While I was visiting my son on Vashon Island last week, he suggested that, to help me continue my GR20 training, he would take me to a trail system with some elevation gain.
I stuck my computer into my day pack to give it some weight but then forgot to include my granddaughter's 760-page Harry Potter book I had meant to add, so I wasn't carrying much weight. Ela downloaded a map of the trails onto my phone and used his finger to draw a red line on the route I should take, reducing the bewildering tangle of trails to a comprehensible hike up the mountain. He would ride his bicycle on the same trail system, and we would meet back at the car in two hours. Maybe we would run into each other along the way.
Confident I could find my way with both the blue dot of the GPS telling me where I was and Ela's map telling me where I should be, I shouldered my day pack and started up the hill.
The trails were even more bewildering than the map indicated. The blue GPS dot was clumsy and slow. In spite of backtracking every now and then and in spite of taking an unnecessary loop, I reached the ridge, a little late, by my reckoning, and emerged through the woods to the top of the gravel pit, where I was on solid ground, navigationally speaking.
The scene was stunning. In a cloudless blue sky, high over the water of Puget Sound mirroring the same hue, Mt. Rainier loomed snowy and shining, comically diminishing the line of snowy Cascade peaks on either side of it. Vegetation smoothed the rough surfaces of the gravel pit. A rusting trestle with a long arm reminded me of the story of this park: that the man who owned the gravel pit was on his way to digging billions of dollars worth of gravel from the hills, alarming the islanders at the loss of land, scientists at the loss of critical island habitat, and vacationers at the loss of beaches, woods, ecologies, and recreation; that after more than a decade of wrangling, the court ruled against the gravel pit; that the county then bought the now "worthless" property for a park, with an extensive trail system for mountain bikers, horse-back riders, and hikers.
Across the pit, I could see numerous route choices. As I pulled out my phone to check the map, I noticed with alarm that the GPS had eaten up my battery power. I would have to turn off the phone and rely on my generally unreliable memory. If I couldn't find the trail, I thought, I could always go back the way I had come.
Just as I was about to turn off the phone, it rang. It was Ela. He said he was afraid I would think I was on the wrong trail out of the gravel pit because first I would be beating my way through gorse and blackberries, after which I would go through stinging nettles and then past a patch of poison oak crowding the trail on the left with a sheer drop to the ocean on the right. "You'll be on the right trail," he said. "Watch out for the dangers!" and he was off on his bicycle again.
Down into the gravel pit – and down and down – I went. Way down. Just before I reached the water, I found the trail with the gorse, blackberries, nettles, and poison oak. Past the various dangers, I started climbing again and came out, as expected, at a watch tower and a paved road.
There I wasn't sure what to do. Should I cross the road and take the trail on the other side? Or follow the dirt road past the tower? A sign on the paved road pointed to Dockton, close to where Ela and I had started. I used the last of my battery power to call Ela. When I suggested that maybe, since I no longer had a navigational tool, I should just walk to Dockton, he said, "Is that what you want to do?"
"No," I said. "I had rather walk the trails."
"Take the dirt road past the watch tower and up the hill," he instructed. "Walk along the top of the gravel pit. [I was hoping my phone would last through all these directions!] When you get to a gravel road, cross it to a trail into the woods. From there, take every downhill trail, and you'll get to the car."
I quickly said thanks and shut off the phone, then started up the hill with renewed confidence. At the top, even though I was an hour behind, I detoured to an overlook to take in the stupendous view (Mt. Rainier, Puget Sound, blue sky, Cascade Mountains) before continuing along the top of the gravel pit. There were other spur trails, but I was having only vague doubts about being on the right trail when I saw a mountain biker riding towards me – Ela! After my phone call, he had figured he could meet me in just about that very spot. We chatted for a few minutes before he rode off in the direction he was going and I continued to the trails through the woods.
Confusingly, all trails led downhill, so there were still choices to make, but I knew I was generally right. After about twenty minutes I recognized that I was on the short steep trail I had taken out of the parking lot three hours earlier. Just at that moment, Ela came riding up behind me.
What a great hike it had been, full of navigation challenges, good up-and-down training for the GR20, spectacular views, great weather, triumph over dangers: gorse, blackberries, stinging nettles, poison oak, and loss of battery power – all courageously overcome – a good time with my son, and another day of strengthening for the long trail on Corsica.
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