Good friend of the podcast, Liz, is guest-writing blog posts for us this week, about her experience on the Foothills Trail. Thanks to Liz for sharing this experience with us!
Day 6 was out day. To say we slept would be kind. We laid there in a state of neither asleep nor awake as the storm raged outside our ripstop sanctuary. At 3 am the rains subsided, and the winds came in. Gusts that sounded like freight trains tore through the valley below us and the saddle above us. That large boulder overhand we passed the day before was appearing more and more like a missed opportunity. At 6am, our alarms did little more than alert us to the time, we were already awake. The godfather was right, we had internet connection here and I used it to pull up the current radar map. Above us was the beginnings of a red cell, but it was moving fast. We made the decision to stay in our shelter until it passed as the radar cleared up significantly afterwards. Just around then we heard a large thud that both felt, and heard, way too close for comfort. Neither of us were motivated to see what just missed us. By 9am, the rains subsided enough, we got up, put our cold, soaked clothes back on and ate our cold PopTart breakfast, in the rain. It was then we saw what had missed us. A 6 inch dead tree came crashing down about 6 feet from the corner of the tent.
We kicked ourselves for having missed this snag on our tent location inspection. We had mistaken it for an alive tree because it was covered in green vines that looked like foliage. That or we were so impossibly exhausted we just plum missed it. While we were spared an unfortunate fate, which I am forever grateful, my hiking poles did not make it out quite as well. The tree had landed on them and bent a ‘C’ into the bottom adjustable length. We carried on. We only had 12 miles to get out of the woods, 12 miles until we were finished with our very first through-hike, 12 miles until we could stop walking. The progress was slow, we encountered many downed trees along the path. Some small, some as large as 3 feet in diameter. Some with their trunks across the path, and others with their canopies blocking our way.
Our average of 2.25 miles an hour was hampered to 1.5, sometimes 1 mile per hour. On the top of Pinnacle Mountain there were trees down every 5 feet. We were grateful that we waited in the tent like we did, because the skies cleared and the remainder of the day was a glorious day to be in the woods. After a brief stop on the bald, we began the final descent, inching ever closer to Table Rock. We triumphantly strode into the Table Rock hiking trails with gigantic chips on our shoulders, and pain in our backs. We walked the beautiful wood boardwalk and exclaimed how this was such a wonderful way to end this hike. But as it often goes, we spoke too soon. Because there in front of us was the largest water crossing without a bridge. Really had to save the best for last, I suppose. My recently dried, waterproof, boots were once again topped. The last mile was full of squishing steps while I cursed the Foothills Trail Conservancy.
Finally, the nature center. It was there in front of us, and beyond it, our way home. Eager to get into dry clothes, we clamored to the car and grabbed our “car clothes” to change into. We were done. It was done. We had survived. We’d defeated it. We weathered a failed attempt in July. Unpredicted rain. Sore knees and toes. Unrelenting weather. Fallen trees and water crossings. We couldn’t have done it without the wonderful trail maintenance of the Foothills Trail Conservancy, the godfather, or each other. That and Ramen Bombs.
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