2023 Mt. Goddard 5b: King River to Post Corral Creek

 As we put our backpacks on and headed out into what would be the last leg of the hike for Day 5, our guides let us know what the plan was.  We would all start out together but the guides would move to the front and head on, once to stand a stream crossing (and make sure we got across), the second to get to the camp site and begin getting dinner ready.  With the rain increasing in volume, we headed into the forest.

The forest was thick - thick enough that what was a fairly intense rainstorm became a light series of drops, except where the tree cover cleared out.  Within half a mile I found myself hiking by myself, due not to any kind of illness or ill-feeling but rather simply the speed of my hiking: too slow to keep up with the fast hikers (and those with long legs), and quicker than those that were sauntering.

As I continue on, I ran into the stream with The Commissioner waiting.  After looking at the options and risk for crossing without getting my feet wet, I simply walked through the stream.  I was done (and, it seems, am done) with excessively going out of my way to avoid getting my feet wet.  Feet and boots dry.  Risking taking your backpack in as well seems like a poor gamble.

The Commissioner smiled.  Good choice, he said.  It is what most hikers do.

With that, I continued on.

The rain continued.  The Commissioner eventually caught up to me and passed me by.   And once again, I was alone.

And then, I began to freak myself out I was lost.

The pictures here do not do justice to how I remember that part of the hike.  It seems far lighter than I recall it being, and does not account for the continuing rain and the fact that the trail did not seem as clear cut as it does looking at the pictures now, from the safety of a warm house in the daylight.  But as I continued to march on in the silence of the trees and dripping of the rain, I sincerely began to fear that I was off trail.

I was concerned enough that I actually started taking an inventory of what I had on me in terms of food, water, and shelter (which was pretty good on all counts).  How long would it be before someone realized I was lost?  When would they come?  At what point in the gathering gloom would it be good to conclude I was lost stop to make myself easy to find.

I know. It seems a bit ridiculous now.  I can only attribute it to a combination of being tired, just coming off being relatively sick, being alone, and being assailed by a lack of confidence - in my confidence of finding my way, in my confidence of my ability to choose.  This had not been quite the confidence building trip I was thinking it would be.

And this is the point where some actual self growth happened.  Rather than take counsel of my fears, I decided I needed to do something.

Long-time readers may be familiar with FOTB (Friend Of The Blog) Eaton Rapids Joe.  He has one of the finest analytical minds I have ever met - he reads widely and analyzes things thoroughly.

What, I wondered, would ERJ do.

ERJ would think logically about the situation.

My thinking then ran like this:  The rain had started just as we were entering this last stretch.  The trees above prevented a lot of rain from getting down but were allowing some, so the trail would be wet - but not too wet.  Therefore, if I found places where the trail was damp but had been stirred up, it should mean that people had been hiking on it recently.  As I had encountered no-one yet, it seemed probably that the only people disturbing the trail would be my hiking team.  Keep looking for the disturbed trail and I would find my way to them.

Turns out it was a pretty solid choice (although to be fair, a bracelet with "WWERJD?" [What Would Eaton Rapids Joe Do?] is probably a limited market and thus not the great sales idea that popped into my head right after this experience).

I would be lying to say that chain of logic alone resolved my fears.  I was still tentative in my treading, and still in the back of my mind the "You are Doomed!" leitmotif was playing - conveniently with a soundtrack in a minor key, indicating danger around the corner.  But I kept on, until I found the hiking stick left to indicate the turn.  One last slog through Post Corral Creek and I was back the campsite we had left four days earlier, but really seemed like a lifetime ago.

To celebrate, the rain fell even harder as I made camp and we went through the spectacle of starting a fire (again, The Brit and his fire making skills came through) and even into dinner.  Although that turned out to be okay; our spirits were high on our last night in camp as we had completed the loop.

Tomorrow, we were for home.