On Quiet Walks
Many great hikes are packed with varied terrain, breathtaking
views, and opportunities for adventure. But even a trail that
offers no list of amenities, can still provide great service.
Walking in Carroll's Woods Park brought to mind a memorable
Appalachian Trail hike I took some years ago.
One weekend several friends and I gathered for a three-day trek
over some impressive country along the AT in south-central
Virginia. It was a great hike that none of us will forget. A week
or so later, back in the same area with a morning free, I proposed
an eight-mile day hike. The trail I selected was not well regarded,
and no one accepted the offer.
 Hiking on
the AT can be challenging in many areas because loop trails
are few. Unless you want to hike out and back, you need to
park a car at the hike's end and find a shuttle to the
starting point. One of my friends provided the shuttle,
leaving me on my own just south of Bastian, Virginia. As I
ducked into the woods, it became obvious that this was a
little-used section of the AT. I had heard thruhikers praise
this trail, but I'd never heard a day-hiker mention it.
For thruhikers—those traveling all the way from Georgia to Maine
or vice versa—this section provides chance to let the reins out and
walk freely on soft, even treadway after a tedious, rocky crossing
of Garden Mountain. For the average day hiker, however, there are
no vistas to savor, no fallen logs on which to rest, no flat rocks
on which to spread a picnic lunch. But for me, this unassuming bit
of forest was the gateway to a perfect morning. First, as I climbed
up from the road along Kimberling Creek, I found cool groves of
rhododendron still in bloom. Then small groupings of young spruce
trees appeared here and there. Further on, along the top of the
ridge, hardwoods were dominant. Walking alone and quietly, I heard
a variety of activity in the forest beyond the trail. A grouse
surprised me at one point, and twice I startled a snoozing deer and
heard it bounding off down an unseen hillside.
For the first couple of hours my mental gears were grinding—I
pondered problems at the office, wondered how much longer the old
car would run, troubled over how to pay college tuition bills. But
after four or five miles, I lost the ability to set the agenda, and
thoughts came and went as they pleased. I was in new territory,
receiving mental feedback that answered unasked questions and
solved unposed problems. How wonderful to have answers before even
knowing the questions.
Having hiked steadily for about three hours, I needed a rest and
something to eat, and I searched for an inviting rock or log, but
of course, there were none. Finally, as I overtook a northbound
turtle, I realized that I'd find no better spot for lunch. So, I
pulled a plastic litter bag from my pack, spread it in the dirt in
the middle of the trail, and sat down to eat.
Mr. Terrapin was not enthused by my presence, and as soon as I
looked away to dig into my food bag, he scurried off the trail and
into some leaves where he stopped and stood still, as if frozen. By
the time I finished my 15-minute lunch, however, the turtle had
climbed a small embankment and traveled about 25 feet further away.
But during that time, I neither saw it move nor did I detect the
slightest whisper of the dry leaves as it slid across then.
Bidding the turtle a plesant afternoon, I quickly glided the
remaining two miles off the ridge and headed home energized, and
refreshed, full of new ideas. Like the turtle, which quietly found
a way to move out of danger, I, too, found a way to move forward on
my quiet walk in the woods. |