8/30: A Moment
Day 01 - Introduce yourself
Day 02 - Your first love
Day 03 - Your parents
Day 04 - What you ate today
Day 05 - Your definition of love
Day 06 - Your day
Day 07 - Your best friend
Day 08 - A moment
Day 09 - Your beliefs
Day 10 - What you wore today
Day 11 - Your siblings
Day 12 - What’s in your bag
Day 13 - This week
Day 14 - What you wore today
Day 15 - Your dreams
Day 16 - Your first kiss
Day 17 - Your favorite memory
Day 18 - Your favorite birthday
Day 19 - Something you regret
Day 20 - This month
Day 21 - Another moment
Day 22 - Something that upsets you
Day 23 - Something that makes you feel better
Day 24 - Something that makes you cry
Day 25 - A first
Day 26 - Your fears
Day 27 - Your favorite place
Day 28 - Something that you miss
Day 29 - Your aspirations
Day 30 - One last moment
The path up Pontatoc Ridge Trail is either 4.65mi or 5.2mi round-trip, depending on which website or book you consult. At the end of the trail is a sign proclaiming you made it to the top, and scratched into the sign is an arrow pointing to the right.
I didn't want to follow the arrow to the right, but Philip had other ideas.
The arrow to the right indictates the way to get to the mines. Pontatoc Ridge Trail used to be named Old Spanish Mines Trail, in fact, but the mining operation didn't gain enough, so the mines shut down. According to various sources, most of the mines have caved in, and there are only a few you can get into without scaling a 30ft rock wall.
I really, really didn't want to follow the arrow to the mines. But Philip's got a pretty cute pathetic-puppy look, so I tucked my sunglasses into my backpack, hoisted it up onto my shoulders (I'd taken it off in the - foolish - hope that he wouldn't be possessed by the mad urge to wander into a dark cave), and followed the boy. Right away, the pseudo-trail branched off into two sections, and after a quick look at each of them, we decided to go left because it looked like the more direct trail.
Well, it was the more direct trail. And that's the last time I'll ever choose the more direct route while hiking, because direct, in this case, meant very steep and terrifying. A few yards after we started climbing (and it was climbing, I'm not exaggerating), the trail twisted to the right, and very suddenly became a place where I very much did not want to be. The trail was just as steep, only now it was covered with loose rocks that made it nearly impossible to get a solid foothold, and all that was on the left side was ... air.
Cue panic attack.
No, seriously. I slipped twice, grabbed onto the rocks on my right side, and burst into tears while refusing to go any further and yelling at Philip if he attempted to touch me. Since the trail wasn't very wide - two feet, maybe - he couldn't get around me to help me back down, and I wouldn't let him pry my fingers off the rocks and hold onto me to guide me down. So he told me he'd be right back, that he was going to climb up the rest of the way, come back down on the other path, and help me back to the bottom. I didn't want him to leave - good God, I didn't want him to leave, I was overcome with visions of falling off the side of the mountain, my limp body being eaten by the mountain lions that roam freely in the canyon (... I presume). But as I was still sobbing hysterically, I'd lost the ability to speak, and off he went, leaving me by myself.
A few minutes passed, and Philip didn't come back. By that time, I'd managed to stop crying - though I still had a death grip on the rock - so I called out his name, and I got back a very guilty sounding, "Um, sorry, I - I got distracted by the mines and-" and the panic faded completely, because I was very, very mad. Mad enough, in fact, to keep walking up the trail. At the end, I found my way blocked by a 7ft rock wall. I yelled for Philip again, and his face popped up over the top. I told him, in no uncertain terms, that there was no way I could climb up this thing and haul myself over, but he assured me that I only had to make it a few steps, and he would help me the rest of the way.
Had the other side of the trail still been open at that point, I would have laughed at him until I made myself sick. But my back was against a very solid rock at that time, so I hoisted myself up, grabbed Philip's hand, and slipped. I told him, again, that I couldn't do it, but he presuaded me to try one more time. I found a different foothold, made it another step up the wall, grabbed Philip's hand, and slipped again - this time, however, I banged my right knee very hard against the rock.
That's the point where I started yelling at him. He said he'd go down the trail, come back up and get me, and I told him to not bother, because he hadn't done it the first time he said he wouldn't, so he could just go explore the stupid mines and I'd get down myself.
Which I did. By sitting down and scooting 20 yards on my butt until I got to the fork in the trail, where I promptly took the right path - which thankfully wasn't terrifying at all, just steep and a little tight in places - stormed to the opening of the mind, and started yelling at him again, until all the anger and panic left my body and I was just exhausted.
Then I looked around and saw where I was.
And it was pretty awesome.
