#turns out the week prior a woman hiking the same trail got bit by a rabid coyote

[the-sieve]

A few years back my dad’s hiking group had a very, very bad run in with a rabid raccoon. you know that scene from a bugs life? well, instead of a harmless leaf, it was a raccoon with a wobbly gait walking in broad daylight down the middle of a trail right towards people and separating one half of the group from the other. my dad - who grew up in an area where every so often you’d here about how one of the farmers had to old yeller their dog and had it drilled into his head from before he could even walk and talk to never approach a wild animal that didn’t seem scared of humans right off the bat - knew they were in trouble and told everyone as much and that they needed to turn around and head back out and call a park ranger. that something wasn’t right and it was better to be safe.

But of course some of the people he was with didn’t want their beautiful Saturday ruined and, underestimating the threat, decided to instead try and walk around the animal and the moment someone got too close absolute hell broke loose, the racoon lunging at the closest person, that person on reflex football kicking it incidentally into the lake that the trail they were on wrapped around, the racoon bursting out of the water with what my dad describes as a demonic screech before launching itself back into the group of panicking hikers. 

a bunch of people including my dad ended up beating it to death with a combination of sticks, hiking poles and boots, but the damage had already been done at that point and worse as everyone had essentially been exposed, either from being directly bitten or because they now had rabid racoon blood on their clothing, equipment and skin. it was a mess as you can imagine. and yet, after all this, some people still wanted to continue the hike and then go home. thankfully these people were eventually convinced of the severity of the situation, and after hiking back out park rangers were called, the body of the racoon was recovered for testing, clothing and equipment were properly disposed of, everyone went to the hospital, etc. 

my dad has done some crazy dangerous shit in his life - crashed a motorcycle at top speed running from cops, chased tornadoes, been stranded in a foreign country without any id or passport and held at gunpoint - but he holds firm to this day that knowing he’d been exposed to rabies was the closest he ever felt to death, and this man has had a full blown heart attack.

So I'm putting this here as a sort of public service. If you have never seen a rabid animal before, and you think you can handle watching it, I think it's a good idea to watch this. It's pretty upsetting to watch, so big CW on it, because this animal is essentially "dead but still moving." This is end-stage rabies. There is no saving this animal.

Before this stage, animals may be excessively affectionate or oddly tame-looking which is part of the reason why seeing people feeding foxes is upsetting to me. These animals might be, or might become, rabid, and there's no way to know without testing, which involves destroying the animal. Encouraging wild animals to be that close to humans is generally bad.

I grew up in the woods, so unfortunately we saw an uptick in rabid animals every spring -- you'd hear there was a rabid bat in this neighborhood or a rabid fox in this one -- but as wild animals and humans cross over more and more, we will see this more and more.

Opossums and squirrels extremely rarely get rabies, and we don't know why. They think the low body temperature of opossums inhibits the virus. The most common animals which get rabies in the US are raccoons, skunks, bats and foxes. Any animal 'acting unusually' -- not skittish around humans, biting at the air or at nothing ('fly-biting'), walking strangely (they kind of look like they have a string attached to their heads and walk kind of diagonal like they're being pulled along, a lot of the time) -- should be treated as though it's potentially rabid.

If you think you have been exposed to a rabid animal, including 'waking up in a room where a bat has gotten into it and there's a fucking bat in your room', please immediately go to the emergency room. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Post-exposure prophylaxis absolutely fucking sucks, it is a series of shots you'll have to get in two stages, it's done by weight, and it feels fucking nasty, but rabies is 100% fatal. I cannot stress enough how essential this is, having been through it.

Thank you for reading, I love everybody, the end.

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Ready or Not || Solo

From the Fool’s Gold POTW

Wait until you’re ready.

Right. Because that day was going to come. Sure, he was ready to have her out of his hair every waking moment, the times he was used to being alone, all that, but to never see his mother again?

Wait until you’re ready.

It was all that rang through his head the hike up to Hanging Rock. He thought about staying on the beach, get it over with. But there were too many people. He needed to be alone. Well, not alone, but alone enough where he could talk to a fucking ghost.

The small bird chips, the rustle of branches, the sort of ever present hum of nature usually settled him. Now he could only hear the crunch and harsh chips of the stones under his feat, the screech of a fucking seagull down the way, the violent crashes of the waves against the cliff. The last time he’d seen her prior to all this was now over half his life ago. It was hard to learn she’d been there this whole time. And he couldn’t see her touch her or hear her voice

Well he had two out of three now. For now.

Wait until you’re ready.

When he made it to the top of the trail and beyond, he sat there on the edge of the cliff watching the waves rise and fall. From up there, they looked calm, but he knew down there, if he were closer, he knew they were violent and angry, too harsh to swim in, hard to keep your head above water. But from up there, he could trick himself, pretend it was peaceful. Or some shit like that.

