On Friday, January 22nd, I went to my parents’
house to have lunch with them and help work on a rather annoying jigsaw puzzle
that I had picked out for them to do when they finished the last one. After lunch and some time at the puzzle, dad
asked if I wanted to go on walkabout. I
love walking in their woods even in the winter, so I said sure. I borrowed some boots and a warmer coat from
my mom, adjusted my hat and scarf and off we went into the wilderness.
We were almost back at the house sometime later when my dad,
who was surveying the brambles down in a gully asked me if I ever thought about
that time we got lost at Limekiln Lake. My mind immediately went back to that afternoon
in 2014…
…it was a gloomy, wet sort of day even though it was July. I was up camping in the Adirondacks with my
parents and my aunt and uncle. Dad and I
decided we were going to go on a hike.
We had a map, walking sticks, some granola bars, and we dressed in layers
so we could adjust to any changes in temperature. We had on good shoes and yet for some reason,
we did not bring any water. Nor did we
have a compass or even my cell phone (since there was no signal up there
anyway). It was a good hike – there was
lots of cool things to see. I took lots
of pictures as I trudged behind my dad. It’s one of my favorite things to do, really –
camp with my parents and hike with my dad while there. The trail seemed a little sketchy in places,
but we kept relocating the markers and so were more or less doing alright. I didn’t think too much of one of the bridges
being under six inches of water and was more fascinated at the amount of tannin
in the water that was making it turn a fascinating shade of orange which made
my feet look funny. I had taken my
sneakers off to cross and rolled up my pant legs in an effort to keep them dry.
This would become more significant later.
“Yep,” I said. He
started walking back towards the house again and I took up my usual spot behind
him. He was quiet for a moment and then
said, “That was scary. I have dreams
about it sometimes still.” We trudged
through the snow up the rest of the embankment towards the lawn and the house
beyond with its burning fire and cozy jigsaw puzzle.
Every once and a while we would stop to figure out where we were on the
map and everything seemed to be going well.
Except that we eventually would come to realize that the map and the
trails marked on it did not seem to match the trail that we were actually
walking. It was becoming harder and
harder to find the trail markers – though we never completely lost them for
long. What should have been a forty five
minute walked turned into an hour, and then two, and then three. We shared a granola bar and the talk that had
sporadically drifted in and out of our hike stopped almost completely. We unconsciously took turns going first,
trudging through heavy flora that was thick with rain and mud. Sneakers and pants could not be kept dry and
were drenched up past the knees. I
stopped taking pictures. We kept
checking the map. We heard dogs in the
distance, but they never seemed to get any closer and we dared not stray off
the path we seemed to be on. It felt
like dusk was coming.
I didn’t really reply that I can recall, or if I did it was
some sort of offhand comment about how it had certainly been memorable. But his comment started line of thinking that
I’ve been mulling over since. At the
time we were hiking, I knew that this was not how the hike was supposed to go
and I knew that the map and the trail were not aligning in a way that made any
sense. I had heard stories of people becoming
lost in the Adirondack Wilderness, so it wasn’t as if the enormity of the
situation was lost on me then. I knew
that our growing silence meant that we were focusing on putting one foot in front
of the other and getting to more familiar ground. But there was something else going on as well…
When we finally came out of the vast wilderness that is Adirondack
State Park in a completely different part of the campground from where we had
gone in, the normalcy of camping seemed to come rushing back. It was almost culture shock. We were filthy, soaked, exhausted, and an
evening chill was starting to set in. My
legs ached from pushing through ferns and branches and ankle deep mud. I kept alternating between warmth from
exertion and cool from the sweat drying and the cool breeze kicking up. We walked slowly back to our own campground
to find my mother, my uncle, and my aunt all somewhat frantic. They had already been to the ranger and were
trying to figure out what to do. My dad’s
brother had driven around the campground a few times hoping to see us on some
path or coming out of the woods somewhere.
We had been gone a long time.
I know my dad well enough that his comment about dreams and
actually saying that the hike was scary was no small thing. This is a man who had been a soldier. It took a lot for him to admit fear because
it was always easier to keep it inside and do what needed to be done. What I don’t think dad realizes is that while
I respect the enormity of what we experienced, there was only one thing that
caused me fear that entire afternoon.
The only thing that kept crossing my mind had nothing to do with not
finding our way out or that we wouldn’t reach civilization again. My only concern was that we would not make it
back out before dad became sick. He’s
diabetic, see, and that much physical exertion with little more than a couple
of granola bars was the only thing that I felt was out of our control.
Correction. It was
the only thing that I ever felt out was out of dad’s control. I trudged on step after step and only two
things ran through my head beyond how tired I was and how much my back was
upset with me….
My legs hurt. My back
hurts. I’m tired. Watch your step. Don’t be a klutz, this is not the place for
an injury. I’m tired. Please don’t let
the diabetes cause a problem out here.
My legs hurt. My feet are wet and
cold. I’m tired. Don’t be a klutz. Please don’t let the diabetes cause a problem
out here. Please don’t let the diabetes cause a problem out here. Please don’t
let the diabetes cause a problem out here. Please don’t let the diabetes cause
a problem out here. Please don’t.
You see, I knew we would get back to the campground. I knew it would be okay. I never had a single doubt that it was just a
matter of time. I didn’t have to worry
or be afraid. I was with my dad.
I was with my dad.
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