Stumped
Rich colors, shapes and textures are not confined to living things. I find this tiny fellow stuck on the edge of the trail, clearly trying to crawl out of the way before another unwary hiker thumps his side with a booted toe.
The light fades fast on the eastern slope of the mountain, and the trail stretches longer than I expected. Watching the luminous leaves fade, it suddenly occurs to me I can not clearly see the rocks on the path at my feet. I finally put away the camera and dig out my headlamp. I am still two or three miles from my car, and I am very tired. My legs and ankles ache from constantly braking my descent and absorbing the uneven footing. But I have not run off the mountain like Steve did long ago. He wanted to get to a dance, so he ran the trail from Emerald Lake all the way to the cars. He'd driven separately so he could return early if necessary. He tells me he made it to the dance, then was so sore he was unable to even move! Such is the pull of sweet female companionship on a young single male. Still, he set a record for coming off the mountain that none of us has come close to matching in all the years since.
I flick on my headlamp. To my surprise, the three LEDs that make the light source glow only faintly. They'd seemed strong when I checked the light this morning. I dig the extra batteries from the lamp pouch, then open the headlamp to replace the batteries.
The batteries in my hand are AA. The batteries in the headlamp are AAA.
I feel foolish.
I know there isn't going to be a moon tonight. And the smoke will sop up any starlight. The sun is long gone from even the top of the smoke column. This late in the season twilight will not linger. I'd better make the best of the little daylight I still have. It won't last long. But if I can make it back to the lower waterfall then I'll have the pavement to follow the rest of the way to the car. It will give me relatively safe footing, and I can use my poles to tap out the edges and any potholes. If I can make it to the pavement, I'll be fine.
I start trucking in a fine old style that would make my many hiking buddies proud. Never mind cramping toes or stabbing calves. That stuff will heal. Just keep moving. Knees bent, head down, ankles loose, hips rolling. Gravity is your friend. Ride it down the slope. Just flow! Watch out for the shadows under the trees, though. All too quickly the uneven surface of the trail just disappears whenever I dive into a tree-lined tunnel. And the lower on the mountain I get, the less spots are clear of trees. I am reduced to sliding my poles along in front of me, feeling for rocks, roots and drop-offs. The only light left is an almost undetectable red glow reflecting off the belly of the smoke in the east.
I come to the lower falls at last. I know the place more by the sound of the water and the taste of the air than by any sight. Mars glows just off the shoulder of the mountain below the pall of smoke in the east. There are no other stars, and the night is textured black on black. I find the edge of the pavement and commence tap-tap-tapping my way down the last mile.
The trail is so overgrown, and the darkness so thick, that I find my way as much by hitting leaves at the edge of the trail as by anything else. The further I walk, the more I find myself thinking about the moose I saw just off the trail this morning. The last thing I want to do is poke that moose in the nose (or any other body piece!) with my hiking sticks. I'm pretty sure he's living in the area around the meadow by the trailhead. Will I run into him unexpectedly? Is there any way to avoid it? I begin to hum and sing as I walk down the trail. Maybe if he hears me he'll move out of my way. Unfortunately, I can't think of many songs to fit this occasion. And after two or three times through, "Heigh Ho!" loses its appeal. I lapse back into silence.
I'm blundering along muttering to myself when I hear voices ahead of me in the dark. By their melody and pitch I can tell that it's a mixed group of guys and girls. "Good evening!" I call into the darkness. "Who's there?"
The voices and the movement stop. Then after a moment comes a hesitant bass reply. "Hello! This is Cash. Who are you?" Out of the darkness materialize three couples. They are feeling their way up the inky path to "look at" the waterfall. I feel a good strong fatherly urge to lecture them on the foolishness of being out on such a path without any light. Then I consider my own position and swallow my words.
"I ran into a moose down here this morning," I say instead. "Have you seen him?" They have. Or rather, as they elaborate I discover their headlights had illuminated a cow and her calf browsing in the meadow as they'd pulled into the parking lot. A cow and her calf? That doesn't necessarily sound better than the bull. Now there's a whole moose family wandering around in the dark with me. Oh, goody!
My cheerful thoughts are interrupted by a girl at the back of the group. "Have you seen any bears or cougars up here today?" she asks. I think a minute on my reply. Should I tell her that there are indeed bears and cougars living in these mountains? Should I tell her of the mountain goats? Should I explain that the moose family lurking somewhere behind her is at least as dangerous as any of those beasts? Naw. Who needs more impediments to young love?
"Nope," I answer succinctly and truthfully. "I think we're still the most dangerous things on the mountain." The kids shuffle a bit at that. Belatedly I realize that a wild hairy man tapping blindly through the dark probably is about the scariest thing they could imagine meeting up here! "Well, it's been a long day and I'm very tired," I excuse myself. "I'll be heading for home now. Have a good evening!' The babble of voices breaks out again when I'm a short way down the trail. At least any wild animals will hear them coming! I do hope they enjoy their evening at the waterfalls.
It is a long and anxious crawl through the darkness down the trail. Occasionally I pass some boulder or monument that I remember from my morning walk. Finally I pass the trailhead sign at the edge of the woods and walk out into the meadow. "Look out, moose!" I sing out. "I'm here, and you don't want to mess with me!" Getting no answer, I swing into the meadow. I stumble about for several endless minutes, trying to find the trail by its lack of weeds, knowing it branches, but not being able to see it. Finally I discover the top step leading down to the parking lot and see my suburban loom from the darkness.
I am off the mountain at last.