“Mon peititou,” he heard her before he saw her and he knew he wasn’t ready. He knew she’d show up eventually. She had to. But he hoped he could delay it a little longer. “Kaden?” His eyes fixed on the sun over the water. He couldn’t say how long he’d sat there, but the sun was lower and the shadows were longer. Probably wasn’t all that long until dark. She’d given him as much time as she could if it was going to be tonight.

“Maman?” He looked to his right and there she was, spectral shape exactly how he remembered form the last day he’d seen her and every day since he picked up that fucking coin. Brunette hair pulled back into a neat bun, blue eyes that mirrored his own, and the silver bullet necklace hanging from her neck. The very one he had tucked away in a box on his nightstand.

“We need to talk, mon peititou,” she replied. He couldn’t tell if it was sweetness or sadness in her voice, but it was soft and gentle.

“I know,” he said, turning back to face the water again. Looking at her was too hard. He could  already feel the tears threatening to make an appearance. Then it hit him, he wouldn't have much longer to look at her. Was it better or worse knowing he had a limited amount of time? Shit. He couldn’t say. Something about this stung worse in a way than it did before. The fact that this would be the second time he would lose his mother certainly didn’t make it easier.

He pulled air into his lungs, slowly, deep, and turned to face her, take her in. He looked at her and all he could see was a flash in his mind of hers and papa’s mangled bodies on the table. He could barely identify them. Focus. He shook it away, tried to rebuild the memory of her like this. He just had to do what they’d always taught him; just focus on what was right in front of him.

“I have things to tell you. Before I go.” If there had been the possibility of sweetness lingering before, it was gone now. It wasn’t harsh by any means, but she was all business. Suddenly he felt 15 again, listening to a lecture on monsters or getting instructions before training.

He scoffed “Might have been nice if you’d done that the first time.” He rolled his eyes and started taking small rocks and chucking them off the side of the cliff. It was so easy to fall back into that pattern of parent and petulant teenager. It was the last one they got to have.

Her eyes snapped on him, fire burning behind them. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, Kaden. You’ve been slipping--”

“On my training,” he cut her off. “I know. You told me. Every day for the past week or so. Is there really nothing else you want to tell me? Really?” He turned to her, eyes pleading, searching for any sign of anything more. He was met with the same look he got after defeating his first vampire at age ten. He had expected to find pride, love, congratulations. Instead he saw cold acceptance and criticism. Lists of how to improve for next time. Blow by blows on how many times he nearly died. He turned away, back to the water. “I missed you, too, Maman,” his voice was barely a whisper as he took another rock and flung it off the edge of the world.

“I’ve been with you for over fifteen years, mon peititou, I hardly had time to miss you.” She gave her head a small shake. She sat so stiff and straight, head held high. “That’s not the point. The point i--”

“Of course it’s not the point,” he muttered under his breath.

“Speak up or don’t speak at all,” she scolded.

“I said, of course that’s not the point. But fine, what is the point? Please tell me.” How he resisted the urge to roll his eyes he didn't know.

“My point is that I’m worried for you.” Kaden met her eyes once more and thought he saw a flash of concern, true concern. It was gone as soon as it came. “You need to focus. Remember your duty, hone your skills. Remember why you came here. Stop getting distracted.” She shot daggers at the rock he was about to throw. He sheepishly lowered his arm and rolled the stones he had left in his palms, trying to make it seem like he’d planned that all along. Then released them back on to the ground next to him.

“You don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for almost sixteen years. Or did you forget?”

It was like what he said didn’t matter. He could have said anything at all and not a word of what she said next would have changed, he was sure of it. “And then there’s that woman you’re seeing. She’s not even a hun--”

“Don’t,” he cut her off before she could say what he knew was coming. “She's human. I checked.”

“For now,” she said, arms folded squarely across her chest.

“What does that even mean?”

His mother paused, lips pursed in that way he was all too familiar with. The answer was on her lips, she wanted to tell him, but she was disappointed he hadn't found it himself first. “Don’t make any promises you can’t keep.”

That sent his head spinning. What was she even talking about? Regan wasn’t fae. Did she mean Deirdre? He wasn’t seeing her. Wait, did she mean? He rolled his eyes. “Maman, that was a joke. I’m not marrying a fae.” His skin crawled at the thought.

“That is not what I meant, mon petitou. Think.” There it was, that same command she always gave. Think. Do. Fight. Be better. He sighed, rolling his eyes again, but he listened and ran through his min what she could be referring to. It had to be in reference to Deirdre still, right? If she was throwing around the word promisee like that. Did she mean the promises the banshee wanted; the promises to never hurt Regan? Even he wasn’t stupid enough for that. “Not now. You’ll figure it out.”

The words hung in the air and he waited for her to add some sort of encouragement or even just something more. Had he imagined it all these years when he heard his mother saying “you can do it,” “I know you can,” or any manner of remotely pleasant phrases? Had she ever said it once? He used to be so sure  but not anymore. The memories had been so washed out and re-tinted in his mind with a picturesque vintage vignetted filter. They were coming back to him in bright unflattering reality now. The edges were sharp and the flash was set far too high.

