A Good Excuse

Day 343: WARNING: this is not a happy essay. Read at your own risk.

I cannot recall the last time I turned back before reaching a hiking goal. Today I did it not once, but twice. In all honesty, it was probably unreasonable to expect success in reaching my first choice of destination. It involved cross-country travel in steep terrain, and I was only about a third of the way there when I decided I was asking too much from an injured shoulder. By the time I got to my car, I was already considering whether or not to head home to the ice pack which has been a nearly constant companion for the last two months. My stubborn streak chose that moment to exert itself, so I hooked my thumb in the waistbelt of my pack to take the weight off the arm and headed up the closed road on foot. In a mile or so, I came to an obscure, disused trailhead and this sign which, under normal circumstances would not have deterred me in the least, but I was already too hot and in too much pain to continue on more than a quarter mile. The sign suggested an excuse, so not even reaching the ginger patch I'd hoped to visit, let alone the suspension bridge another two miles in, I turned around and came out.

As I have mentioned to Kevin and others, this getting-old thing sucks. Between the pandemic, gas prices and people swarming into the backcountry like ants, I have not taken much exercise this summer, and my legs remind me of the fact every time I ask them to carry me anywhere. But it goes beyond that. The Queen's passing hit me hard. I watched her coronation. I watched her funeral. I am left with the overwhelming feeling that my era is near its close. I've seen a lot of "hazardous conditions" in my time, and I've grown weary of struggling to surmount them. I'm not sure I have the strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other much longer.

Up Tahoma Creek

Day 157: "The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft a-gley." I was not aware of any plan for the Park to delay the March 16 early opening of the Westside Road gate when I left home this morning with a goal of Lake George and possibly Gobbler's Knob in mind, but upon arriving, I found said gate closed and locked. A quick review of my options and driving times convinced me to make the best of the situation by walking the road regardless. Thus it was that I found myself taking lunch on the rocky floodplain of Tahoma Creek, roughly five miles from my starting point.

It's not pretty here, but it's interesting. There has been very little regrowth since the floods of 2006, a few alders and other scrub-brush along the channel margins, a pioneer wildflower here and there, some thin moss. There are no lichens to speak of, and few fungi on the abundant, sand-scoured wood debris. In a perfunctory census, I turned up one bird's-nest fungus, a sparse and tiny colony of Tremella (jelly fungus), and a few shelf "conks" which were probably already established on trees uprooted during the flooding. Still, it's fascinating to see what returns most quickly, what tries to take hold and fails. To the average visitor, this area is a wasteland; to a naturalist, it's a golden opportunity to learn from the greatest teacher of all, Nature itself.