Drifting off the beaten path
This post will set a personal live journal mandate :)--it's the first time in a long time that I won't be posting concerning politics. It'll probably be a rare to nonexistent subject for awhile--unless President Bush does something wrong. {pause for reflection} So, yeah, I won't be posting on politics for a long time. ;)
This weekend I backpacked over roughly 12 miles of the AT. I thought, what with my Tetons and (extensive) Sierra Nevadas experience, despite the pack, this would be no biggie. Oh boy, did I give myself too much credit. As I told Sam (the driver in our group), it felt like one of those finals you show up to, sit down at and realize that you just haven't studied enough for. I must've tripped upward of 40 times; I kept falling behind in my group; I thought carrying the pack over jagged rocks covered with wet leaves (combined with my massive lack of coordination) was going to kill me; I was breathing like an asthmatic; and, most distressingly, I lost 5 of my beautiful nails, and had to slaughter the rest when I got back this morning. BUT...my God, it was gorgeous last night, with no lights to interfere with the stars. At the shelter we stayed outside of, a group of through hikers showed up; they built a fire (because we weren't allowed to), and shared trail stories and teased us jovially for our amateur mistakes (we packed too many tents; Courtney had a brand new white scarf; I was carrying unnecessary toiletries...and on and on. All in all, we carried in heaps of pounds of unnecessary goods. Yey for extra weight in a pack you can't really carry!) Getting out this morning was better--probably because we were hiking down the mountain instead of UP its rocky horrendousness. When we broke around the last corner (and Courtney screamed in joy and fell over a root in her excitement), I wanted to sit down and cry. Instead, we threw our packs into Sam's trunk and rushed home--like, really rushed, the poor girl got a ticket--where I dragged my scarily hideous trail-stained self into Wal-Mart and picked up the Coke I'd been craving all weekend. Here, I threw myself into the shower--Coke in hand--and washed the grime away. (I'm sure my suitemates have some bad impressions; I couldn't help moaning in ecstasy. Hallelujah, water! Oh, the heaven of soap! My hair smells fantastic--glory a Dios!)
I'm bruised....my ass hurts...and my sheets quite possibly hold sought after secrets of heaven.
Next time I go backpacking, it'll be out in CA, where everything is normal and sane.
This weekend I backpacked over roughly 12 miles of the AT. I thought, what with my Tetons and (extensive) Sierra Nevadas experience, despite the pack, this would be no biggie. Oh boy, did I give myself too much credit. As I told Sam (the driver in our group), it felt like one of those finals you show up to, sit down at and realize that you just haven't studied enough for. I must've tripped upward of 40 times; I kept falling behind in my group; I thought carrying the pack over jagged rocks covered with wet leaves (combined with my massive lack of coordination) was going to kill me; I was breathing like an asthmatic; and, most distressingly, I lost 5 of my beautiful nails, and had to slaughter the rest when I got back this morning. BUT...my God, it was gorgeous last night, with no lights to interfere with the stars. At the shelter we stayed outside of, a group of through hikers showed up; they built a fire (because we weren't allowed to), and shared trail stories and teased us jovially for our amateur mistakes (we packed too many tents; Courtney had a brand new white scarf; I was carrying unnecessary toiletries...and on and on. All in all, we carried in heaps of pounds of unnecessary goods. Yey for extra weight in a pack you can't really carry!) Getting out this morning was better--probably because we were hiking down the mountain instead of UP its rocky horrendousness. When we broke around the last corner (and Courtney screamed in joy and fell over a root in her excitement), I wanted to sit down and cry. Instead, we threw our packs into Sam's trunk and rushed home--like, really rushed, the poor girl got a ticket--where I dragged my scarily hideous trail-stained self into Wal-Mart and picked up the Coke I'd been craving all weekend. Here, I threw myself into the shower--Coke in hand--and washed the grime away. (I'm sure my suitemates have some bad impressions; I couldn't help moaning in ecstasy. Hallelujah, water! Oh, the heaven of soap! My hair smells fantastic--glory a Dios!)
I'm bruised....my ass hurts...and my sheets quite possibly hold sought after secrets of heaven.
Next time I go backpacking, it'll be out in CA, where everything is normal and sane.