The light was leaving the sky. Red and pink hues were ready to give way to the dark black sky. “It’s time,” she said simply.

His hand dug into his pocket for the coin. A lump lodged in his throat and his eyes burned.

Wait until you’re ready.

The truth was if he waited until then, he’d never let go of the stupid coin in his hand. His thumb ran over the well worn surface. His vision started to blur and he clenched his jaw. He wasn't going to be like this. He’d mourned and said his goodbyes so many times over. Right? Yes. And he knew how she felt about tears. About outbursts. He could wait.

“Kaden, enough. I’ll still be here.” Tears spilled over, he couldn’t hold them back, no matter how much his teeth hurt trying to push them together to will the water back.

“It’s not the same,” he sniffed. Jagged pieces of rock dug into his hand as he gripped the edge of the rock he sat on with all his strength, pushing the pain into his palm with everything he could muster. Was she trying to make this easier? It didn’t feel like it.

“It’s not. But you’ll have to live with that.” He could chuck the fucking coin at her goddamn ghost head.

“Putain. Can’t you just say you love me or some shit like that?” he said, voice warbling at barely a whisper.

The words hung in the air a moment. For a beat, there was nothing but the sound of the waves crashing far below them. “Do you need me to tell you that to know it’s true?”

Yes. Inside, he screamed yes. Even if he knew it, just fucking saying it. Once. Out loud. He searched his mind and was there a single time he could remember his parents, either of them saying it? Had he made it up like so many other things?

Still, maybe she was right. She had stayed here with him for fifteen years. More than that, even, to make sure he was alright. That was love. That was more than could be held in a four letter word. It had to be.  

He sniffled and wiped his face with the back of his palm. “Au revoir, maman.”

“For now,” she said and placed her hand on his. Not that he could feel it. But that little bit of comfort, it was something. He looked at her one last time and ached to feel her hand on his. To give her a hug. But this would have to be good enough.

He didn’t look down as he dropped the coin. Just watched as her form faded away, back into his memories.

[theundergrounddrabbles]

AtsuMina (request)

The long day of classes led them to the room within the library where they could settle their bodies into a soft chair compared to the rigid, plastic seats of the classroom. Atsuko turned the key to the lock with her friend, Minami trailing behind when both took a seat next to each other with the small slit of a window facing out to the books outside. Both peered out upon the emptiness of the outside before the shuffling of books came back to the reality.

 “We have that midterm tomorrow.” Atsuko thought. “Lucky we can spend the night here.”

 How much do I owe you?” Minami asked, pulling out her wallet. “Five hundred?”

 “That’s about right… When did you have money?” Atsuko smirked.

 “I work… Your mother still pays you with the week’s allowance.” Minami spat as Atsuko turned her face away.

 “I’m looking for a job… how about you give me a recommendation?” She turned back. “Please!”

 “I’ll ask around for a job. There isn’t many unless you want to work at a convenience store…” Minami pondered. “Most of the time will deal with people so that might not be up your alley.”

 “I guess so… I want a job so I don’t need the allowance. Still learning to cook as well.” Atsuko thought deeply. “She probably will still give me food.”

 “That isn’t bad. Your mother loves you so that might be hard. My parents were strict and I told them I would try my best. They are quite impressed that I have actually survived the years away.” Minami laughed. “I guess back to studying.”

 Both opened the books with the whole night ahead. The room in itself only had a small couch for lounging and the four chairs with a table to study. The room did not allow food or drink for the patrons but a lounge with three vending machines were available for them down the hall. People did use the rooms for studying yet it was harder around finals with the influx and limiting only for a few hours with the uptick in demand. During these times, most of the students would go to a family restaurant, which was open twenty-four hours, or concede to their dorms where the limitation of refreshments had pressured them to get extra vending machines for them.

 Atsuko was the first to stretch out her arms as she rubbed her eyes after glaring at the nots for a while. She took out her charger and plugged it into the outlet before turning back to the seat. She liked the class yet the midterm was being told as a tricky one with the multiple answers and with the timing it was quite early for her while Minami was one to not being able to concentrate at times was glaring over her notes often over the confusing themes as she turned over to Atsuko at times to match notes.

 “It is just a formality for the answers. It shouldn’t be that bad as long as you feel that it is right.” Atsuko murmured, taking a seat.

 “You’re sure? The teacher was quite adamant about how she runs her test. It was a problem for most students.” Minami moaned.

 “I think she is trying to psyche us.” Atsuko laughed. “I’m studying yet I’m confident for it.”

 “Acchan is always that way to get a B and I do the same for a C” Minami replied when Atsuko patted her head. “Yes?”

 “You should release stress prior to tests. You study and you keep going at it where you are exhausted and tend to be stiff. I know most of the time you feel overwhelmed.” Atsuko noted, grabbing her shoulders. “Take a break.”

