Dennis, Elaine, and I headed out towards the southern portion of Dolly Sods, along Red Creek. It was Dennis’ first time there, and under normal circumstances I would’ve had us hit the northern portion which is both more unique and more exposed. With reports of thunderstorms in the evening, we opted to stay further south at lower elevations, which turned out to absolutely be the correct move.
This overnighter was a pleasant change of pace from how I normally go backpacking. Usually, the goal is to hit as many miles as possible in a full frontal, dawn to dusk assault on the trail, with little time for dilly dallying. This time, we opted to keep it easy, with only a few miles in and a few miles back out to hit. After having gone hard climbing for the past few days, we didn’t need to prove our physical endurance to anyone. That’s something I forget sometimes, that you’re not any less outdoorsy by opting for less miles in the day or not pushing yourself to your absolute limit. It’s totally fine to take a chill pace and prioritize enjoying being outdoors rather than testing your true strength. We were about to get enough of a challenge anyways.
After a couple of surprisingly annoying uphill ascents, we descended on an island in the middle of Red Creek. The weather reports had been spotty at best – we had no clue if thunderstorms were going to hit us at 7pm or 1am, but we’d be best off making camp sooner rather than later. We set up our tents and explored the island before making our dinners. As our water boiled, we started to feel raindrops slowly descending on our location. It was still gentle enough that we weren’t all that concerned, meandering towards the tarp we had set up to finish up our dinners and to play cards to pass the time. Right as we started to shuffle, the sky opened up with a tremendous rumble. We decided to move back if we heard any more thunder within the next five minutes. Within the next five seconds, our eardrums were split once more. Not wanting to risk it, we swam through the onslaught of rain to our tents.
We spent the next few hours figuring out how far each lightning strike was between games of desert island. Despite not being able to see one another and having to scream over the sound of a roaring creek, it wasthe moment we bonded most. Was there a slight fear that we should’ve opted to not go out? Sure, but that was hardly relevant now that we were out there.
It probably sounds bad, but between pangs of anxiety, that was some of the most fun I’ve had outdoors. We might’ve been doing something stupid, but we went about it in the smartest way possible. I was actually out there. How often do you get to camp on an island, in a raging creek, in the middle of a relentless thunderstorm? Cool shit.
The next morning, we debated whether to press on to Lion’s Head or hike back to our cars. Lion’s Head is a gorgeous, but exposed spot. More thunderstorms were expected around noon, or roughly when we’d be at Lion’s Head. As much as the thrill-seeking part of me wanted to press on, with some more fun content for the blog, the smarter option was abundantly clear. There’s a line between being bold and being brazen.
And so we went, towards the parking lot and God knows what else. For what was supposed to be a mostly-downhill back half of the trip, there sure was a lot of ascending. Ain’t that just the way. The weather went from sunny to rainy to windy, to some combination of all three, within minutes.
It was easy getting back to the trailhead – a refreshing change of pace. The last few times I’ve been backpacking, I’d end the trip willing a half broken husk of myself to the car, delaying my collapse until I was zippin down an interstate on bodily autopilot. It’s a reminder that I don’t have to be extreme to be valid – it’s ok to take it easy. There’s a time to press, and a time to actually enjoy what you’re doing, while you’re doing it. Crazy concept.