Ah, vacation. Just the sound of those three sweet syllables evokes a feeling of peace, calm and general happiness for me. Vacation is one of those things that we eagerly anticipate and count the days until its arrival. Every year, Evan and I venture north to
We just love being in the
mountains. There’s no other place that
puts us more in touch with the true awesomeness of God’s creation. Staring up at the stars at night, watching
the sun rise over the mountains at dawn, listening to the birds chirp…completely
uninterrupted by TV, phones, computers, people, and the every day hustle and
bustle, it’s just absolute heaven.
We’re big hikers. No, not when we’re at home in the flat land. Southwest Florida ’s
weather isn’t really conducive to hiking, save for those two or three days in
February where the temps seem to plummet to mid-20s, only to reach 70 again by
the end of the week. And even if the
weather was perfect, there’s just not much to “hike” down here. Oh sure, we could hit some of the preserves, or
venture to Ocala
Once we’re in the mountains, it’s
on. Our first hikes out of the gate this
year totaled an easy eight miles, which was a great warm-up. We hiked along Kimsey Creek, then up to Big Laurel Falls and Mooney
Falls
On day two, we decided to hike a
portion of the Appalachian Trail that was highly recommended by one of the
friendly gals at Nantahala
Outdoor Center
The hike started off great. Weather was gorgeous, in the low 60s and
partly cloudy. The trail was easy to
follow, as we gradually left Laurel
Creek
On the way out, we past half a
dozen more AT thru-hikers, in three different groups. All were on their way to the bald, staying
overnight at Siler Shelter. All were
somewhat impressed with the folks from flat land, putting in so many miles
while vacationing. One hiker, an Iraq
About a half mile after our
farewells with the last group, the thunder really picked up. The sky was now a deep purple; no longer a
soft gray, with sunbeams peeking through.
We were still high enough up in the mountain that the tree cover wasn’t
the best; most trees were still sprouting spring leaves, leaving bare branches
as our protection. Rain began to trickle
down, at first a mist, then a real thunderstorm. We threw on our extra thermals (no hats or
weather proof clothing for us day hikers) and we carried on.
After what seemed like an
eternity, but was really just a mile or so, the rain finally let up. We stopped to wring out our soaked thermals,
adjust our soggy socks, and take a breather.
We laughed at our luck, getting rained on during a beautiful hike. We figured this would be yet another tale
from vacation we’d pass on to our kids and grandkids.
With three miles left to go to
reach the trailhead, we continued on, knowing more storms could be
looming. Our “halfway” point to 64 was
Panther Gap; after that, just a couple miles to go.
A bright flash of lightning lit
up the clearing sky, and I wondered if those hikers had made it to the shelter
yet. I also counted the seconds to the
thunderclap, while thinking I’d never researched to see if that old wive’s tale
was actually an accurate way of judging the storm’s distance. I made it to five before the boom filled the mountains,
reminiscent of a Fourth of July finale. Evan
made a crack about it raining again, and I remember telling him he’d surely
jinxed us.
We might have made it a quarter
mile or so in the mild weather before what I originally thought was a monsoon
kicked in (so much for the old wive’s tale).
This time, the storm didn’t begin with a sprinkle…it turned on like a
faucet. No, that might not even be an
accurate description…it was as if a giant water balloon was being held over our
heads, and someone pricked it with a pin, causing a deluge. The rain was so heavy, you couldn’t see the
trail. And, because it was nearing
4:30p, the temperature had dropped from an oh-so-pleasant 64 degrees to a man-I-wish-I-had-long-underwear
45 degrees. After a few hundred more
yards, the concept of avoiding wet portions of the trail disappeared, as we
were literally walking through a creek. Boy,
was this rough!
Finally, we reached Panther
Gap. No stopping, no wringing out wet
clothes or adjusting soggy socks, we just powered through. This meant only a couple miles to go. I knew that once we reached Swinging Dick Gap
(yes, really – probably some AT hiker’s joke) that we would be less than a mile
from the trailhead, which meant less than a mile from the safety of our
truck. Onward, we sloshed.
Many times during our sloshing
down the trail, we made “Oregon Trail”-esque comments – “Double team the wagon!”
or “Use ropes!” or “Evan has died of dysentery!” (we have a very unique sense
of humor).
As we closed in on Swinging Dick
Gap, I could hear Evan behind me uttering small cries of pain, which
immediately caused me to believe my husband was sliding down the mountainside,
leaving me alone in the pouring rain on the AT nearing dusk and surrounded by
hungry (yet friendly) hikers. I called
back, just to make sure he was okay (no taking your eyes of the trail in a
monsoon, or certain death awaits) and he hollered, “It’s HELL!” to which I thought,
“Well, not exactly – maybe God’s idea of a haha funny joke, but not hell…” He repeated his words, and I realized he didn’t
mean hell…he meant hail. And sure enough, just when I’d thought that
God’s greatest crack was the duck billed platypus – we found ourselves in a
hailstorm.
Golf balls rained from the sky,
beaning us in the head and filling the muddy rivets in the trail (“Your oxen
are stuck!”). On the plus side, the rain
had let up a bit. Also, I’ve learned
that hail hurts exactly as much as you think it would. And now, not only were we focusing on not
sliding down the mountain in a river of mud, but also on not twisting an ankle
in the neat little igloo piles forming in every bend. Somehow, we made it through Swinging Dick Gap
with our bones intact.
One would think that the monsoon,
and resulting hailstorm, would be enough for one trip back, but you’d be
wrong. On the hike in, you cross Laurel Creek
The first two crossings went as
well as can be expected, but at the final, our neat little log was now beneath
the raging (at least from my POV) waters of Laurel Creek Oregon Trail
training and, that’s right, forded the creek.
By the time we hit the final
crossing, the hail stopped, and the rain turned to a light trickle. But we were still soaked to the bone.
Now, here’s what I take away from
this adventure…some folks I know would probably have been pretty ticked about
the rain, and vehemently mad about the hail, and most likely cursing the skies
by the time they reached Laurel
Creek
Yes, it was raining, monsooning
and hailing; it was frostbite inducing weather, and we only had one towel
between us to share. But truth be told,
it was a blast! If you can’t laugh about
these situations, if you can’t find the humor, what’s the point? God didn’t give us horrible weather for
punishment…weather just happens. But it’s what we do with it that makes the
difference. Me being upset that my
underwear were probably visible through my sweats wasn’t going to stop the
rain. So why get angry? Why not just appreciate what we’ve been
given, and have fun with it?
This adventure did teach me one
thing: it really, truly, honestly can get worse (hello, hail). But, it also taught me that just when you
think you’ve hit your limit, you can carry on, and be all the better for it. We can’t always help the outcome, but you can
control how you view and accept it.
Our nine miles on the AT was
fabulous, and the three miles of trying weather only add to the tale. And now, if you hear one of the Cokes mention
that, “Nothing is harder than Swinging Dick Gap in a hailstorm!”…you’ll know it’s
true! J
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