 “I’m still trying to digest it.” She growled before her head turned back and Atsuko’s finger pressed up to her lips.

 “Again. Stress. Relieve. Then we go back.” Atsuko smiled.

 “What shall I do?” Minami spoke under her breath.

 “Step back from the books and take a few deep breaths.” Atsuko instructed. “Or… maybe have this?”

 Minami stared upon the item and shook her head immediately. She was never one to like to play around at school however in her free time she did have those moments since she was young to understand her body and her unusual sense of erotic thoughts. Minami delved into her lack of sex appeal by testing her limits in high school. Her parents didn’t know her ways until they found a pile of hair in the trash can and further explained her new style by trimming her pubes.

 They weren’t thick yet she had liked the airy sensation between her legs. It was better when she didn’t wear any thing under the long skirt and hiked it up often. The eyes had peered back often when she was exposing herself. Hiding a pair of underwear sometimes had helped when the time called upon soiling herself with the dream of having sex with a popular male. However, the three years had given her no results yet something had always come up when it came to it.

 Going into college, she was going in clean as a student although meeting Acchan was sort of the god send message to be open with herself and found that she was curious of people. The first occasion was Minami hiding upon the sheets when Acchan had taken a seat by her. Minami spun into her when the vibrations tickled her back. Truth was that Acchan did find out about Minami’s true intentions about being in school yet it wasn’t certain to lose her virginity at this stage when Acchan had told her to lose it to her and spent the night locking her roommate out and settling into the depths of her bed, using her finger to screw her new partner.

 “How about it?” She asked as Minami observed Acchan turn it on in front of her.

 “No! Not here. At the dorm, not here.” Minami growled.

 “Well we have this place all night… it’d be easier to hide on the couch than to be out by the window. Maybe we can get paper to block the glass.” Acchan informed her with the idea slithering into her mind.

 “I won’t fall into it… even though it isn’t a bad idea.” She admitted when she glanced at the notebook.

 She ripped out the pages in the back of the book and pasted it up there with the tackiness of the window holding it up for the moment before rushing back to Acchan and reaching out for the shorts of the woman. Minami was attracted to it with the sense of lust running through her mind and her fingers were inside the waistband to bring down the underwear when giving the item to press up to her partner.

 Minami watched her partner lightly cry as she turned up the intensity to hear the yelp before turning it back down. Her core was shining in front of her eyes while she felt the effects of the sound and lowered her bottom to let her fingers feel the warmth between her legs. Keeping the item near the slit while massaging her own was tough yet she managed to do so with her eyes slowly closing every so often upon the sounds of her partner. The sensation arose swiftly before she conceded to her own needs and turning to the greedy sex with Acchan taking the item.

 Minami kicked off the bottom and laid on the carpet below with Acchan pressing the head up to the core. The vibrations were enough to allow an audible cry to echo in the room. She grabbed her shirt and placed it into her mouth to let the saliva soak the area while she had enjoyed the sensation continuing to run up and down her body. Minami shook upon her first orgasm as quickly as the symptoms were coming and the cool air from within froze the underwear to the source of her lust and grabbed the item to keep it warm.

 “Stop being a hog, use your mouth to satisfy me as well.” Acchan snarled, pulling her hips over and turning it off.

 Her tongue hit the hot area and felt the sizzle upon the moist sex. The light murmurs were enough for the time being as the reciprocal was slowly arising and continuing to ooze out the lust without hesitation. Minami felt the effects of the action yet she was not to the point of her limits and continued to dig with her tongue and using her fingers to spread the lips away to bore into the entry. She knew that once Acchan had turned to her fingers, it was the end of her. She counted upon that action and would continue to work until that point when a groan came and Acchan rolled off.

 “What’s wrong?” Minami asked.

 “Need something to drink.” Acchan coughed.

 Both slid on the shorts without the undergarment and rushed out to the vending area to grab a drink. Acchan ran back for the door while she got their orders and took a seat at the table with no one else in the area to converse. The dripping ooze came past her thigh as her partner came back for a seat with her eyes closing upon the tenderness of the core from before.

 “It’s good to feel this.” Acchan smiled, taking a sip of the iced coffee.

 “I guess… I wonder who else is here…” Minami pondered.

 “No not here.” Acchan warned.

 “Of course! Just this whole library to ourselves.” Minami smirked.

 She stepped out for a bit when the darkness came over to the other area. The part of the library left was the study area and with the few rooms, Minami continued to find the rest were empty prior to her return to the vending area and sat with the thoughts disappearing.

 “We still have time.” Acchan grinned.

 “Study yes. Sex yes.” Minami nodded.

 Both left it open as they discuss the test and yet a few moments in was another chance with the urges growing and the temptation of doing loudly was now within reach until the morning came. The return back gave them a few hours to rest and clean up before the exam with little remembrance of the topic at hand.

