Today is our second day on trail. Yesterday consisted of slowly picking our way along a somewhat ambiguous trail laden with fallen tree trunks, head high shrubbery and stealthy patches of poison oak. A heavy dust lingered in our eyes and nose which was exacerbated by the sun beating upon our sweaty faces.
Our fellowship consists of four companions: Myself, my two brothers Roland and Aidan, and our dear friend, Owen. We had found ourselves on a trail the likes of which we had never encountered before, within the Marble Mountain wilderness of Northern California. The Little North Fork trail, as researched prior to the trip, was known to be beautiful, paralleling the little North Fork river from the valley to the mountains. It was predicted to be a rigorous trail as well, ever rising slowly upwards until diverging from the river to climb steeply up the mountain side in a series of switchbacks. The final destination was in a high basin of granite and trees, Hancock Lake. It was a 7-mile hike in total to the lake. The day before we had quickly discovered that the trail contained unexpected hindrances of its own.
Our first day we had hiked two miles, three miles short of our original goal. Now it was the morning of the second day and we sat around the map, strategizing our plan for the day. These things we now knew: the trail was seriously unmaintained, making hiking harder and slower than typical. We still had at least five miles to our intended destination, the last two of which were known to be steep uphill switchbacks, far from the little North Fork River and any water source. In our minds, seeds of doubt had been planted by the previous day's trials. Would the trail become more overgrown? Would we have the strength to make it to our destination? If not, would there be a nearby campsite to which we could retreat to, equipped with a water source? We looked to the map for answers and discussed options. It was clear that the only way to know what to do was to see what lay ahead. Hoisting our backpacks on our backs, we trudged forward, now with a feeling of excitement, as one does when venturing into the unknown.
As promised, the trail was beautiful. It wound delicately along the path of the river, sometimes coming to the water's edge and sometimes further away from it. Yet we could always hear the churning of its waters, an audible comfort to the weary backpacker. Wildflowers sprouted near the river's edge and great pine and cedar trees stood proudly upon all sides. The trail however, became more and more obstructed. The hiking followed a predictable pattern: Walk uphill and scramble around downed logs lying across the trail. Don’t forget to attentively look downwards though, for you may miss sneaky poison oak branches reaching out to you or lying directly in the middle of the trail. Is that a wall of overgrown bushes I see? The trail clearly runs into it, so therefore so will I. In this fashion we labored for several hours, until reaching a meadowy opening near the creek in which the trail seemed to stop. The meadow was dry, with stalks of blonde grasses shooting upwards to knee height. The ground consisted of dirt and grus, a sand composed of weathered granite. Where grass did not grow, green bushes stood head high. Trees were thinly populating the area and were charred black with no leaves sprouting from their dead branches. It was clear we were in a regrowth environment that had been burnt by a wildfire years ago. Looking ahead, we could see this habitat was vastly distributed throughout the land. Dropping our packs, we assessed. Where had the trail gone? It was likely that it had been destroyed by the fire. Still, one couldn’t help but be curious if it continued. I fancied to have a look around, and scrambling this way and that, I found what seemed to be the trail, winding stealthily through the new environment. It was clear the trail was much less than what it used to be, but some evidence of it still existed as if it had been reforged by previous hikers or animals. We chose to follow the trail as best we could.
This proved fruitful for several hundred feet, but soon the trail became shrouded by the ambiguity of the landscape. My companions and I were stumped and exhausted. Our hiking had now turned into pushing through bushes and struggling to gain footing in the loose sand. We had been paralleling the river, as the trail does on the map. Yet any trail that once existed was there no longer. Drawn by the soothing sound of the water, we forged a new path to the river's edge. Here we emptied our shoes of debris and bathed our scratches in the cool waters of the river. Needing energy, we then ate lunch and examined our predicament.
The trail no longer existed; that much was clear. Yet whether it reappeared further along its intended path, as the landscape changed we were not sure. It was midday and we had already laboured intensely to gain what little mileage we had: two and a half miles. In total we had hiked four and a half miles and we were a half-mile away from where the supposed trail diverged from the creek and climbed steeply upwards towards the lake. How we would reach that area seemed uncertain. In addition, any attempt to crosscountry through the landscape would be futile against the rough terrain and limited visibility. Following the creek on a nearby bank seemed impossible, as the banks were steep and where they leveled out, they were overgrown with shrubbery. It seemed clear to us that we would not make it to the intended lake this trip. We had even tried hiking up the creek itself, barefoot in its waters for a half mile until the trail diverged. But there was no trail to be found, nor any indication that the landscape would change to our benefit. We had been defeated. Yet in our hearts the sense of defeat was light and other emotions lingered there more powerfully.
Oddly content in our defeat, we sat on boulders among the rushing river and found ourselves laughing. What an adventure this had been! We had hiked only four and a half miles, yet the rigorous trail made our legs feel as though they had hiked twenty. There we found a sense of accomplishment. Furthermore we were in the wild, away from any sense of human impact; trail included. There we found peace. Although our trials had brought us hardly nearer to our original destination, we felt content with where we now sat, among the unknown sprawling wild that lay before us.
We enjoyed the river for several more hours. Little did we fear being lost, for the river would always guide us to where we had begun. Knowing that we could not go further up the trail, our best choice was now to hike back the way which we had come, heading towards the known designated campsite at which we had stayed the night before. We followed the river until we found the area where the trail had disappeared and from there we hiked back the way we had come. It was a tough hike. Our legs were already weary from hiking this same trail in the morning, and knowing what the trail had in store for us was no comfort. Yet we trudged onward, climbing over the same fallen logs, bursting through the same overgrown bushes, and delicately tip-toeing past the same pertruding poison oak bushes. At long last we reached our campsite just as the sun was leaving the tips of the trees and sinking below the western horizon. The campsite that had previously seemed only decent in our eyes now felt like home. We were glad to be back.
Upon the completion of this trip, we had moments of reflection, some internally and some shared with the others. What did we gain from a trip that to all others seemed a disaster? I have now realized how akin the experiences of our trip are, in a broader sense, to the experience that many of us are having now. We live in an uncertain world and more than ever as of late. So where in uncertainty do we find peace?
Just like the Little North Fork trail through the Marble wilderness, society's path of oppression and injustices is being burnt to the ground. And just as forests regrow, so are we. Yet the path is unclear, we know our end goals, but the trails that will take us there are still being created. And now more than ever we need a moment of quiet, an inner peace, a sense of calm to contrast all other tumultuous emotions. Thus we must find peace in what we can control by reverting to the basics of life that feed our beings.
Get outside for a breath of fresh air, walk among the trees and feel the calm of their silence. Connect with those you love and find comfort in their arms (or over the phone, as these times call for). Take care of your body and follow your heart. These are things which you can control, even when the world around you is spinning wildly out of control. So hold on to them tightly and weather the storm! Even the most terrible storms pass, leaving the sun to shine upon all who stand in its wake.
