It is God who arms me with strength and keeps my way secure. He makes my feet like the feet of a deer; he causes me to stand on the heights.
- Psalm 18:32-33
I click fresh batteries into my headlamp as daylight fades away, trying not to be discouraged by the distance still ahead. The snow swirls around me as I don my pack and take a deep breath of the frigid air. Exhale.
The next 24 hours will come to be the most exhausting and physically demanding I have ever faced.
In this post, I don't want to come across as being over dramatic, so here's the thing... I don't believe I was at any time in grave danger. However, I do believe that during this particular timeframe of 24 hours, I was at a greater risk of becoming in grave danger than on most other days.
In a nutshell, here's why:
1. The more snow, the more slow. Which isn't usually a problem if you have plenty of food. Once again, however...
2. No food + Type 1 diabetic = bad. This also isn't typically a problem when snow isn't involved and roads are open. Why, simply go get more food! But...
3. Roads are closed. Buildings in the park are shut down for winter. AND MY CELL PHONE IS DEAD. Not because I ran the battery out (I always save some juice for emergencies), but because of the cold. It just decided to stop working at 40% power.
OK. That's the nutshell.
Shenandoah National Park is a wonderful, beautiful, fun place to hike. The AT traverses the length of the park from Front Royal in the north to Waynesboro in the south, roughly 100 miles paralleling Skyline Drive throughout. In the summer, there are plenty of hikers, campers, motorists, rangers, ranger stations, visitor centers, waysides and rest stops. In the winter, the park transforms to an eerily breathtaking, post-apocalyptic arctic wasteland. In the six days I was in Shenandoah, I saw one other hiker heading the opposite direction.
My resupply in Front Royal was heavy. So much food I thought I was going to make the bears unhibernate. And even in spite of the icy and snow-packed trail I was able to make some decent timing the first five days. Before my phone had died, I was able to check the weather, and I saw that a snowstorm was coming for me sometime on the fifth day. Knowing this information, I decided to hike as far as possible on the fifth day so that I would have minimal deep snow hiking on the morning of my exit.
So there I was, night approaching on the fifth day, clicking fresh batteries into my headlamp. The snow was accumulating quickly, and let me just say, I'm just not the biggest fan of night hiking. More than an hour of hiking in pure darkness, and s*** starts to get scary. I swear at one point a freakin' monkey was hopping around in the trees next to me. Not to mention I'm exhausted, and a blustery snow keeps blasting me in the face.
A little after 9PM I decide to call it a day at 27.5 miles and pitch my tent. The wind is howling, but there are only a couple of inches of snow when I finally close my eyes. Tomorrow, I will have eight miles to hike and just enough food for a filling breakfast.
I wake up in a coffin. The snow has compressed my tent into a claustrophobic tomb in which I have to literally dig myself out. I crawl into the early morning light and dread sinks in. I'm surrounded by knee deep snow, and it continues to fall.
After only ten steps I am worn out. Out of breath. Panting. Holy cow, how am I going to hike eight miles in this? It's a pace equivalent to slow motion with an exhaustion level similar to hiking with weights on your feet. Even the downhills are grueling.
I'm out of food (with the exception of some grits and coffee), so I have to make it into town. My pace is extremely disheartening, though. After five hours of hiking, I'm less than half way to the road.
WHAT?
Less than a mile an hour and completely worn out. I have to rest often but can't really get comfortable due to all the snow. Which, this is probably a good thing because at one point I plop down in the snow to sit for a sec, and all I want to do is close my eyes for a few minutes.
Wait a second... that's how people freeze to death! They close their eyes for a nap and never wake up again. Holy crap, get up! Get up!
I had been praying throughout the morning for strength and endurance. The prayers continue. Lord, give me strength. Give me endurance. Help me. Protect me. Thank you for getting me this far.
My feet feel like solid blocks of ice. I keep trying to wiggle my toes with each step.
God, keep me safe. Please help me get out of here without frostbite or injury.
Step by step. Slow motion. Wind pounding against my face. The time is flying by. The miles are going inch by inch.
Help me, Father. Give me the strength I need.
The trail descends into a gap, crossing an unrecognizable Skyline Drive covered in snow drifts waist deep. Then I look up ahead of me and see the trail become vertical.
Are you kidding me?!! One of those little "bumps" that doesn't quite show up on the elevation profile. Ahhhhhhhhhhrgh! I start plowing up the steep incline, a mixture of pleas and curses fumbling off my lips.
You can do this. It could be worse. Think of the Olympics. The athletes who give it their all for victory. Think of the early expeditions. The explorers who faced much harsher conditions with their lives on the line. For crying out loud, think of the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet waiting for you in town!
Slowly. So slowly, I trudge on. Five miles down.
Six miles down.
Seven down and I've reached the park boundary. My light at the end of the tunnel. It's only one more mile to the road from the boundary. I collapse right in the snow to take a two minute break before taking off again with a surge of adrenaline.
Now I'm thinking about how I'm going to get into town. It's almost four more miles from the trail/road intersection to town, and I'm thinking there might not be much traffic on a day like this.
Finally, after nearly ten hours of hiking through eight miles of snow, I reach the road. And sure enough, not only is there not much traffic, but a section of the road is completely closed and barricaded. Perfect.
I hear snow plows a little way down and head their way, and to my amazement I see a car with its lights on parked in the midst of the giant machines. I shuffle towards the civilian.
She rolls down her window and says, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to pull off here, I'm just trying to get home from work and had to make a phone call. You guys are doing a great job!" She starts to drive off, following one of the snow plows that has now freed her from being stuck in the herd of them.
As her window starts to go up I barely get the words out in time, "Oh, I'm not a worker! I'm actually a hiker! Do you think you'd be able to give me a ride into town?"
She looks at me for a second. Quickly examining my extremely disheveled and desperate disposition. "OK, hop in. You're not a crazy person, are you?"
"Ha! I assure you, I am not." (At least not in the sense you mean. Only a crazy person would be hiking in this.)
The roads were bad. Even with the plowing, the snow was still coming down hard. But I was so thankful and happy just to be in a heated car. Heading towards civilization. With a person. Man... God is good.
I tell the good samaritan she can drop me off anywhere that's convenient for her, and we head towards the only restaurant that's open, WAFFLE HOUSE. Oh my gosh, yes. It's not all-you-can-eat but probably the next best thing.
I thank my ride profusely and say goodbye. The feeling of being back to safety and comfort is indescribable, especially with a huge plate of hot food set before you.
I've gotta say, it was a pretty gnarly 24 hours... this narrow escape from Shenandoah. Thank you to everyone who continues to pray for me and encourage me daily on this journey. It means the world.
I'm so thankful for God's protection everyday, even when things seems to be running perfectly smooth. This was just an epic reminder.