[blueanddeepblue]

The trail starts out wide. A road really. Big enough for both of us to walk side by side. —– The night before, Alexis and I camp at Deep Creek, packed in among families with their mountain bikes and barbecue grills and behemoth tents and their hammocks stacked three-high celebrating Labor Day. We haul out our packs and shift gear around on the picnic table in the dark: sleeping pads and bags, camp stove and pots, emergency first aid kits, camel baks, rope, binoculars. Noted chronicler of Appalachian customs, Horace Kephart, says that “to equip a pedestrian with shelter, bedding, utensils, food, and other necessities, in a pack so light and small that he can carry it without overstrain, is really a fine art.” As connoisseurs of fine art and as people unaccustomed to camping in bear country, Alexis and I sit there looking at the bear canister wondering how to fit a week’s food supply into its small, plastic body. Canister is a deceiving term; it’s more a barrel-shaped lunchbox, smaller than those igloo contraptions your dad took to work throughout your childhood. But by the evening’s end, after all the arrangements, our packs seem lighter and emptier than they should, maybe because we’re not hiking in the desert and we don’t have to carry our water supply. We sleep, hoping that we are pedestrians soundly equipped. After morning coffee, we drive up from Bryson City with fog and mist blanketing the Great Smoky Mountains and shrouding the beginning of the hike in mystery, like a gift waiting to be opened -Alexis and I giddy children. —– The trail starts out wide. A road along a stream. We walk side by side. There is a newness, an excitement. It’s been months since I’ve seen her. But there is also a simple familiarity. We descend a short ways before starting a gradual two day climb towards Clingman’s Dome, the highest point in Tennessee, followed by another three days alongside Forney Creek. Alongside us Noland Creek drops pleasantly over boulders covered with moss and lichen, a background noise that a Texas boy like myself equates more to a waterfall than a creek, as most of the creeks I knew growing up were seasonal at best. It’s late summer in the Smokies and Noland roars softly, like a highway in the distance. We reacquaint ourselves to the rhythm of conversation, to a cadence particular to those who share intimacy. We fall into step. We adjust our packs at the shoulders, on the hips, at the chest, and try to ease out the kinks in our knees, on the lower back, near the nape of the neck. Some conversations are like a collision of atoms. I think that’s what drew me to Alexis in the first place, the way conversation would bounce between topics and stories and big ideas, whirling and spinning closer and closer to answers or revelations, the way talking with her would make my skin feel alive. It’s like that again. And the trail is wide. A road really. We walk side by side and point out the fungi here, a red flower over there, the way the light hits the water through a gap in the trees, the way the rocks make the stream look like blown glass. We hurl atoms step by step. —– Horace Kephart has sad, deep eyes, like a bloodhound, and (at least in most of the pictures that remain of him) a thick mustache. He is thin and wiry, the embodiment of an outdoorsman at the turn of the 19th century, replete with the independent spirit that only a checkered bandana, a short brimmed mountain hat, and a wooden pipe can instill. I first ran into Kephart when reading John Graves’ Goodbye to a River, a wonderfully meandering account of a canoe trip down the Brazos and one of the finest pieces of nature writing that Texas can claim. Graves simply calls him “Ol Kep”. Kephart, a man of dual lives, is probably best remembered for his writings about camping and for advocacy efforts to create what is now known as Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Camping and Woodcraft (1906) is still considered by many as the encyclopedia on outdoor excursions; if you’ve ever wondered about how well certain woods burn, Ol Kep provides a hierarchy for the burn-ability of soft-woods and hard-woods in relation to dryness; if you’ve ever pondered the difference between types of tent canvas, he’ll let you know when to use duck, sea island, or egyptian cotton - he’ll also let you know their respective weights; if you’ve ever debated how to cook possum, he’s got an opinion on that too. Buried within arcane and detailed observations of outdoor living, Kephart also embeds gems of wisdom, truths about the human condition which are still relevant today. —– Along Noland Creek the sun breaks through the trees in rays and makes the leaves glow electric and yellow among the green. We lay out on the rocks in the middle of the stream like lizards soaking it up. We hammock in the afternoon and gather firewood for the evening. Later we eat ramen, and later still we fall asleep to the sound of water rounding out the edges of stone, softening the corners and turning millions of tiny, round rocks into even smaller grains of sand, carrying them to the oceans and blowing them into the deserts across the world. —– Prior to becoming an expert on wilderness places and peoples, Ol Kep was mostly a bookworm. After being the librarian at Cornell, Kephart moved to Italy to purchase and catalog books for a wealthy collector. Somewhere along the way he met and fell in love with a woman from New York and exchanged letters with her. Eventually he moved back to the states, married Laura Mack, had six children with her, became the head librarian at both Yale and in Saint Louis, made advances in classification and library organization, published articles in a myriad of magazines, and had a nervous breakdown. It was the nervous breakdown that led him to western North Carolina, “looking for a big primitive forest where [he] could build up strength anew and indulge [his] lifelong fondness for hunting, fishing and exploring new ground.” Sometimes escape comes at a price, though. He’d never see his wife or children again. But he would know the woods. And he’d know the bottom of a moonshine bottle, which may be what drove him to the woods anyways; it’s hard to predict which way the wind will blow a man, or what path he’ll walk down to find a bit of solace. —– Day two is the longest and hardest of our hike. After climbing to the lookout tower at Clingman’s dome to peer into a fog that covers the 360 view, we start the three and a half miles down to our campsite. The trail grows narrower and rockier as we descend, rock-scree rolling beneath our feet. Darkness falls fast, and clouds darken. We pull out our tarps as the rain falls, at first a gentle pattering, soon a thunderous downpour. We give up on dry shoes and yell out plans for setting up camp in the rain. At our campsite, plans become obsolete. Dinner is abandoned. We try to keep things dry as best as possible, then settle into our tent and wait till morning. We have fifteen hours to