Shit. I’m lost.
I’ve been ignoring the feeling in my gut, like I often do. I’m off-trail. At first, my mistake isn’t obvious. There’s a faint trail stretching ahead of me where countless other hikers recently walked. But the shrubbery begins to swallow this path and I realize I’m not on the Appalachian Trail anymore.
We’re supposed to hike over Tinker Cliffs. Instead, I’m under them. But I’m stubborn. I hate to be wrong. And I figured that even if I was wrong, maybe there was a way to reconnect to the trail up ahead. Twenty minutes later, I’ve added two pointless miles onto my journey, and I turn around feeling defeated.
Tinker Cliffs are situated in central Virginia. They’re an iconic hike in the region, featuring choppy outcroppings and valley vistas with greenery extending in every direction. Other attractions in the area include the famous Macafee Knob and Dragon’s Tooth. When I made it to the start of the cliffs, I somehow managed to miss a right turn that would bring me up and over the ridge. After backtracking the distance I’d already covered, the turn seems entirely obvious. How had I missed it to begin with? But I’m frazzled, and frustrated at my slip up.
Everyone always talks about how you have to be a 2000-miler to be an Appalachian Trail thru-hiker. But what about all of the bonus miles? The walks to distant water sources? Town miles? Or, like I always seemed to manage, miles from getting lost on the Appalachian Trail. Shit.
Being Left Behind
But I think what’s really bothering me is that I’m behind my hiking crew. I don’t really have a deadline other than the artificial ones that me and my hiking companions make for ourselves. But I hate being left behind, and my hiker partner is off ahead somewhere. It makes me feel like my faults are more obvious — like I’m not as strong as everyone else. And my anxiety fuels me until I leave everyone else behind. It’s my unsettled heart that launches me forward. I don’t want to be the last one to make it. So, I try to be the first.
I’d hiked over 500 miles to get to this point, and I’m still getting lost. My sense of direction isn’t bad. But sometimes my mind wanders and I stop paying attention.
One time, I even started walking backwards. An encounter with a familiar hiker stopped me in my tracks. I hadn’t been headed in the wrong direction long enough to be branded by my mistake. But I hoped my companion wouldn’t say anything to discredit my efforts. I already felt like I didn’t know what I was doing. My success was a fluke. I was making progress by mistake — not because I’d earned it. No one in my family could operate a compass or set up a tent. So, I fumbled by way through one silly scenario after another, determined to complete the Appalachian Trail.
Getting Un-lost on the Appalachian Trail
Nearly an hour after taking a wrong turn below Tinker Cliffs, I managed to right my wrong. I see my hiking partner enjoying the vista from on top of the cliffs. And I don’t stop. I don’t want him to see the tears in my eyes. He already sees my clumsiness on a daily basis. I don’t want him to see the marks that nature’s shrubbery left on my legs while I bushwhacked through my own stubbornness.
“Mouse!” He yells through a mouthful of food.
I know he expects me to join him. Instead, I wave and keep walking, hoping to leave my embarrassment behind me.
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