The First Backpacking Trip: Bad Vibes

And so our journey began, a short jaunt from our well worn local roads to new, rural back roads, on the quest to Sugar Hill State Forest. We found a mix of scenic beauty and trailer homes, proudly displaying American, Trump and confederate flags.  Sophia had picked the trail on the map.  I wanted her to feel a part of the planning and she was bouncing with excitement.  

With just one minor adjustment we found the designated parking and headed off, house and food on our backs, Fritz laden like a mule, and Zora skipping along.  Quickly finding the Finger Lakes Trail marker, we almost immediately crossed a creek, lovely with dappled sun and blazing beebalm, but pushed on.  The goal was to hike to water, a ribbon of blue on the map, and make camp there.  We had a late start, but patience was in order for Sophia's first hike with a pack.  Eventually, Fritz was released and we followed the white blazes through forest, then meadow and then across private land.  The signs shouted, "No Trespassing!

  

Posted!  Keep to Trail!" as Fritz pursued a young deer in the underbrush. We felt panicky at his disregard for the signs and our pleading commands to return.  He came back panting, pack askew.  With relief, we were soon back on State land and climbing up, up, up and then down, down, down and out through hot nettles and briers that tore at our legs as the mud sucked at our boots.  Was this the river on the map?  No, a wooden bridge was ahead, rotten and unsteady to take us to a pine snag with shallow, rocky trickles and muddy, barely moving deeps coated in an oily sheen of pine sap glistening in the sun.

 

No matter.  We were as far as we could go and the water was cool and wet.  Sophia waded as I tucked our tent among the pines, filtered water, fed the exhausted dogs and started dinner.  Then out of the water my girl climbed, covered in tiny, tightly clinging leaches that had to be battled before she lassoed a nearby pine to prepare our bear hang for the night. 

 

Trail treasure - woodpecker feather

Reconstituting the "best ever" backpacking pasta carbonara!

The hours planning and peering into our dehydrator had paid dividends - pasta carbonara!  We inhaled dinner and retired to our tent for a bedtime book and snuggle. His first experience camping, Fritz had to be coaxed (dragged) into the tent where he spent the night with his nose mashed against the screen window to keep watch.  By chapter two of our book, I was begging for sleep despite the road noises (we had hiked to a "river" near a highway) and perpetual shots (presumably the steady rhythm of fireworks from a house nearby). 

Slumber in the heat was fitful, but at last we succumbed until I was awoken by glaring headlights and a growling engine. What? Thankful that we had moved well off the trail and out of sight, I listened as a four-wheeler made its way across the water and then quickly ripped up and down the nearby country road, with fireworks interspersed for emphasis.  I worried now, not of bears, but of threatening people. How stupid was I to not let anyone know where we were hiking? Finally, as sounds of the zipping four-wheeler faded, I yielded once again to sleep.  The next time I was startled out of sleep by, "Momma! I have to go! Can you go with me?".  "Uuugh," I groaned, "I'm sleeping." To this my brave Sophia answered, "OK, I'll go by myself."  Of course I couldn't let this happen and we communed with midnight's nature near our pine snag and then sank gratefully back onto our pads. As we chatted a nearby light flicked back and forth as if a swiveling flashlight was searching for a path, only it was from the opposite direction of the trail! "Shhhh! No more sounds." I instructed, waiting. Nothing. No noise. No snapping of twigs to imply steps.  Other than our neighborly frogs, not a peep reached our ears, yet it happened two more times. Sophia determined it was a drone, certain she saw blinking red lights when looking up from the tent. But why? My sleepy mind relived movie scene horrors of hikers attacked in the woods by hostile locals as I again drifted off, hoping Sophia hadn't heard the distant call of coyotes.

The sun was climbing fast as we finally emerged from our tent for a hot breakfast.  We cleaned, rolled, and shoved our household back into our packs and prepared for an alternative journey back to the car.  This time we avoided the hostile private land, preferring to take the steep snowmobile trail all the way back across the little creek where we lunched and dabbled in the puddles there.  

"Ghost Pipes" found along the trail

Soon we popped out onto the gravel road we had explored the day before when looking for parking.  The way was exposed to the midday sun from above and heat radiated up from the tar sprayed gravel.  Fritz, in his black woolen coat, panted and lumbered so slowly that I eventually relieved him of his pack, adding it to my own burden.  I set the pace, knowing we were nearly to our parking and that inspiration was waning, but Zora and Sophia fell further and further behind.  They too were panting and kept stopping for water even when the lane to our car was in sight.  We stopped for water and rest repeatedly as I dug deep for kind patience and pointed out the nearing dirt lane. Eventually I scooped up the little dog, her fur sticking to my sweaty skin, and carried her the remainder of the way.  Kid and critters collapsed when we reached the car, slurping water.  We had done it!  But what had Sophia Thought?  Would she do it again?  Had the strange overnight happenings given her the same bad vibes I had?  Only time will tell...

Lesson learned - Day 2 hike through nettles with pants to guard the legs