go. Grey in the tent slowly becomes black, like a world where color has been drained by an unseen hand turning down a dial, like a plug being pulled in a tub of murky water. —– When Alexis and I met, both of us were going through divorces. Conversation erupted. We talked about relationships and what happened with them when they fell apart. We talked about what it was like to see the person you married and feel like they were a stranger. About how suddenly you feel adrift in something that used to seem so good. She hopped on the back of my motorcycle and we’d go swim or get BBQ. There were things I could share that I couldn’t with anyone else, things that people who aren’t looking at the inside of a crumbling marriage can’t possibly understand and don’t usually want to talk about anyways. It’d be like trying to hang out with a bunch of Red Sox fans and strike up conversations about the Yankee’s bullpen - they’d have opinions and know a lot about baseball, but they’re primarily rooting for the other team. Nobody wants to see a marriage fail, so when it does, it’s hard to find people who want to hear you belabor the finer points of love’s dissolution. Not that my friends aren’t wonderful, they truly are. But I’d already been through several separations with Sarah, already had some of those conversations. But with Alexis, it was more than that. It was intimacy. Not a physical one, nor like the head-over-heels love of the movies. It was the discovery of a shared experience. It was finding someone who was walking through the same thing as you, and who could help you see that it would be okay. It wasn’t always pretty. She was there for long walks with me when the anxiety set in, when I felt my heart rising in my chest, trying to strangle me from within. I was there for her when she couldn’t find the strength to eat, when food seemed strange and alien. There were tears sometimes. There were questions that had no answers: How come you can love someone and then not love them? Is love even supposed to last forever? Who are we anyways and why are we here? Questions that I imagine are a far cry from most first dates, the usual lists of hobbies and favorite movies and where one went to school. But questions that helped me know it was alright. That helped me see the world was still a wonder waiting to be unfurled. That the world would always be a wonder, and that it mattered not if the questions had answers, but only that we asked them. It was also magic. We climbed a hill at my friend’s ranch, a 12 pack of Lone Star in tow, and watched the Persied rain down meteors. We danced in the honky-tonks because sleep wouldn’t come. We walked the streets and felt the lightning in our teeth, in our bones, and we looked for that same light in the hills and the the stars and the flowers and in the water as clear as glass. We jumped in and swam with reckless abandon because it felt good to be alive again. We woke again every day to the newness of it all. And soon, we found that the water was all around us, that wonder had encircled us like a secret cocoon, like a blanket on a winter’s day or a soft breeze in the heat of the afternoon. Link Wray says that living is better than dying, and food tastes better than gold. I still think he’s right. —– Most of Kephart’s life revolved around the corresponding rhythms of writing and booze, with the woods being his sanctuary for both. He worked tirelessly to push for the creation of a National Park in the Appalachians, writing about the people and places that make the region so uniquely fascinating. He became the foremost expert on how to live in those woods, and he championed the simple, yet profound ways that the locals had been living in that region long before he came along. Nestled among bits of information about how to hike or navigate or clean a fish, he fashioned philosophical gems to remind his readers that nowhere, absolutely nowhere, is a man as free as when he lives simply, with a few meager provisions and the willingness to go where the day beckons. Or that man can never truly be lost, as long as he doesn’t lay expectations to where he’ll end up, instead exploring with purpose the path ahead. Kephart lived out his days exploring the woods, finding out everything he could about the world around him. Cataloging because it’s what he did best. Organizing hierarchies and making lists and asking questions about the woods. A cut of the same cloth as Muir or Thoreau or Emerson, climbing trees in a thunderstorm to feel what a tree feels, trying to wrestle life itself out of the chaos of living. Kephart would eventually die in a car wreck on a moonshine run along with a fellow passenger. The driver lived, only to die on the same stretch of road ten years later. —– As Alexis and I walk along Noland Creek, along Forney Creek, in the same woods that Kephart loved, I wonder if the ruins beyond the creek are remnants of one of his makeshift cabins. If that giant elm near the campsite was brought down by a thunderstorm that made ol Kep shudder in his bones. I wonder how many times Kephart, too, marveled at the way the light hits the water and explodes into a thousand tiny suns. After the storm, the sun comes out again. Alexis and I stop in the places where the light lingers through the trees and let the warmth seep into our skin. We traverse several stream-crossings, the water running higher from last night’s rain. The water reaches our calves, our thighs, but we don’t topple. We find sticks that other travelers before us have used to ford the stream, and we reach for each other when the sticks don’t seem to be enough. We reach camp midday and make a clothesline with some paracord that was left at a previous campsite by an accidentally generous occupant. Our clothes and sleeping pads and bags and tents and pillows get strung up to dry. We do yoga and stretch out along the creek, dipping down into the cold water and coming up feeling alive and new, drying out like lizards on the rocks. The following day dawns the same but new: sun among the trees and a slow awakening. The trail ends much like it began, slow and wide. A road really. Big enough for both of us to walk side by side. There is a tunnel that leads back to the road where our car is parked. Inside the tunnel it is cool and dark, and the end of the tunnel frames the woods, making brilliant the greens and browns that we’ve been walking in for the past five days. It’s good to feel Alexis’s hand in mine again. It’s good to see a new road in front of me. It’s good to feel the change of seasons and feel the wind on my face. And it’s fitting that I have a Kephart quote running through my brain: “It is one of the blessings of wilderness life that it shows us how few things we need in order to be perfectly happy.” ------------------------------------------------------ *I’m no historian; this is a rough sketch of Kephart’s life at best. For more info, go here: https://www.wcu.edu/library/digitalcollections/kephart/aboutproject.htm

