hike #27 of 52, May 2018, 42 miles, the Wild and Scenic Rogue River,Oregon
When hiking a #1-beautiful nature trail for 3 days you expect to learn something from nature. Every day the carpet of flowers under the freshly leafed-out tan-oaks and twisting Madrone trees stretches out in its pattern of yellow, purple and white: 42 miles of blooming yellow and purpleWood Iris, 42 miles of sunny yellow tar-weed, pink Lewisia, delicate yellow Henderson’s Triteleia, patches of white popcorn flower, tiny blue-eyed Susans, and endless fields of blue Brodiaea. I think about the flowers while I walk, their abundance, their species relations. Are the purple Wood Iris the same as the yellow ones, just growing in a different soil? Are they different species? Is there racism among flowers? How can we love flower diversity and yet have racism among people? My questions remain unanswered since I can’t Google or phone from the trail. This is a digital no-man’s-land. My flower app on my phone is unavailable since I forgot my charging cord and have only one charge on my phone for the duration of the trip. Reading my kindle app at night or looking at flower pictures during the day are my choice.
The trail map is in my car at the trailhead (a no-no, always have a paper map!). Luckily I know the trail like the back of my hand and since this trail doesn’t have side trails, this leaves 42 miles of following the path ahead. I have to rely on my memory for names of the side creeks, the points of interest along the way, and the names of flowers.
This is turning into a no-tech hike; a reminder how people used to hike. A foray into the recesses of my brain. I have to rely on myself and trust in my navigation and memory abilities. I feel silly as a guide as I’m taking a newbie on this trail. On day threeI realize that I can do this, I can show that self reliance trumps technology. I learn to find answers to things I can double check later, but for now I trust my instincts around how nature works. (When I checked the local species upon my return my musings were correct, there was cross pollination and there were several species).
As my legs move through the miles and my brain empties its daily clutter, I remember the names of places along the way, I still know the special waterfalls, the camp spots from a year ago. I see the changes in the riverbank. I still know the place and can share it with someone else. My hiking buddy finds new confidence in her abilities, leaves her fears behind in her footprints on the path, and opens to life with new possibilities.
I hike this trail yearly during nature’s most abundant blooming time. My eyes bathe in beauty, my ears fill up with the rushing sound of the river that runs its winter water to the Pacific Ocean. Life ever continuing. This hike gives me hope when the daily news is disheartening. This hike fills me with a river of aliveness despite my increasing wrinkles. The wrinkles of my skin are like the ripples of the river: a rippled surface for a deep current. I fall into a deep sleep along its banks at the end of a day of hiking, barely able to read a few words on my kindle before my eyes fall shut. I never use up the one charge on my phone. My life battery is recharged the natural way.