Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, May 20, 1990 TAG: 9005200009
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: B11 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Justin Askins
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
That's the scenario most of us are acquainted with and taught to avoid, in cautionary articles from sporting magazines and in stern lectures by scout leaders and parents.
In truth, when we enter the more remote woods, there is always the possibility of losing our way, no matter how experienced we are. But getting lost can have its rewards, when normal perceptions break down and revelations begin.
I have hiked in many wilderness areas, in Yellowstone, Yosemite, the Big Horns, the Sierras, the Canadian and American Rockies, and I have been lost - that is not knowing which direction I should go next - three times.
Once was in the famed blowdown area of Vancouver Island's old West Coast Trail (the new trail circumvents this spectacular and dangerous aerial maze).
The second time was in New York's Harriman State Park, and the last and most interesting experience, oddly enough, took place near my home in Ironto, on a visit to Hightop Mountain.
The first two times I was lost were frightening, the occasion in New York especially so. It was growing dark. Tired and hungry, I had lost my way along the ill-marked trail atop great fallen cedars and hemlocks piled two and three high. I lowered myself to the ground, then left my pack to try to find where I had left the trail. Suddenly, I didn't know where the trail was, and I had no idea where I had put my pack.
Cougars and bears inhabit the shadowy rain forest in Harriman, and though I've never had trouble with either, being exhausted, lost and without equipment made the prospect of a night in the woods unnerving.
Confused and claustrophobic thoughts began to flood my mind. But my years of solitary backpacking took over, forcing me to sit down until I was calm. A few minutes later, my confidence returning, I started a search pattern. On my third expanding circle, I had my pack, and 10 minutes later I was back on the trail, heading for the beach at Camper Creek. Great relief surged through me.
In Harriman, evening was again approaching fast, and my legs were aching from a long day of orienteering. I was pushing hard to get to a recognizable place, my speed helped by visions of an October night spent with nothing but the contents of a day pack. Then it was over. I saw a car's headlights below me. My body relaxed and in 15 minutes I was on a road, heading toward my car.
My experience in Ironto was much different, probably because the afternoon wasn't far along, my house couldn't have been three miles away, and my legs still had a lot of energy left. Yet, this hike would leave me awed for many days.
I had started up Hightop just past noon, an overcast sky above. Although I had my compass, as usual, I knew the ridgeline of Hightop pretty well, and I gave no thought to direction.
My plan was to reach the ridge from the south side, follow it for a while, then drop down to the north into a stream-fed hollow that led to a dirt road. Easy enough, and a trip I had made a half-dozen times.
Everything was going well until I reached a spot where the ridge flattens out and a dense stand of Virginia pine takes over. When I entered the trees, I knew where I was going, and, after wandering around a bit, I came out. I was pretty sure of where I was. It seemed that if I dropped down the hillside below, I would find my intended hollow and soon be on the way home.
I began walking down, but the slope became noticeably steeper, finally forcing me to grab on to the trees to slow my descent. This didn't worry me, for my only thought was that I must have come down a little above my usual spot. A few minutes along the stream at the bottom would bring me back to familiar terrain.
As I followed the creek, however, nothing seemed as it should be. I stopped to check my compass. Very odd. It said I was going southeast when I should have been going almost directly north.
I tapped the compass several times, took out my geological survey map and tried to fix my position. But what I figured seemed impossible.
Perhaps I was reading south for north, which wouldn't solve the problem, but at least that would have me heading in a somewhat northerly direction. If that were the case, then I had dropped down into Taylor Hollow and I would have to walk out to Va. 723 and hitch back home - or walk back over the mountain.
What a wilderness explorer I was! Not sure what to do, I moved on, enjoying the stream, hoping that miraculously I would see something I knew.
Not that afternoon. Instead, I came to the beginning of a dirt road on which I had never been. At least this will lead me to some place with people, I thought.
That's when my next shock occurred. After walking a few minutes, I could hear the steady voice of a large stream below. Where in heavens was I? I unrolled my map again and found there was no large stream in Taylor Hollow. In fact, there couldn't be any major waterway near me except for the North Fork of the Roanoke River along Va. 603. I couldn't be there. Where was I?
Some houses came into view, but chagrined by my incredible bad reckoning, I slipped past, threading through pines and cedars to the paved road. What a lovely river, I thought, bigger than the North Fork, possibly trout water. I was overjoyed, amazed, eager now to figure out where I was so I could hurry back to fish this extraordinary find. Passing cars seemed full of strange and exotic inhabitants.
I started following the river, excitedly analyzing each pool, then it happened. I saw a house, one I knew. The illusion was shattered. The river was the North Fork, and I was on 603, not 1 1/2 miles from my house. My compass had been right all along.
I reflected for many hours about what went on that day, and whatever it was, it allowed me a fresh taste of existence. The stable comforts of one more hike up Hightop had been torn away, like Thoreau's complacency once he encountered "inhuman Nature" on the top of Mount Ktaadn. I had been given another reality, an immense gift, for how many of us can enter two worlds in one short afternoon?
by CNB