[britttracey]

**Blackspur Ultra 54k** Saturday August 19th 2017 Kimberley, British Columbia 7:55am I stood shivering in the small, gathered crowd of Ultra and relay runners awaiting the 8 am start of my third attempt at an ultra distance, hoping desperately for my second finish. After my failure at Elk Valley Ultra I was looking solely for a redemption finish. I really thought about dropping from Blackspur after my DNF but the race director messaged me with some kind words of encouragement prior to my decision and I ultimately decided to stay in the race. This time around I came armed with advice and backing from my newly acquired coach Tara Berry, experience (from my failure at EVU and the previous years BSU finish) and support from two friends running and one friend and her daughter crewing. 7:58 am I knew the course. I'd run and finished it before. It was hot last year and much cooler this year. I was going to finish. Finish feeling good. "You've got this" I said to myself. The only thing to go wrong had already gone wrong. I forgot the hose for my water bladder at home and had to buy a whole new water bladder the day before the race. 8:00am **Leg one: Goat** *16.1km and 886m of gain* We set off and immediately headed up the ski hill. I had a plan to go slow on leg one. I wanted to come in a half hour slower than my previous years time. My training buddy Jackie was determined we'd climb the first hill together and linked arms with me pulling me up the hill. At the top I told her to get moving cuz I'm going easy. She started into a run toward the next hill and I walked along with our other friend Suzanne who had decided to sign up last minute despite suffering a back injury for the week previous. We kept together up the gradual incline until the base of the steep section that last year I had dubbed "The never ending Jungle hill" due to its steep grade, never ending climb and over grown jungle feel. It was on this climb that I caught up with a woman from Chicago and my awesome tattooed friend D(and her cousins wife!)(that I had met at this same race last year). We all kinda stuck together, the two girls ahead of Chicago and me for a while, as we popped out of the woods and ran down along the top of the ski hill to get to the first aid station. I didn't stop for anything as my pack and flask were still full, I was drinking every ten and eating every 20 (fruit 2 bars, pears and beef jerky) and feeling really good so I just kept going. We headed down some more and Chicago started to fall a bit behind as I held on to my easy trot through the very rocky and technical trail eventually winding up in the bottom of a Valley of shale slides. I passed the girls ahead of me in this section and offered up some words of encouragement as I kept on my way out of the valley and back down the top of the ski hill to the main transition area. My god was I feeling good! I rolled in at 3:27:46. Slow, but steady and very much on time. **Leg Two: Toad** *18.3km and 674m of gain* My crew Terri checked my water, it was still almost full, she gave me a concerned look, but I had been drinking and it still was cool out. They offered me a shot of pickle juice and it sounded good so I went for it. I refilled my food with help from her daughter and she grabbed me a piece of peanut butter sandwich from the transition area tent to take with me cuz I was starting to feel actually hungry. I said goodbye and cheerily headed back up the ski hill to start leg 2. I had set a rather unrealistic (for that day anyways) goal of 3 hours for that leg. Which I could definitely do but not if my goal was to remain feeling good. The first big climb on this leg killed me last year, reduced me to a near crawl and ruined the rest of the leg. I was determined to be able to get up the climb feeling good and be able to run down the other side. I started up at a steady hiking pace, keeping it easy but continuously moving forward. It felt good, I still felt solid and I made it to the top with a smile on my face and jogged back down the other side keeping the pace easy through the rocky, technical parts. I found myself alone heading up the second climb into the shale fields, it was this point last year where I had been feeling sick and low and had caught a girl that would spend the whole leg walking with me. I was still feeling good, still eating and drinking and moving forward. I crossed the shale fields and headed into the woods, jogging the flats and downs and walking the hills. I popped out at the next aid station smiling. I refilled my soft flask but figured I had lots in my pack still so I didn't check. I grabbed a pickle and thanked the volunteers. They told me I was looking fantastic and positive. I really felt it. I continued on much in the same manner, keeping to a schedule for nutrition and water, for some reason I couldn't get anymore water from my pack although I could feel it in there, I just resorted to taking sips from the soft flask. I was