A Non-Hiker Goes Hiking, Part 2

Before turning in for the night, my sister told me I may hear strange noises outside my tent: squirrels, birds, or some other woodland creature. I slept pretty well inside the tent in my sleeping bag and wool blanket and, kept fairly warm. After the three mile hike earlier in the day, I probably could have slept standing up. But I woke briefly at 3:00 AM and heard… nothing. Absolutely nothing. I live in the city so I am used to hearing distant cars, the occasional siren, a dog barking, something. But here there was nothing; no people, no vehicles, no birds, no wind, just silence. It was eerie.

I fell back to sleep and woke again just after 5:00 AM and heard a rustle in the leaves just outside my tent. In fact, it sounded as if it was just by my head. It breaks down like this: Something rustling; thin fabric of the tent; my head. So then my mind starts racing. What if whatever is outside the tent can smell my head through the tent, consider me an interloper, and attacks? Can I move fast enough to escape the slashing paw through the fabric and go for the door by my feet, undo BOTH the screen door zipper and front door zipper, and then escape before I’m eaten alive? Or would I emerge to find the rest of the coyotes waiting for me after having been driven from the tent per their plan? Or would I find the four members of the Manson family armed with their bloody machetes and no backpacks?

However, the rustling picked up becoming louder, and then I realized as the sun was coming up that the wind was growing stronger since the mountain was beginning to warm, and the cold and heat started to mingle. Nothing odd, just nature.

My brother-in-law had emerged, started a fire, and put a pot of coffee on a portable gas-powered heater. I had never had percolated coffee before, especially in the cool, crisp morning as the sun emerged and slowly poured onto the small town below. I also had no idea that it takes about an hour to prepare so standing atop a tall mountain while waiting for a hot cup o’ joe was a new experience for me. After being assured there was nothing like campfire coffee, we ate our breakfast of orange cranberry nut muffins, dehydrated eggs, and instant (as in just add water) pudding. It was very delicious. And there is nothing like campfire coffee first thing in the morning.

Shortly afterward we walked a little ways to what was the true summit, a slightly higher level maybe a hundred yards away where an old ranger outpost once stood. And near there was a little round disc on a stone (so many large stones that I felt like I was in “The Lord of the Rings”!). The disc was placed there by a geological survey confirming the elevation of Dugger Mountain. We were now, officially, on the second highest peak in Alabama. By the way, the first highest peak, Mount Cheaha, could be seen across the other side of the valley below.

We went back to the camp and packed up everything we had unpacked the evening before, and kicked dead leaves to cover our tent sites. Leave no footprint, they said. I should mention here briefly about the different types of plant life and insects there. The trip could have been a great nature expedition. Moss covered many of the rocks and fallen trees, much of it either faded or a different type of greenery. There were several purple violets, but the higher we went we saw violets with markings that could only be described as daisies; each petal had a yellow circle near the center with white stripes coming from it. In fact, when I first saw it I thought it was a tiny daisy on the violet. Nope, just the way it looked. There were also green plants that looked like a clover to me, but were purple on the back side. My brother-in-law made the observation of the assorted rocks—can I call them boulders?—that had emerged from the mountain, obvious signs of various stages of formation and development of this particular peak. We had to be careful where we walked; again, we were fortunate to have our hiking poles (which honestly, he didn’t need).

We begin our descent down the mountain, which was much quicker than the ascent the previous afternoon. As we hiked down, the weather became warmer, and there seemed to be more insects out. A few flies landed on me on the three miles down and I was surprised to see how big they were; about the size of my thumbnail. They landed and were not intimidated when I shooed them away. We also saw black butterflies with white stripes in the midst of several black moths with white dots; at first glance I thought they too were butterflies until I realized these tiny creatures, no bigger than my fifth fingernail, must have been born that small since butterflies come from caterpillars. There were also many other butterflies and moths, but the insect that amazed me the most was a dung beetle rolling dung (what else?). I’ve seen them on television shows, but did not expect to see any in the Alabama woods.

Finally, we reached the bottom and came to the side of the road where our car waited for us. A good sign. The Toyota Camry that had been in front of us was gone. Our car was fine. It had not been stolen or broken into, and we had not been mercilessly killed. Once again, a little more faith in humanity has been restored. And yes, I am embarrassed and ashamed for thinking the worst of those kind people. Maybe that’s why people go hiking. To get away from the hustle-and-bustle of the everyday world and get back to nature, to a simpler way of life. To realize that people are people, and that there’s a world that is cruel and harsh, but also very beautiful and wonderful. It gives us an opportunity to respect nature, respect others, and to test ourselves, to take us beyond our comfort zones and bring us to a place where we can step outside ourselves and be a part of something that existed before we were born and will remain long after we’re gone. To rejuvenate, to reclaim that part within us that lies dormant, thanks to the conveniences of our modern lives. To become one with nature and find what it means to be human.