The hot spots on my feet were still raw and angry from the 21 miles I had recently hiked on my first AT trip, along with an additional section of about the same distance. But here I was again—eager to get started on what I now knew was equally as beautiful as it was challenging.  Only this time, I was challenging myself in a different way. Literally.

     The details of my earlier trip on this particular section of the AT had oozed out of me as soon as I got back home to Charleston. I gave descriptive accounts of the views, the tranquil settings, and the abundance of wild ponies to anyone who would listen. So one dear friend begged me to take her, and I thought if I did it right on the heels of returning, I might be able to remember the way. I unfolded the map of the trail and began jotting down notes. I closed my eyes and tried to visualize where I entered the woods, the gates I passed through, and the large trees I climbed over. We had known each other a long time, and she knew I was directionally challenged, but she also knew how important this would be for me. She arrived at my house at 6:00 the following Friday morning, full of trust and confidence in my ability to lead her all by myself on this amazing trail.

     I had brought along a copy of the trail map and detailed specifics of the loop we would be taking, along with the personal notes I had made. Even with all of the above, I wasn’t sure how to start the trail. I remembered there were two options, and we had taken the one through the woods. I just couldn’t remember where it was. After following the printed details (complete with color photos), something still didn’t feel right. We walked a little farther down a paralleling road, and I recognized the short boardwalk into the woods. Confident this was the entrance we had taken, I soon doubted my decision as I realized this was actually the way we had exited the woods at the end of the trip. I didn’t remember going in the same way.

     I decided it might be best if we just started over and walked down the road to a place I really did remember. It was a shaky start, with the hot asphalt and equally intense sun beaming down on us for about a quarter of a mile, but I found the trail and regained some of my confidence. And my friend never complained or appeared the least bit frustrated – unlike my former husband, who screamed at me on vacation because I couldn’t find a road based on the map I had been given in a foreign country. My friend and I actually began to laugh as I confused a small stream for one I remembered being deeper with rushing water—panicking about the low water supply, or when I was so sure we needed to take a right, and the sign clearly said the AT was to the left. Slowly but surely, I recognized more and more landmarks as they appeared in our path, and we soon walked out of the woods and into the familiar open field to find a campsite for the night.

     Only a handful of other hikers had set up in the same location, and given the fact that it was a very large open field, we still felt pretty isolated. We gathered enough tree limbs to start a small fire and warm our dinner. We then treated ourselves to a hot cup of coffee, and my friend encouraged a walk down a graveled road that we assumed could only lead to something wonderful. We were right, as every turn in the road presented a more beautiful view of the surrounding mountains. We kept going until we began to see tiny lights in the towns below and realized the sun was beginning its bedtime routine.

     We returned to our campsite and added the last of the limbs to reignite the fire. Then we noticed something large moving through the shrubs. A solo pony had made his way down the hillside from the others who had now gathered for their evening meal.  He was beautiful with variations of grey, black, and white coloring. His mane was long and thick, and it appeared he’d been around for quite a few years. But there was something interesting about the way he so majestically stood there—not eating—just slowly pacing back and forth, then stopping to meet our stare. It was a strange feeling as my friend then concluded it was her mother watching over us. I laughed and voiced my skepticism since her mother was still alive, but we both agreed it was a sign of protection. We slept very soundly that night.

     After enjoying a leisurely morning with more coffee, we hit the trails (in the right direction) for a full day of backpacking. I was excited to share and revisit the most beautiful part of the trip. This time, an entire herd of Longhorn cattle was grazing on the hill opposite the horse paddock. We admired them from a distance and were thankful an old barbed wire fence separated us from their enormous and potentially dangerous horns.

     The magnificent views, the light breeze mixed with warm rays of sunshine, the steep climbs that worked every muscle in our bodies, the cold and refreshing taste of the mountain streams, and the abundance of wild ponies—were all just as welcomed and appreciated as they had been the weeks before. It was a perfect day in a more than perfect place, and we suddenly found ourselves again arriving in a picturesque open field with mountain vistas to all the valleys below. Day two was behind us, and I had gotten us there with no hesitation and no wrong turns.

     We dropped our gear and walked around to find the best place to set up camp. I remembered it being quite windy, so we chose a downhill spot and staked our tents as aerodynamically as possible. As my friend photographed and played with the ponies that were literally chewing at her skirt, I sipped on a fresh cup of coffee and took in the views for the last time that day. We ate our dinners and called it a night…until the wind suddenly changed directions.

     There may have been some warning if I’d actually paid attention to the weather reports, but just after midnight, 30 to 40-mph winds came out of nowhere. The fly on my tent flapped hard on both sides, and the vestibule had come loose from the center stake. I peered out to see my friend’s tent puffed out like a balloon but still tethered from all directions. I laid back down, but my one-man tent now seemed smaller—more narrow than usual. I had lost a corner stake. I quickly shoved my sleeping pad and bag in that corner and pushed my back up tightly against the side of the tent. I should have reset the stakes, but I knew if I got out, there would be nothing to hold it down.  I also knew we were in for a very long night as I stayed awake and fought the pressure of the wind behind my back.

     It appeared the sun was as lazy as I was the next morning, and the wind had never gone to sleep. When daylight finally came, I packed up everything inside my tent and then went over to check on my friend. She had just dozed off after a night similar to mine, but I woke her, and we finished packing quickly to head for the trail and out of the wind. We found a nice spot to stop and make our coffee before finishing the trail loop. It was a nice reprieve, and so was the smooth pine needle-laden path that would take us back to our car.

     As we neared our destination, a very handsome backpacker appeared behind us, and we stopped to let him pass through. We saw him again as we reached our cars, and each of us had a lovely conversation with ‘Will.’ He was the last to hit the showers and emerged with nothing more than a white towel wrapped around his waist. With broad, tanned shoulders and a head of dark thick hair, I wasn’t even sure he was the same person. Flustered, I quickly wrote down the info for our adventure group and handed it over.

     I guess I was gloating a little on the way home. I was proud of myself for being the leader of our trip and actually getting us back to the same place we started. It was liberating and a very proud accomplishment for me. And I’m also able to recognize those rare moments when a great guy steps in front of me—and I can very quickly come to the realization that, much like a puppy dog, I’d be willing to follow him anywhere…and that might not always be such a bad thing.