still walking the hills, running when I could, but I was alone, and there were way more hills than I remembered there being on leg 2. I could feel myself slipping into a bit of a funk. My legs were protesting the climbs and I was starting to get upset that I was feeling that way. I turned some music on on my phone speaker and walked a bit. I took a deep breath, and tried to change the direction my brain was taking me. A relay runner came up behind me and I shut off the tunes. She had slowed to a walk up the hill and we chatted a bit about the race. She had gotten briefly lost having missed a turn off sign and was ready to be done her leg of the race. We chatted all the way up the hill before she took off running again. I was refreshed. All I had needed was a bit of company to regain my positive perspective. I jogged it in back to the top of the ski hill and down into transition, once again smiling, happy to be back in and also dreading the last climb up the ski hill. I came in at 3:40:39 for the leg. Way slower than anticipated but feeling better than I could've hoped for. **Leg three: Bear** *19.4km and 670m of gain.* Terri filled my water up for me and her daughter gave me a cup of water and another shot of pickle juice. They handed me a Boost and some fresh snacks and I headed out to go up the ski hill one last time. I kept thinking of the full 19 km I had left to go, while climbing up the hill. Break it down, I thought, small chunks, 10 km to the next aid station, I can do that. I got up the first climb and the second, and cruised through a little downhill and a flat section. The only issue I had was with my water bladder, the hose kept coming out so I'd be sucking back air and I had to take my pack off twice to try and clip it back in. It was a bit warm in the direct sun but the wind was giving nice gusts and my sauna training seemed to help because never once did I actually feel hot. The temperature only reached 24 Celsius at its highest though. Perfect weather. I passed a guy on a smooth downhill into the Kimberley Nature Park. His knees were hurting on the downhills, so as soon as we hit the next climb he caught me and pushed on. I shut off my brain on the climb, my hips were sore, I tried to focus on pushing from my butt and just shut down any complaints that were bubbling up. It worked and I hit the top of the hill where an older guy caught me, he was hiking fast but no longer running, we chatted for a bit while I recovered from the hill, he was 71 years old, had been running since he was 65. I hope I'm still running at 65, let alone 71. I found my feet and picked it up into the best pace I could manage and cruised the long long downhill into the next aid station. I passed the guy with sore knee through here again. The aid station was packed with runners that didn't want to go up the long exposed hill leading out from it. I tried to be quick though, I filled my flask, grabbed some pickles and pretzels and joked with a girl sitting down that I'd carry her the first half if she'd carry me the rest. That was a no go. I headed out and chatted with a 108km runner the whole way up the hill before picking up into a jog along the top. I was still feeling fantastic. Sore and tired, but absolutely great. I cruised through the next section and sent a text out to my crew when I hit 50k so she knew I was 4K out from the finish. I found myself alone again, the woods were making sounds and I had been seeing bear poop all day long. I picked up a couple rocks and clacked them together to make some noise and pushed on trying to catch someone. On the very last section of hill I caught up to a woman who insisted I pass her, so I did. We chatted a bit but I think both of us were more focussed on getting to the finish than on the conversation. As soon as we came out of the woods and onto the dirt road I knew we were close and I picked up into a run again. I cruised through back to the ski hill, back down and over the finish line with a huge smile on my face. My crew was waiting for me just over the other side and gave me a huge hug. The race director shook my hand then pulled me in for a hug too, he asked if I felt redeemed. To which I replied "Fuck yes! I've had the best day ever!" **Post-Race** I finished the race in 10:59:07, barely squeezed in under 11 hours, and almost a whole hour slower than the previous year. My friend Jackie finished in 10:34:11 with some massive blisters, and our friend Suzanne had ended up dropping after leg one when her back began seizing up on her. My tattooed friend and her cousins wife ended up being the last two finishers sneaking in just under cutoff. I had my post race beer, we ate our meal and watched the awards and then headed back to the condo to soak in the hot tub. It was the best race experience I've had. It was slow but it was worth it to feel that great all day. I'm hoping that working with a coach I can get faster while still feeling good during races. That's the goal.