that the hike was about dealing with all the events of being on the road. I crossed the road and headed back into the wet, humid, path.
Today I saw my first deer. It was standing on the path facing me as I walked north. It was big, looking at me eye to eye less than 30 feet away. We had a long quiet look at each other before he walked off the path. I have stopped counting the snakes I see along the way, there are too many to remember.
In the end, I reached the shelter and pushed on another 8.3 miles to the next one. That puts me only 10 miles from Damascus. Tonight the storm is pounding down around me and the wind is shrieking around the three sided shelter. My sleeping bag and gear are wet and cold, but how glad I am for a place out of the storm! I feel sheltered under the wings of God.
It rained all night. By morning my sleeping bag was wet along with everything else I am carrying. I dressed and packed in the rain and started off down the trail. My immediate goal was the shelter 4 miles ahead where I was headed last night. The rain settled into a thankful drizzle as I began to fall into a steady pace. I began to feel optimistic about the day.
The forecast called for morning showers and thunderstorms followed by more thunderstorms in the afternoon. I began to think that I might escape the morning drenching. No way. Mid morning the skies opened up and the water poured from the clouds. I was still a distance from the shelter and already soaking wet from sweat, so I didn't bother with rain gear.
I think that rain is one of the hardest trail realities for me. I have struggled in the heat, paniced in the still lifeless air, and felt penned in by the dark covering of the forest. Rain, however, has the ability to suck away my hope. It's like a trigger that opens a chamber of discouragement inside of me.
The big test came when the trail intersected with a state road. My guide book told me there was a dinner and country store just 2.5 miles down that road. There was also a hostel nearby to escape this liquid misery. I knew that someone would give a ride to a desperate backpacker. No one would blame me for stopping. No one but me. That was the moment I realized that the hike was about dealing with all the events of being on the road. I crossed the road and headed back into the wet, humid, path.
Today I saw my first deer. It was standing on the path facing me as I walked north. It was big, looking at me eye to eye less than 30 feet away. We had a long quiet look at each other before he walked off the path. I have stopped counting the snakes I see along the way, there are too many to remember.
In the end, I reached the shelter and pushed on another 8.3 miles to the next one. That puts me only 10 miles from Damascus. Tonight the storm is pounding down around me and the wind is shrieking around the three sided shelter. My sleeping bag and gear are wet and cold, but how glad I am for a place out of the storm! I feel sheltered under the wings of God.
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