Climb Beyond the Crest (eBook)

After a disapproving shake of my head helping me to refrain from looking back at the peaceful trail I’m leaving, I put my best foot forward. I start down a highly inclined and unstable bank of loose stones. Following the first step, the left foot and impaired knee are thrust lower, and it’s apparent that I’ll not be able to cut a straight path down the short slide given so many loose cobbles strewn about loose leaves. So, I automatically turn sideways and use the staff to help uphold my downward walk in crablike style. Jockeying to stabilize the left leg exposes its twinging knee to stress.

The glazed feeling that comes over the questionable knee’s hacking patch, while descending, wouldn’t usually prompt serious concern if I had the option to soon rest on a sofa couch at home. But I’m deeply embedded in wilderness, and the impending hike can only act to exacerbate the knee’s problem, which piles additional concern onto the estimated difficulty needed to complete future backpacking.

Upon reaching the bottom of the bank’s decent, I can see a well-defined path heading straight away to my left. Without a break in walking, except to re-orient my stature, I move at ease down a slight traverse. The first sight of one and then two white paint swatches on nearby trees ahead assuage any fears that I’m astray of the AT. The trail’s gentle slope helps diminish aggravation to my knee and the two circumstances combine to crack a thin facial smile. I press the throttle forward and increase my speed into engulfing forest depths.

Booming sunshine is unabashed given the absence of any tall, widespread tree canopy above. Although halfway off its midday mark to my left, the sun’s bright beam illuminates my footsteps and trail shaft in stark contrast to the shielding thickets of wild bush and green vine growth blocking a decent view of the ground beyond the trail’s sides. A drop of sweat rolls down my temple in response to the sun induced heat beaming under these new hiking conditions. Although the sky is wide open, the stunted but obscuring forest limits any views comparable to the open vistas I experienced before the trail’s plunge.

I can’t visually pinpoint any semblance in geography I’ve been recently observing, which I had grown used to pondering during my trek past. I can’t visually define any inkling of the saw-tooth mountain ridge I know lies up to the right, and to the left, I can’t picture the developing valley into which this downward trend I hike must eventually drain. Socked into Appalachian isolation, hypothetically, I could be at any secluded point in any part of a national forest, AT or not. I’m in the middle of nowhere. Not fazed by recent developments, I’m just Don Defreeze moving along, free from the Human Tree’s nags and noise.

While I drift downward on a slightly slanted path that wavers little from straight, my concentration begins wavering off the day’s big goal and drifts into beholding the local scope. I haven’t given up on making it to the final mountain top and its glorious shelter, but clutching onto that aspiring thought is being pried loose by its still distant fulfillment.

Allowing my eyes to shift about, there’s no way to determine where I’ll end up in these endless lands. If I don’t make it all the way, so what? Just having this opportunity bestowed upon me, to walk through and gaze upon nature’s cape makes me grateful of my escape. I can’t add enough to my memory tape!

As I hike, the surrounding forest’s composition changes quickly. I move into overbearing evergreen forest which clouds the sky; the break from the beating sun is welcome. Motionless pine, matched by thick underbrush, limits the AT’s elbow room a bit and darkens perception in these backwoods within backwoods. Channeled through extremely thick forest, the trail’s straight-line path creates a guiding tube that appears to emulate a dim stadium tunnel leading toward the brightness of a lively sports arena ahead. I should soon pop-out to cheers. Too easy, my continuous sail down a gliding path trending lower is too perfect in contrast to what I should be enduring to reach my mountaintop goal.

These contradictory hiking conditions fool with realism, compounded by the incredible forest stillness and the fact that I haven’t seen any wildlife to ruffle the picture. Wilderness is supposed to be dynamic and this lack of activity overturns conceptions that accompany untamed wild. It’s almost as if this place has been purposely tailored to be absorbingly pleasing, fake or surreal.

