A Spring Hike by Mike Bozart - HTML preview

After finally getting settled in at my small High Peak Mountain abode (on the cover of the short story High Peak Revisited), it was time to do that long-anticipated spring hike along the South Fork of the Mills River in nearby Pisgah National Forest, just north of Etowah (North Carolina, USA). Tomorrow, Saturday, April 18, 1998 would be in the 50s (Fahrenheit, that is; 10 to 15º Celsius). Great hiking weather, even if there was a slight chance of a shower.

At 8:38 AM the next morning, I was parking my white 1991 Plymouth Voyager minivan in the Turkey Pen Gap Trailhead gravel parking lot. There was just one vehicle, a maroon Toyota Corolla with a Go Vegan bumper sticker, and no people to be seen. I thought: Good deal. It’s not crowded. At least not yet.  

I turned off the van’s engine, but let my Wings Greatest cassette tape play on. You would think that people would have had enough of silly love songs … 

Then I rummaged through my green backpack until I found a black 35mm film canister. I opened it and poured the blue-speckled white granules into the remaining four ounces of coffee. After a stir, I gulped down the mud-colored solution. Well, in twenty-five minutes things will get real interesting, boy. Hope we don’t get hurt out there. Need to keep my wits about me. Help could be hours – or even days – away.

I hoisted the backpack onto my bony shoulders, locked the van, and caught a glimpse of my unshaven red-haired Caucasian mug in the side mirror. Ok, sport, let’s not do anything ‘too’ foolish today.

I walked towards the trailhead sign. Soon I was marching on a wood-planked pedestrian-only suspension bridge that spanned the wide mountain stream. I gave the steel cables a shake. Stop playing around, you loon. Just walk across it. With your luck it may break.

The river-hugging, densely forested trail was like something out of a Brothers Grimm fairy tale. Completely canopied. Luscious vegetation; mainly rhododendron, mountain laurel and witch hazel, but with ferns and bamboo stands, too. Lots of conifers, especially hemlocks. Deciduous trees already getting their leaves back. I almost expected to see Hansel and Gretel around the next bend of the sometimes-narrow auspicious footpath.

I quickly fell into a brisk gait. It was like I was being drawn towards something important. And then, there it was. In the deposition side of a hairpin turn in the river, in the light brown sand, someone had scratched with a stick:

Remember Linda 1941-1998 R-I-P

I stood and stared, remaining motionless for several minutes. My mind was awash with thoughts. Wow. Linda McCartney is really dead. [Peter Jennings had announced it on yesterevening’s ‘World News Tonight’ broadcast.] And John Lennon taken from us in 1980 by a madman – a mad fan. The end of that idealistic, psychedelic era. Even with all of her money, Linda couldn’t beat the scourge of cancer. I wonder who scratched that – that reminder of inescapable mortality. Probably a hiker from that car in the parking lot. She sure lived a full life, though. Wonder if her spirit is looking down on this right now. Wonder if there are any spirits or souls at all. Wonder if I should get going. How long have I been standing here? Has anyone been observing me in this trancelike state? Yeah, I think those granules have reached my bean. I’m incoheriated. [sic]

Then I heard a splash in the river. A baby sunfish had leapt out of the water. Probably being chased by a large trout. Eat and avoid being eaten. Live and let die.

I continued on my now-portentous hike. The etching in the sand was now suffused into my 33-year-old brain. It had become the talisman of the day. I couldn’t stop pondering on Mrs. McCartney and The Beatles. I wonder what it’s like to be world famous. People treating you like a demigod. I bet that it can actually be annoying at times. Though, the money sure aint bad. Jet!

Then I heard a noise in the woods. It sounded like a medium-size mammal running fast. Sure enough, I soon saw a doe leaping over some brush and sprinting away. I wonder if a wolf was chasing that deer. And, is that wolf now tracking me? Let’s not get paranoid. It’s just another day. Another day on this planet of life and death, whirling about somewhere in the cosmos.

