Solo Hiking the Foothills - Part 2

This is part two of a three-part blog recounting my experiences solo-thru-hiking the 76.2-mile Foothills Trail along the North Carolina/South Carolina border

When Marco Polo traveled along the Silk Road from Europe to Asia he did so through the power of a compass and prowess in journeying. When Vasco da Gama became the first European to reach the Indian sea, he did so by steering through an ocean of stars shepherded by the wind and the waves. When Harriet Tubman risked her life to lead enslaved people along the underground railroad to freedom, she did so by tracking the North Star and tracing the rivers that snaked north.

So I, no-trail-name-Haley, great conquerer of the frequently traveled Foothills Trail, was absolutely not going to use my iPhone to navigate my journey.

Using an electronic map, I decided, feels all too much like impatiently skipping to the end of a chapter to count how many pages are left, a method of checking to see exactly how many miles I must endure in the day before I could set up camp (in my opinion, removing the adventure from the adventure, and replacing it with spoilers, pre-conceived notions, and bias.) Not to mention, I like to make things harder on myself, as if by the virtue of my actions I am awarded a primitive badge, or maybe the corner of a textbook for being a recognized paper map preservation advocate.

With my trusty paper map in hand, I crossed over pavement into trail, and as the ground morphed from asphalt black to dirt brown I was heading - straight - uphill. The ground, dressed in a thick layer of fallen pine needles, was filling my nose with scents of orange peels and rosemary. The air was so moist with dew that I could have drawn a smiley face midair where it would have remained suspended until the next hiker turned it into vapor. The morning air kept secrets from me with fog so dense I could only see five steps ahead, and the trees colluded whispering shhhhhhh as the wind seaped through crisp branches.

Most of my day looked like a stock calendar image for the month of November as I trudged uphill becoming increasingly more dependent on my trekking poles. At some point, I forgot the poles were separate from my body as they became a part of me - a four-legged beast instead of a two-legged tortoise. I was moving swiftly (or so I thought) when two voices became audible behind me.

Enter - Stage Left: Chewy and Morningbird

"Again with the trail names? Really?", I thought to myself, already feeling sheepish about my plain Jane introduction. Chewy and Morningbird, while not unfriendly, were short, and very obviously uninterested in pursuing conversation further once they deducted the status of my thru-hiker pedigree (or lack thereof) by my introduction. Their long legs carried them past me and I watched as they disappeared in and out of the densely wooded switchbacks until they were out of sight. Those girls were fast and if not evident by the way they outpaced me in a short amount of time, then surely by the intricate silk blankets the spiders had time to knit between trees amidst our passings.

Over the next 48 hours, I played and plodded with the ground animals of the forest. I chattered with scurries of bushy-tail squirrels, all of who insisted on being called Steve, except for one, who proclaimed herself as Ellen. I caught two turkeys intimately rubbing feathers hidden only partially by a curtain of foliage. I blushed. So did they. I almost squashed the Gex family, a family of secret agent lizards with a vendetta against the Black family, a family of havoc-wreaking black snakes, that slipped in and out of tumbled pebbles between my toes. In these moments, I felt like a less-British, less-manly, version of David Attenborough theorizing and narrating the intricacies of the very much alive forest floor around me.

On my first day, from 6:00 am to 5:30 pm, my legs pulled me uphill, and from 6:00 am to 5:00 pm on my second day, my legs trembled downhill. I was greeted by seas of clouds and babbling brooks. I was swallowed whole by balsam groves and made wobbly by uneven ridgelines. I was smitten with the multitude of thermoclines I climbed into and out of with my boots drying on the arid mountaintops and becoming soaked once again in the boggish lower elevations. I was enchanted by the way the full moon poured light into the night sky and by the coos of barred owls that echoed against pine trunks.

By the end of my second day, I reached the halfway sign, 38.1 miles to Table Rock & 38.1 miles to Oconee State Park. Although I knew my journey would end at the 76.2-mile mark when the trail turned back into pavement, my foot travels were slowly becoming a grander mental and emotional thru-hike than a physical one. "I am halfway to somewhere, I suppose," I said to myself as I decided that the place I am venturing to is no further than my next step. I had to look no further for beauty than what lay right in front of me.

I enjoy my days spent in solitude, days I can allow my mind to buzz in harmony with the complexities of the environment around me. There is but one part of solo backpacking that I don't enjoy, and THAT is the SLEEPING part. At night my once tranquil mind turns into what could be Stephen King's next best-selling horror novel. Girl-gone-missing, satanic cult, scary deer skulls hanging from the trees-type stuff. Usually, the last vision in my mind before I fall asleep is a hooded figure pulling me out of my tent by my feet as I disappear into the darkness. I was not, I repeat not, looking forward to spending 5 nights in the wilderness alone where my imagination could run endlessly rampant. I was, however, lucky to be accompanied by other hikers both nights and my mind was soothed, protected by a comforting blanket of thoughts: the demon man will most definitely prefer the two-course meal in the tent next door and spare me another day. I dozed off as I began to ideate on trail names I could betroth myself to - but that, my friends, will have to wait until next week.

Next week I'll wrap up the last two days I spent in the Foothills and answer some of the questions that got me on trail to begin with. As always, thanks for reading and following me on this adventure!