I could expose this wilderness set’s facade by pushing aside a bush and reveal the struts holding it up. The bird chirps I hear emanate from tiny speakers hidden from sight and are activated by hiking past them. It’s a remarkable remake. These props of serenity cloak concerns both past and future as I nonchalantly discharge ideas important to my wellbeing and comfort, including any possibility of a head punched pillow at this toilsome day’s end. I really don’t care about anything including any destination. Accountability is asleep as I prance through this dream that’s become reality—do my feet really touch the ground?

A song pops into mind; a symbiotic chill is struck as I rehearse the lyrics to the Sounds of Silence. At this moment, there aren’t any streams or streets before me, as depicted in the song, but the stoned intransigence of this natural hollow radiates an aura that will never be forgotten in my recalled guitar harmonies while I walk alone. I incorporate sights without the company of another as few have the fortitude to seek. Completely quiet, yet, in some form, it speaks. I walk alone but not alone.

As I abruptly advance out from the murky pine stands, I’m awash in sun-struck brightness abounding in a true clearing, though a small one. It appears that this node of the AT has not recovered from a localized tree fall, except for some saplings and underbrush. The flash of light from an open sky should awaken me from dawdling, but my disconnect from caring about anything slides along with me while I continue angling down a gentle slope. To the left, just a few steps away and through a shoddy mess of wild growth, I see a small grassy area just before a tall tree line. Carpeted in fresh spring green, the raised grassy bed looks inviting to lounging and lingering upon it. There, I could use a wild thistle to pick my teeth and gawk at the overall scene.

A fervent call to dive into its fanciful bliss and abandon devotion to hiking’s harsh toil finds its seductive way into my lackadaisical mode. My steps diminish to a light pitter patter; my face remains fixated upon the grass laid paradise.

A mystical mirage is painted in my mind. Derived from a Star Trek episode broadcast during my youth, I’m in an alien world where plants subdue all humanoid rationale or motivational thought. Only carefree pleasure and fun is sought, tranquility through amnesia, yet not incurring the consequences of irresponsibility. Here, I could comfortably erect the tent on cushy grass that’s set upon a mild slope and enjoy the items packed inside the BPSS’s fuselage. There’s plenty of dried wood around for burning and a wide-open space to view the stars. This spot would make an exemplary campsite.

Should I stop? This place would at least make a good area to rest; a drink of water is appealing. I’d have an opportunity to get out the camera and snap some shots. As I debate, while my feet eke along the AT’s path, the clearing’s midpoint is reached, and I must begin turning my body to keep the tempting grassy view in sight. Vacillating, my feet drag me forward and make a reluctant decision for me. As I slowly pass a natural campsite’s marvelous display, the allure of its visual appearance is cataloged as just another exhibit along a hiking route that earmarks a Disney ride. I turn my head and solemnly focus on my forward heading.

The realization that I’ll receive no hiking respite falls squarely on my shoulders. The painful pinch from the BPSS straps hanging on me is overly apparent. My bum knee reminds me that I’m traveling on a hampered drive train. Sweat trickling down my brow telegraphs the fact that I will not be able to go on forever as I felt when I started earlier today; moving into the forest’s partial shade does little to pick up a wilting mood. A pitiful pause in my walking butts with the end of the trail’s downward roll, and my un-blissful stare stabs at the hill I’m positioned and required to start climbing.

I’m better off not thinking about it, but it’s been about two hours since I’ve had to hike upwards. A tough vertical ascent in an eroded groove feature this climb is not; its moderate steady climb on softened soil up a short benign hill, which the trail seems to gently roll over, should be a mundane lift. Otherwise, it’s this dam BPSS monstrosity pulling me toward the center of the Earth that messages an oppressive edge to my forward traverse, and the acceptance of its burden drags my gaze downward to settle my stare on the next few feet of trail.

“Well, each step’s another added to my AT total,” I say as I try building the fortitude to launch a spring forward. Grudgingly, the wheels of transport are made to turn aided by a snorting huff and equally due head shake.

Pop, pop and pop, and the three legs of the first hiking cycle are...