Id's Cage

Get Lost.

All the talk about this boy who got lost in Utah had me thinking the other day. Mostly about what kind of idiot child gets lost on a gravel road; but also about the time I got lost in the woods.

I guess it was early to mid fall; and my buddy and I, who incidentally share the same name; had headed out to Linville Gorge for a day hike. Linville, located in a stretch of empty temperate rainforest called the Pisgah National Forest, is a pretty exciting place. Take the photo tour here. Lots of climbing and whitewater, without the milling masses of the x-games crew. We left early in the afternoon and drove out to the Pisgah. The park service layed a gravel road along the topmost ridgeline, and the trailheads all start there. You pick a parking area, pull off, and follow the trail to the bottom. Along the basin there's a few camping spots, and a trail that runs the length of the gorge. We chose a 'primitive' trail to the bottom of the gorge.

What the map means by primitive, we found out, was that it's a trail hardly used at all, so it can be easy to lose. The direction was blazed by a peice of that orange plastic tape knotted around a tree trunk every fifty or so feet. I guess a ranger or frequent visitor had come through at some point.

It's a pretty steep drop into our section of the gorge, the trail threads it's way down a mile long section of cliffs along the ridgeline. We half scrambled, half slid down this section through various crevices and fingers in the cliff face, then the trail calmed down quite a bit.

Below the cliff face, you could hear the river roaring in the gorge. It was a favorite recreation spot given the waterfalls and rapids, so we weren't surprised to hear it from so far away. We meandered through the forest, across a pretty impressive landslide as I recall, and finally reached the bottom. We spent most of the time free-climbing a few spots along the river, scrambling on the rocks in the water, taking photos, etc.

It got to be around three thirty or so before we started thinking maybe we should be heading back up the ridge where the car was parked. We gathered what little gear we had with us and started following the trail back up the ridge. The first leg was easy going, the markers were easy to see and the hiking wasn't strenuous. About the time we got to the steeper sections though, light was fading. I guess it was only about 4:30pm or so, but in a gorge, the sun sets behind the ridgeline early. It was this shadowless dusk that began to give us trouble. We started losing markers, sometime forging on and hoping to see one; only to stand there scanning the forest for another with absolutley no luck. We each had small daypacks on, so we pulled out a flashlight - this sad little MiniMag. We kept on pushing ahead, trying to follow landmarks and the increasingly rare orange blaze. We figured all we had to do was make it to the ridgeline where the gravel road was, and find our way home from there. So we just kept aiming at the hillside.

Darkfell somewhere after five. I knew we were lost then, because we should've been out of there by then. The flashlight was too dim to see anything by now, a condition worsened by the thick brush we were moving through. We kept on plodding though, knowing all we had to do was make the ridgeline. That was when it started drizzling. So there we are, lost without any warm dry clothes about to face a wet autumn night in the mountains. When we arrived at the base of the cliff faces we both looked at eachother and knew we were screwed. There was no way we were going to be able to pick our way through this mess in the slippery darkness. We poked around for an overhang in the rock to make our home for the night, but found nothing. My friend insisted we push forward, I thought we might as well just stick it out at one of the campsites on the valley floor. We would easily be able to find the blazes in the
morning, and the more time we spent up here, the wetter we got. He reluctantly sided with me, and we began to skid our way off the base of the
cliff. I slid down a short embankment and lost my favorite hat in the trees. My buddy dropped down behind me and slammed his knee on a rotting tree trunk. We clambered out of the dense forest and onto the valley trail hobbling, knotty haired, covered in mud and stinking like sweat.

We had a lighter, but there was no way we'd be able to get any fire started in this steady drizzle. Our focus was basically on trying to find a semi-dry spot to sleep under some pine branches. We wandered along the trail parallelling the river for a few minutes, when we heard a dog bark. I guess the thing could probably smell us or something, so we made our way towards the sound assuming it was accompanied by campers. That was how we met Blade and Steve. I think Steve was the other guy's name, but I know Blade for sure. You don't forget a name like Blade. As it turns out, these two guys were coworkers; architects from Greenville out on a weekend trip. The had a tarp and two tents set up, the stove was warming up some camp slop or another, and a pot of coffee was brewing. We sheepishly admitted to being lost (not that we could have hid the fact given our physical appearance) and the men offered us one of
their tents and a sleeping bag.

Now, I don't know if I've ever told anyone this; but my buddy and I
ended up sharing a sleeping bag that night. Not only that, but we had to share it in minimal clothing, given the fact that everything we had was
soaked pretty well. We were so cold from the wetness and the fall air that we had no choice. There was weak protest from both sides, but sleeping without the bag was not an option. So there I was, stinking like 80 different kinds of ass, cold, wet, and sharing a sleeping bag with an equally unappealing man. We fell asleep pretty damn quick though.

The next morning we got up, helped the guys from Greenville pull up stakes, and hiked back up the ridge. We had a few laughs about yesterday's events, said our thankyou's, jumped in the truck and headed back home. At this time, I was still living in the dorms; so we got a pretty good razzing from our other friends. One thing I distinctly remember is how horribly we smelled. I mean, we were only out there for maybe 18 or 20 hours, and we stunk. The worst part was I didn't even know I stunk until I got out of the shower and walked into my room. My clothes from the day before made the entire place reek.

I'd do it again, minus the sleeping situation. These days, if i got lost in the woods, I'd probably see it as an opportunity for a little severly needed peace and quiet.
"You were out of the office Monday without asking for vacation time."
"Yeah, I went camping and got lost in the woods, had to spend the night in the dirt. How come you people weren't worried?"

Posted by Id at June 22, 2005 05:03 PM