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MY WORD - 6/4/2008
(by Holly Stewart - OpEd Columnist - June 04, 2008)
Adventures in Hewitt
Modern man lives in a highly synthetic kind of existence. Rarely does he test all his powers or find himself whole. But in the hills and on the water the character of a man comes out.
—ABRAM T. COLLIER
There’s nothing quite as satisfying as keeping a promise you’ve made to yourself. Since March I’ve been spending as much active time outdoors as I possibly can. I have woken up at the tender age of 42 to find myself fat, out of shape and terribly unhappy about my overall condition, physical and otherwise. I’ve never been skinny, but until a recently I could still climb a couple flights of stairs without getting winded. Perhaps I’m only reaping the effects of the worst of my bad habits of days passed. Tequila and tobacco continue collecting their toll long after the ride has ended.
I started out small, training on the treadmill while soggy late-winter snows covered the muddy ground. When the weather improved, I hiked a few miles up the Appalachian Trail, which passes north of my neighborhood. I bought trail maps and new walking shoes. I continued to take short treks a mile or two in length whenever I had a few hours to spend in the woods. Housework, laundry and shopping would just have to wait, I told myself. They did.
Longer hikes are reserved for Sundays. I’ve already written about the five-mile excursion I took with my brother and sister through the Upshaw Preserve. Just before Memorial Day the same sister accompanied me for seven miles through the isolated forests and swamps of Wawayanda State Park. We saw some amazing things on that journey, including a humming-bird, an oriole, beautiful wildflowers and massive trees.
In between those two long Sunday walks, I foolishly attempted a third on a Thursday afternoon by myself. My plan was to park on Warwick Turnpike and walk up the unfamiliar Bearfort Ridge Trail. Then I’d make my way home via connecting trails with which I had some previous experience. I asked a friend if he’d mind driving me back to get my car that evening. At 3:30 p.m. I began my ascent up the mountain.
According to all the literature I have on area hiking, this route appeared to be around four miles in length. I thought I’d be home by 7:30 at the latest. Unfortunately, I didn’t take into account the rough and steep terrain I encountered every several hundred yards. Scrambling up and down rocks and negotiating a 10-percent grade takes much longer than regular walking. The views were stupendous to the east and I had to stop to soak them in. There was also a serene swamp where I lingered too long.
At long last, the Bearfort Ridge Trail ended at another eastern vista over Greenwood Lake and all points beyond. I checked my watch. It was already almost 7 p.m. and I had no idea how long it would take me to get to familiar surroundings. Things got rough as I crossed the Ernest Walter Trail to the west, traversing several steep rocky outcrops and wet ravines. The sun dipped over the horizon. With a great sinking panic I realized I did not have a flashlight. I was also almost out of water.
I focused on the task at hand and pushed myself to go on, even though I was quite tired and wanted desperately to rest. I found myself mumbling “It’s OK, just keep going, you’ll be all right, just keep walking, you’ll get out in time.” This became my mantra for the next mile or so. My surroundings became unimportant; I saw only where I was to place my next step. A sense of dread rose from my gut and I had to repress the urge to throw up. What would I do if the daylight ran out? My cell phone was getting a signal, but I did not relish the idea of calling my husband to tell him I was stuck in the dark on top of the mountain less than a mile from home.
Finally the trail blazes turned from yellow to white and I knew my goal was in reach, but still I could not afford to stop to catch my breath. Twenty minutes later I stepped onto the asphalt roadway. It had never been so welcome in all my life. I walked into the house at 8:40, just as darkness fell soundly.
Live and learn, they say. If it doesn’t kill you, it makes you stronger. I learned these lessons the hard way: Know your limits, allow yourself plenty of extra time and for gosh sakes, carry a flashlight at all times!
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