Day 4: Lost and Found
As you might recall from Day 2, due to storms downing trees and general lack of off season use, the trail was hard to spot in some areas.
As I crested the highest point I would for the day I started down the trail. The forest was thick and beautiful, and the downed trees were plenty. As I scrambled around one I saw there was a bunch crisscrossing the trail, not entirely unlike a beaver dam, but on the side of a mountain. I skirted the dam, and in so doing utterly lost the trail. The forest was so thick I quite literally couldn't see the trail for the trees.
Unconcerned, I pressed on. I knew the general direction I needed to go, and back tracking was likely not going to do me any good. And, anyway, looking at the map, I was sure to hit a clearing soon enough. Also, at the base of the mountain I was climbing down was a huge river I was sure to not miss. The trail followed it for roughly 3 miles. I was certain to find it sooner than later.
Then I broke through the trees and saw a large rock to the front and above me. Scrambling to the top of this rock would give me enough visibility to hopefully see the trail.
I didn't see the trail, but I did see that there was a little forest between me and the massive granite slope I'd have to hike down no matter what. I set my course, climbed off the rock, and off I went. Still not terribly concerned with how lost I may or may not be. I could easily get myself out of this one.
I emerged from the forest, yet again, and looked down the rock face towards the mighty Cathedral River searching for the tell tale signs of trail: downed trees with portions sawed off and tossed to the side, unnatural positioning of boulders on the granite, or, heck, even actual trail. I quickly caught sight of it. There, down the steeply sloping granite, was a trail clearly marked by those very things I sought.
I started down the rock towards the trail. Happy to know I was soon to be on the right path. Then I came upon my first real obstacle. I 6 foot cliff stood between me and the trail. I could backtrack, but I was certain to get re-lost trying that. And, where would that put me? Anyway, it was only 6 feet.
I shrugged off my pack and dropped it over the edge. It landed with a dull thud. Then it was my turn. The rock I was on intersected another rock forming a nice right angle. My plan was to brace myself down these two walls. There was another large boulder feet away from where I was headed, but not attached to either rock. This would prove important momentarily.
I scooted on my butt towards the edge of the cliff. Then, in an ill thought out moment went back-towards-the-wall down (for those reading this for survival tips, ALWAYS go down a cliff nose-in). As it turns out, I wasn't the only thing to see the junction as the perfect spot to get down the cliff—so did a thin stream of water. Which proved to make the rock a little slick. I slid down the cliff, pushed off the adjoining wall with my feet, flipped in mid-air and, amazingly, landed on my pack, with my head a little too close for comfort to the aforementioned free-standing monolith.
As I regrouped I thought to myself, "Wow, mom's biggest fear very nearly came true. What if I had missed? I could have slid down this steep, slick, granite plunging to my death!" To be fair, I certainly wouldn't have plunged towards my death, but hitting my head, or even slipping down the rock face definitely wouldn't have been particularly pleasant. Nor, would I have been likely to have been found.
Grateful and regrouped, I hefted on my pack, adjusted it, and headed down towards river crossing number 2. I'd spend the rest of my trip constantly adjusting my pack. Tragically, when I dropped it so unceremoniously, I bent the frame irreparably. More on that later, I'm sure.
As I crested the highest point I would for the day I started down the trail. The forest was thick and beautiful, and the downed trees were plenty. As I scrambled around one I saw there was a bunch crisscrossing the trail, not entirely unlike a beaver dam, but on the side of a mountain. I skirted the dam, and in so doing utterly lost the trail. The forest was so thick I quite literally couldn't see the trail for the trees.
Unconcerned, I pressed on. I knew the general direction I needed to go, and back tracking was likely not going to do me any good. And, anyway, looking at the map, I was sure to hit a clearing soon enough. Also, at the base of the mountain I was climbing down was a huge river I was sure to not miss. The trail followed it for roughly 3 miles. I was certain to find it sooner than later.
Then I broke through the trees and saw a large rock to the front and above me. Scrambling to the top of this rock would give me enough visibility to hopefully see the trail.
I didn't see the trail, but I did see that there was a little forest between me and the massive granite slope I'd have to hike down no matter what. I set my course, climbed off the rock, and off I went. Still not terribly concerned with how lost I may or may not be. I could easily get myself out of this one.
I emerged from the forest, yet again, and looked down the rock face towards the mighty Cathedral River searching for the tell tale signs of trail: downed trees with portions sawed off and tossed to the side, unnatural positioning of boulders on the granite, or, heck, even actual trail. I quickly caught sight of it. There, down the steeply sloping granite, was a trail clearly marked by those very things I sought.
I started down the rock towards the trail. Happy to know I was soon to be on the right path. Then I came upon my first real obstacle. I 6 foot cliff stood between me and the trail. I could backtrack, but I was certain to get re-lost trying that. And, where would that put me? Anyway, it was only 6 feet.
I shrugged off my pack and dropped it over the edge. It landed with a dull thud. Then it was my turn. The rock I was on intersected another rock forming a nice right angle. My plan was to brace myself down these two walls. There was another large boulder feet away from where I was headed, but not attached to either rock. This would prove important momentarily.
I scooted on my butt towards the edge of the cliff. Then, in an ill thought out moment went back-towards-the-wall down (for those reading this for survival tips, ALWAYS go down a cliff nose-in). As it turns out, I wasn't the only thing to see the junction as the perfect spot to get down the cliff—so did a thin stream of water. Which proved to make the rock a little slick. I slid down the cliff, pushed off the adjoining wall with my feet, flipped in mid-air and, amazingly, landed on my pack, with my head a little too close for comfort to the aforementioned free-standing monolith.
As I regrouped I thought to myself, "Wow, mom's biggest fear very nearly came true. What if I had missed? I could have slid down this steep, slick, granite plunging to my death!" To be fair, I certainly wouldn't have plunged towards my death, but hitting my head, or even slipping down the rock face definitely wouldn't have been particularly pleasant. Nor, would I have been likely to have been found.
Grateful and regrouped, I hefted on my pack, adjusted it, and headed down towards river crossing number 2. I'd spend the rest of my trip constantly adjusting my pack. Tragically, when I dropped it so unceremoniously, I bent the frame irreparably. More on that later, I'm sure.
posted by granola girl at 9:01 PM
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