Day 95: Slippery Slopes and Corkscrew Fingers

Summary

Aug 20th

Rt 302 to slick rock

NOBO mile # 1845.4

Daily mileage 1.0

Total mileage 821.7

Slept OK in the lodge last night; the rooms here have box fans, so the white noise of the fan was very much like being at home. One of my roommates was up around 5:30, so I was awake, but managed to doze until a little before the 6:30 breakfast start time.

I ate well, on top of the excellent pasta dinner from the night before, since the upcoming climb would be serious challenge. I was all packed and ready well before the scheduled time for the shuttle at 8:30. Getting into my hiking clothes was difficult, since I hadn’t had an opportunity to wash them, and the hiker funk was thick, especially on my t-shirt. Once dressed, I didn’t want to be around anyone else, so I sat outside on a bench near the shuttle pick-up area.

The forecast for the day called for a brief shower in the morning, so i wasn’t surprised as the sky darkened, and it started to spit. I was a little alarmed, though, as the intensity increased, and the sky to the northwest continued to look threatening. The brief shower ended up lasting around 45 minutes, and it really came down for a while. I was glad to see it let up before the shuttle arrived, but i knew the trail would be wetter than i had hoped, and the Webster Cliff trail has some tricky areas of steep climbing and loose slate.

When the shuttle arrived, there was a lot of confusion, since the driver’s list did not show anyone signed up for the ride to Webster Cliffs. I had to go to the front desk to confirm that I was all set before he was comfortable with taking me, and then as we were about to leave, a large party of folks showed up claiming to have reservations on the same shuttle, which threw the driver for a loop. In the end, it was all straightened out, but we left later than I had hoped.

The other seven folks on the shuttle were planning on hiking to Mitspah Springs Hut to spend the night before continuing on Presidential Ridge. My plan was to hike to Lake of the Clouds, hopeful to get a work-for-stay gig there. Mitspah Hut was my goal for lunch. So I got out ahead of the large group, maybe pushing a little too hard to start, since I was tiring pretty quickly.

The trail was not too challenging to begin with, so I probably made the first mile in about a half an hour. Then, i made a misstep. It happens all the time to me: I start to put my foot down, my brain says, “that’s not a good place to put your foot”, but your body is committed by the laws of physics to complete the motion. Then you feel the foot slipping across the surface of the slick rock, your body passes the tipping point, and you are falling back. All the while your brain is trying to repeal the laws of physics, to make time go backwards, to get a “do-over”. Video games have spoiled some of us, giving us multiple chances to try again. Life is not like that, is it?

I felt a sharp pain in my left hand as I pulled myself back to my feet, and, when I looked, I saw that the little finger of my right hand was bent unnaturally, looking a little like a corkscrew.

Those who know me well, will understand that my first thoughts were not about how this was going to impact my hike. My first thought was, “No, not my fretting hand!!” Yeah, the musician in me wins out over the AT hiker. Hands down, no contest!

But then, of course, while still feeling the desire to rewind, the question was “how bad is it?” I quickly determined that I had a dislocation of the knuckle closest to the hand, not a break. I even went so far as to think I could pop it back into place myself (which was a fair assumption), but had heard stories of resenting dislocations as being pretty painful. I decided not to try to hike forward with it, especially since I hadn’t even reached the difficult terrain for the day, and because, in some ways, I had been looking for a sign that I should end my journey, if only the northbound piece. I also knew that the other group of hikers was behind me, and I hoped there would be someone in that group who knew some wilderness first aid, and could reset the joint.

So I started back down, coming fairly quickly to the some of the group. I asked them if they knew how to reset a dislocated finger, and they said they didn’t know, but someone else in their group might, and that he was behind them. I thanked them and started down again. The rest of the group was literally 20 feet down the trail, so I came on them immediately. There was indeed one among them who had NOLS first aid training, and he was willing to try. He did a quick assessment, and confirmed that it wasn’t broken, then he did a quick pull and I felt the knuckle pop back into place. It didn’t even hurt that much when he did it. Then he taped my little finger to my ring finger to act as a temporary splint.

Meeting these folks is a different kind of trail magic. There are times when one’s morale is low and coming across a cooler with sodas is what one needs. Then there are situations where one needs medical attention, and there is someone there who knows how to help. My encounter with O+ comes to mind, as is this obvious example. I thanked them profusely, then continued down the path. I toyed with the idea that I might turn around and continue up the trail, but thought about the number of times I had needed full use of both hands on the rock scrambles in the past days, and knowing the Webster Cliffs trail can be treacherous, I didn’t toy with the idea for long.

As I approached the road, I started to smell wood smoke, and I wondered if there was a campground that was near enough that I’d smell smoke. I crossed the bridge over the river and saw a stealth campsite just off the trail in front of me. It had a fire ring, and the smoldering remains of a fire. I remembered seeing a tent in that area on my way up the trail earlier. So whoever had camped there had lit a fire, and left with it smoldering. I walked over to it, and saw that they had been burning trash, because there was a incompletely melted plastic wrapper in the middle of the coals. So these folks had violated multiple LNT (Leave No Trace) principles. On top of my injury, this really ticked me off. I used my water bottles to make sure the coals were completely out, and retrieved the trash to pack it out.

Then I was out by the road, thumb extended for the second time in three days. Again, there was a kind soul, actually, a couple from Maine who were heading up to park at the Crawford Path to hike to the Mitspah Springs Hut, and take in the eclipse from the ridge. They brought me back to the Highland Center, where I called Debbie, and asked if she could come up and get me (again).

So, after 821.7 miles, 95 days, almost 8 states, nearly 4 months after I began, I’m home again. It feels like the adventure is over. I might still go south, but I have some soul searching to do, and Deb and I need to do some talking.