Back in the Woods

The weekend before last, Jarrett and I were treated with a chance to go backpacking—something we have not done together since before becoming parents. Jarrett's dad and Susan were kind enough to welcome the girls into their home for the weekend, coming over to pick them up Friday afternoon after Elsa got out of school. After saying our goodbyes, we finished filling up our two backpacks and headed to Todd, North Carolina, which is on Highway 194 (maybe my favorite road), just outside Boone.

We went to a relatively new state park in the Meat Camp area of Watauga county, Elk Knob State Park. Elk Knob was apparently considered for a housing development during the late 1990s/early 2000s, until a group of concerned citizens, land owners, and the Nature Conservancy worked together to purchase the mountain (in case you were ever wondering if your donations to the Nature Conservancy ever make a difference!). In 2003, it was deeded to the state of North Carolina under the management of the Division of Parks and Recreation. The park helps to protect the headwaters of the North Fork of the New River, one of the oldest rivers in the world. And at an elevation of 5520 feet above sea level, Elk Knob is one of the tallest peaks in Watauga County.

We made it to the park by evening, and lucked out with running into a park ranger upon our arrival at the backcountry campsite registration area. The "best" campsite (Campsite 2, which is set alongside a stream) was already claimed, but all other options were up for grabs, so the ranger was able to offer a little insight. We registered for Campsite 3, which was the furthest option out, so the ranger said we might as well just check out all of the others on our way. A short jaunt down the trail brought us to a bear canister sign-out area. The ranger told us that some cubs had been seen recently and there are warnings everywhere that you are entering bear country, so we followed the rules and signed out one of the yellow bear canisters to store our food, toothpaste, etc. Unfortunately, it would not fit into our packs, and we had no way of strapping it on, so we took turns carrying the thing in our arms. When we got to the area of Campsites 1 and 2, we realized Campsite 1 was not all that appealing, so we kept on hiking. About one-and-a-half miles in, we got to the area of two group campsites, as well as a line of "zone camping" along a ridge (basically you can set up tents anywhere between two posts that mark the beginning and end of the ridge). The group sites were large, relatively flat clearings that offered great, open views of the sky, which I immediately exclaimed would be lovely for stargazing. So after checking out the zone area and ruling that out, we decided on Group Site A, which also conveniently had both a stationary bear box and a pit toilet. Score.

You can see the bear box to the left, in the rear.

The yellow bear canister.

We would have been hiking in the dark, had we decided to hike on to Campsite 3, so this way we were able to get the tent set up and get our cooking essentials situated before the sun went down. We cooked dinner and stashed things in the bear box before being blessed with a most dazzling display of stars. It was awesome to the point of being able to really see the Milky Way. We still were probably in bed by 9:00-9:30 or so, as no campfires are allowed, so there is not a lot to do but sit in the pitch dark and chat.

I have realized that as I get older, I for some reason become more and more of a doomsdayist. The plane is going to crash. The tree is going to fall on the house. The tire on the car is going to explode, sending the car careening off the highway. So, most certainly, in my mind, a bear was going to find us and have us for dinner that very night. I slept terribly... especially after the sound we heard around 3:30 a.m. Jarrett called it "sinister" and decided it sounded like one of the ringwraiths in Lord of the Rings. Neither one of us could really duplicate the sound. It was a higher-pitch almost drawing in of breath. But there was never a snorting out sort of sound that you would think a bear would make. I really have no idea what it was, but it was most certainly an animal of some sort. And I guess the nearby owl was trying to communicate with it, as it would hoot after the terrible sound was made. I don't think I was able to fall asleep again until the sun starting coming up, around 7:00 a.m. And then I fell asleep for another hour or two.

We got up and ate breakfast and then tried to make a decision about whether we should pack it up and go home for a kid-free night at the house or whether we should stay and stick it out another night. Either way, we were going to hike back out the one-and-a-half miles (which was mostly downhill coming down the trail the night before, by the way) and then hike from the parking lot up another trail to the top of the knob. So we had to make our decision before leaving camp to know whether to leave the tent set up or pack everything out. In the end, we decided to stick it out another night. I promised Jarrett I would sleep better the second night.

So we trudged up the hill, which proved not to be the easiest hike in the world for these out-of-shape thirty-somethings (especially with that stinkin' bear canister in tow again, but we were able to return it since our campsite had the bear box). But we made it. And then we made it the other two miles up to the top of Elk Knob, which was a slightly more forgiving trail (and the one frequented by dayhikers) even though it was also all uphill. The views from the top were amazing, and we lucked out with clear, sunny skies. So we sat and enjoyed a lunch of salami and cheese and apple and lingered for awhile before heading back down to camp.

The view toward Boone. If you look closely, you can see Sugar Top on top of Sugar Mountain. The block of an eyesore on the mountaintop.

Saturday afternoon brought such quiet and nothingness. I found it wonderful and yet also a little difficult to embrace. It was good for me. Good for me to be phoneless and computerless and kidless and choreless. There was absolutely. nothing. to. do. Except sit. And chat with my Love. And wait for it to be late enough to cook dinner over our little backpacking stove. And wait for the sun to go down. It's amazing how busy our world can get. Everyone should get away every now and again and treasure the quiet.

I did sleep better the second night, although apparently Jarrett was the one who was awake more, as this time he heard a screaming sound. And, again, the owl. This was a different sound, and I told him it was likely that Mr. Owl caught himself a rabbit, as Kate has told me how horrendous rabbits sound when they are being attacked. Who knows what was in those woods. We never saw a bear. But I did see a wild turkey as I was sitting by the tent Saturday afternoon. It just wandered out of the woods, into the clearing. And once it caught a glimpse of me, it most clumsily ran as fast as those two awkward legs could carry it, right back into the woods. And besides that, we saw little, cute frogs and some of the sweetest mice I've ever seen, who had taken up residence on a ledge, inside of the structure that sheltered the pit toilet. I probably would have freaked had Jarrett not ventured in their first and alerted me to the fact that they were in there. But once I knew to expect them, I embraced their presence. I seriously never thought mice could be so cute.

After hiking out to head back home on Sunday morning, we had racked up ten miles total for our trip. And the hiking, with the sleeping on the ground added in (thank goodness for Thermarests, though I think we are in need of a more deluxe model... our three-quarter-length mats are not completely cutting it anymore) made for a good reminder that we are not our old college-aged selves any longer. And seeing that sweet couple hiking up to the top of the knob on Saturday, who were both likely in their late 70s, was a good reminder to keep at it—to get into shape now— so that we can still be doing this when we are 70-something.

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