Sam, Fireball, and Greg all stopped at Lance Creek that evening. It was tempting to stop there, too, as we passed their perfect, placid nook in the forest. But we knew we would be rewarded by going a few miles further to Jarrard Gap, where we would wake up the next morning and proceed straight over Blood Mountain before noon, rather than wearing ourselves out on the approach before we even got there and climbing in the hot afternoon sun. Greg headed another two miles down the trail to Woods Hole Shelter.
Misty dusk settled over us as we walked, and the wind picked up, blowing across our shoulders, just my sister and I for the first time alone again that day. We stopped to add layers of clothing and then, kept walking up and over several more relatively mild climbs approaching the gap which lay very near the foot of the mountain.
Ascending one last hillside, we found rushing wind pouring through the gap at 30 miles an hour, the heavy trees over our heads swaying wildly. Frantic cold fueled our efforts as we assessed the layout of the site which lay nakedly amidst the surrounding mountains, trees downed all around us. Invisible campers huddled in a kaleidoscope of tents that dotted the wide and rolling gap.
“I don’t see another option,” my sister said rubbing her upper arms as she returned from a quick scouting venture. We talked softly in the dim light causing some unexpected friends to emerge from their tents.
Yukon, Marky Mark, and New Hope were here. “The Yoga Sisters,” we were repeatedly greeted, as each discovered us standing in the gap, my sister circling the site, looking for a site where we could set up out of the wind—there were none.
Nearby, we found our new friend, Carl, whom we’d eaten lunch with by a river at some point in the fuzzy recent past made up of trees, dirt, rocks, roots, streams, rocks, tents, and so on. As my sister again reported back to me about the bleak night ahead, we began steeling ourselves for a rough night of sleeping in roaring ocean waves of wind. I watched as it came straight at us and across the gap, falling off the other side over a ravine.
“The ravine,” I said. “I think we can get out of this wind. I’m just going to take a look.” Walkie liked this theory and agreed I should, at least, go make one more search.
Carl smiled, impressed by our assessment, and said supportively, almost proudly, “that makes a lot of sense.”
As I strode past our hiker friends, a stranger yelled across the campground, “you’re not going to find a place out of this wind, girls.”
I was sure that we could, indeed. I felt it in my bones, just over that ridge, I had a hunch we could drop into the ravine and out of the wind, letting it rush right overhead, but not around us and not through our tent.
I descended the hillside under the ridge and found there was a path there undiscovered by the rest of the campers, a path that led me down and found me standing on the edge of a cliff that fell very far down below. Here, the air was still and a balmy 42 degrees to boot.
I was greedy for this perfect spot, and eagerly trekked back up to share the news with Walkie. Back up in the gap, I had to speak loudly over the wind to my sister who was shivering in its 28 degrees.
Together, we hurriedly walked back to the spot I’d found, and again, a hiker said to us as we passed, “it’s windy everywhere, girls.”
“Oh, but it’s not,” I whispered to my sister, smiling broadly as we strode.
“Who calls 40-year-old women girls?” My sister whispered back.
“I guess that guy,” I said as we strode.
“I guess we look pretty good compared to dirt,” she said.
“It’s true,” I told her.
Down in the ravine, sitting by our own private drop-off, we had a vista to look out to the east; warm, still air; and weirdly, an internet signal as well, way out here in the middle of the wilderness.
“We’ll be able to watch the sunrise over those mountains tomorrow,” Walkie said.
We set up and sat cooking dinner by a fire pit which we didn’t dare light as it was too close to our tent.
“Well, on this most lovely of all camping nights,” I told my sister, “I brought a surprise.” And produced a mini-bottle of whiskey that I’d carried in my pack. I was not much of a drinker, usually abstaining due to having known too many beloved friends who’d been ill-affected, but I had gotten this especially to split with my sister were we having a particularly celebration-worthy moment on the trail.
