In the Moment on the A.T.

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On a sunny October Monday that also happened to be my birthday, I wandered outside to pet my dog and felt my heart stop.

An enormous lump had appeared on her abdomen, seemingly overnight. The vet said it might be a harmless fatty tumor, but it could also be something much worse. She recommended surgery. I signed Arti up for the next available date and spent the following weeks holding her close and praying for good news.

And also spending time in the woods.

I quickly discovered, after adopting Arti eight years prior, that we both love time on the trail more than just about anything else. I’ll never forget the momentary terror I felt the first time I let her off leash on a deserted path in the Pisgah National Forest. She bounded away and out of sight, as fast as her little racer’s legs could take her, and I was sure I’d lost my dog. But then, seconds later, she came galloping past like a miniature racehorse, her face pure joy, circling back for a quick pet before taking off again.

Not knowing what reality would be in front of us after her surgery in early November, I knew I had to give her one more outdoor adventure before we faced it. So, on the last weekend before the end of Daylight Savings Time, I loaded my pack for an overnight and drove Arti out to the parking lot at Max Patch. We arrived around 3 p.m. on a perfect afternoon, the sky bright blue with smears of high cirrus clouds, the air just warm enough to promise a comfortable night at the campsite. We’d come in the lull between the popular hiking times in late morning and early afternoon and the glut of people who’d arrive later to watch the sunset. There were few people at Max Patch, and none on the Appalachian Trail north of it.

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We hiked in a couple miles to Roaring Fork Shelter, a spot where I’ve often camped in the spring when the A.T. thru-hikers are passing through. On any given night in April, a dozen or more hikers will bed down among the trillium flowers on their way north to Maine. Today, though, a drab blanket of dead leaves replaced April’s cacophony of wildflowers, and Arti and I were the only living things in sight. Feeling uneasy, I took off my backpack but didn’t unpack it. Sleeping here seemed like the outdoor equivalent of bedding down alone in an empty mansion.

Arti didn’t share my anxiety. She trotted around, sniffing, chasing, and barking at various items of interest. But when I reattached my backpack and began walking back the way we’d come, she was all about it. For a dog who loves to run, the hard-packed dirt of a well-worn hiking trail is like a racetrack through the woods, in existence solely for her pleasure.

I had in mind to find a smaller, cozier site closer to Max Patch. Something near water, and maybe something near enough the bald to catch the morning sunrise. It was already after 5 p.m., so time was ticking to find a spot and make camp before dark. I wouldn’t be enjoying any leisurely sunsets today.

As I drew closer to the zone around Max Patch where camping is illegal, I began to wonder if I’d be able to camp at all. Spots meeting my criteria were sparse, and maybe nonexistent. I was wracking my brain for a Plan C when I finally found it—a trickling source of water, a fire ring, and the perfect spot to pitch a tent.

The sun sank low as I set up camp. I made dinner and built a campfire while the sky turned pink between the trees, fading to blue and then to black, scattered with stars.  Leaning back, I watched the flames dance and listened to the jingle-jangle of Arti’s tags as she ran around in the darkness. She kept returning to a spot up the hill to my left, barking at some invisible critter. She was living fully in the moment, having the time of her life, but my mind kept flickering toward the future, interrupting the perfection of now. How many more evenings like this would we have together?

The alarm I’d set for the sunrise failed to ring, so I opened my eyes with only 15 or 20 minutes to go before the sun was scheduled to pop over the horizon. I felt around for my glasses and threw on some clothes, hightailing it uphill as fast as I could without morning coffee to fuel me. The sky was pink through the bare trees, then flecked with orange as I emerged from the woods to a meadowy ridge. Clouds lay like lakes between distant mountains, and the pre-dawn light imbued a fairy-like luster on the tall grasses and goldenrod, all gone to seed and waiting for winter.

I made it to the top moments before the sun crossed the horizon, igniting a thin stream of golden fire below the thick clouds moving in from the west. In that moment, I had no way of knowing that in just a few days, the vet would call to say that surgery had gone well, that the lump was nothing but a fatty tumor, and that Arti should have many more healthy years ahead of her. But despite the uncertain future, as I held my dog and watched the splendor of the skies, I could feel in myself the joy I see in her, every time she runs through the woods.

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Beautifully written

Absolutely love your recount.

Linda Dickinson 292 days ago