After another fourteen minutes of hiking, I came upon a wide, slow-flowing section in a curve of the light green river. I stopped to take a water break. A fallen tree made for a great bench to park upon. My brain was fully saturated by those magical granules now. I bet that Linda never knew that someone would scratch her name and dates on a river bank in southwestern North Carolina. I wonder if the person who scratched those letters and numbers in the sand is wondering who has seen it. And is he or she now wondering what I’m wondering? Not even sure what I’m wondering. Wonder if any of this matters. If I’m not careful I’m going to wonder my life away. I’ve now got the perfect setup to write that novel. Lots of quiet time. A surfeit of solitude. Maybe too much. This alone-on-a-mountain phase is going to be interesting. Just hope that I don’t become a drug addict or an alcoholic. So much free time. Must use it wisely. Well, with a little luck …

Suddenly a group of three late-20-something Caucasian hikers, two females and a male, accosted me. They were headed in the opposite direction. The brown-bearded, stocky, baseball-capped dude spoke first while the ladies took a hydration break.

“Good day for a hike, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is,” I said, noticing my breath in the dank air. “It’s not too warm.”

“That’s for sure!” the brunette woman exclaimed.

“Did you guys hike all the way up to High Falls?” I asked.

“Man, that’s way up by the Pink Beds,” the dude responded, shocked by my question.

“Oh, yeah,” I muttered, realizing my error. “I guess that would take all day.”

“I’m sure it would,” the blonde lady said.

“Well, we’ve got to get going,” the dude then announced as he scratched his face. “There’s some rain coming down the mountain from the [Blue Ridge] Parkway.” From Soapstone Ridge? We’ll all be washed-up soon!

“Oh, thanks for the heads-up,” I solemnly replied.

“Have a nice day,” the brunette said with a big smile. Maybe she’s the unattached one. Seems like the blonde and the dude may be on a first date. Maybe the brunette is just tagging along to ease the nerves. Or, are they a threesome? Oh, what am I thinking? They’re all just good friends, I bet.

The merry trio then sauntered along, heading back towards the parking lot. My mind was a million thoughts a minute. I wonder if they will see that message in the sand. Of course they will: The trail goes right by it. Remember? That’s why you saw it. Hello! Wake up. I wonder if one of them inscribed it. Probably so. I bet the brunette is a big McCartney fan. She probably had a crush on Paul and had a vicarious affair via Linda. Jeez, why am I thinking such stuff? Maybe both girls are Wings/Beatles fans. Maybe all three are. I should probably get going before I get soaked. It does feel a bit mistier now.

I stood up and felt a neuronic [sic] rush. The gray overcast sky was pulsing. The tree limbs were conductors of ancient notions, and were tingling at the twigs. Am I going mad? Let’s start walking. Being stationary leads to too many insane thoughts. An idle body begets … oh, we forgets. [sic]

I then began plodding back towards the parking lot. Though a lot of scenes (semi-hallucinations) in the forest looked inviting, I managed to stay on the trail.

Soon I was back at the Linda sand inscription. I was surprised to see that someone had added a heart shape under it. Ah, very nice. I wonder which of the three did that. But, why would they add the heart later? Why didn’t they include it when they initially wrote the message? Hold on! Maybe none of them wrote the Linda message. And maybe they now think that I wrote it. I wonder who wrote it. Oh, why am I thinking so much about such a trivial detail? Because your brain is zapped, pal! That’s why.

The first few tiny raindrops sat down on my head. I put my wide-brimmed Australian field hat on, which had been hanging on my backpack. It was pretty much waterproof, as I had coated it with clear acrylic a few months ago.

I retreated back towards the van. The path became dark and damp. And just before the suspension bridge, it was muddy.

Once across the swaying bridge, I expected to not see the maroon Toyota sedan. But, there it was! And there were no other vehicles, except my minivan, looking lonely. Where did that band of three go? Are they ok? Did they take another trail? But, there are no other trails between here and where we were. Did they pull off the trail to watch me pass? Kind of strange. Oh well, let’s get rolling. Pants are already wet. Someone’s knocking at the door … pneumonia!

I opened the driver’s door and got in the van. As I drove away, the trio emerged from the woods.