Delighted with the day and with each other, we split that ounce of whiskey with nothing to soften its bite, and it warmed us further.
“You’re alive!” We heard from up the hill and looking up, we saw a parade of hiker friends, Yukon and Marky Mark, navigating their way down the narrow pathway. They wore puzzled and happy expressions, when we hadn’t returned, they’d decided to come looking for us.
“Wow,” said Marky Mark, turning slowly in a circle, “this place is great.”
“You guys should break down quickly and just come down here,” I told them. My sister nodded, “there’s no wind, and we have internet.”
“What?” said Yukon, smiling. “Do you have Netflix, too? Is there a television that comes out of this log?”
As my sister laughed and visited with them, I excused myself to wander down the trail and smoke, as it was my custom to not share the offensive stench unnecessarily. As I turned away, I saw both Yukon and Marky Mark were looking hesitant and bashful.
“You guys don’t want one, do you?” I offered, smiling.
They wore smiles like Christmas morning, and said they did.
Standing on the hillside as night fell, they requested we come back up to the gap and lead them in yoga before bed.
“We’ll just make some dinner and be up in a minute,” my sister told them.
As they retreated up the hill, Yukon turned back to us and said, “you guys are better outdoorsmen than we are.” And smiling, he strolled away.
A little while later, we brought our food up to the gap to eat with our friends and lead them in yoga. While stretching our arms overhead, we talked about the inclement weather that would be hitting tomorrow night. Thunderstorms would be moving through the area, and we had mentioned getting a cabin in Neels Gap on the other side of Blood Mountain.
Sam and Fireball had agreed to split the cost, but we still had space for more.
“Carl,” I touched his elbow, “do you want to stay with us? We have room for two more.”
“I won’t turn it down,” he smiled. “Thank you.”
Just then, Cap strolled up. I hadn’t known he was staying in the gap that night, hadn’t seen him until he appeared at my right shoulder.
“I’ll stay with you guys at the cabin,” he said. My sister and I stared at each other, her about to warmly invite him, I could see it in her sweet face always shining with optimism. “No,” I told him, “We don’t really know you, but we already know Carl.”
On the way back down the hill, Walkie wondered how I’d decided against Cap staying with us so quickly. “A little because of that ‘keep your powder dry’ comment,” I told her. “The what?” She was confused.
“Up on Preacher’s Rock, he said we needed to keep our eyes open, and our powder dry,” I said.
“Is that what he said? I couldn’t understand what the heck was talking about!” She said, “what does that even mean?”
“I don’t know,” I said. But underneath, it made me worry he was carrying a gun with him on the trail.
Several hours later, wind rushing over the gap, my sister and I were snug down below the ridge. Antsy, I crept out of the tent to sit on the tree trunk and have a smoke. I don’t know why I looked up the hill in the dark. I’m not sure I felt anyone near, not sure I had any inkling whatsoever, but when I looked over my shoulder and up the hillside to my right Cap was right there, in the dark shadows of the tree grove, staring down at our tent. He was some hundred yards off, standing and watching.
Quickly and brightly, I stood and waved “hey there!” I said, my wide smile underneath hard eyes. I wanted him to know I’d seen him. Now, he knew, I knew he was there. And I knew he knew I knew he was there. And so on.
He said nothing and ducked back under the trees, retreating out of view. Nothing to do but go to sleep, I got back into the tent. Every now and then, I woke at the roar of the wind which continued all night. Just the sound of it made me imagine I was colder than I was, so I pretended it was an electric heater blowing, and went back to sleep.
The next morning, we watched the sunrise together, sitting on a tree trunk at the edge of a cliff.
“Yesterday was my favorite day so far,” my sister said as we sipped our coffee.
“We lucked out, this really was the best,” I agreed.
We clamored up the ridge into the gap that morning to find that all the other hikers had gotten up and left early, the windy gap desolate.
Then, we were up and out of the gap.
Rocks & Roots 