Well, here’s a bit from my Spring break trip. It was an eventful day; we started out early, at around seven in the morning. We’d had a good breakfast at the inn we were staying at. It was aptly named ‘The Mountaineer Inn’, and I’d fallen in love with it the moment I read the name on the internet search site. Without too my effort, my companions were convinced into agreeing to stay there as well. The owner was an old Greek, a friendly person, the kind you feel you’ve known all along somehow. So, after a breakfast of hot bagels, some cinnamon-raisin bread, and strong coffee, we set out armed with a google map to Mt. Mitchell, North Carolina.

We reached the place that the map indicated, and saw that there was nobody around. Just before we gave up however, we found an enterprising little dog, who woke his owner up with the rousing welcome he gave us. The lady walked out in her night gown and told us with a smile, that this was not the camp ground we were looking for, and gave us fresh directions. The process continued, we woke up quite a few people in the country side, observed the different sets of teeth, and finally, a man who seemed the ‘trekking kind’ showed us the way. Overjoyed, we parked the car, and walked towards what seemed to be a trail. Four miles later, we reached the highway. Needless to say, all three of us were quite annoyed at seeing a road instead of the mountain peak. We journeyed back, our sense of adventure dissatisfied, and our spirits low. When we reached the car, a huge sign greeted us – One that pointed to the opposite side we had just explored and said in bold letters –‘BLACK MT. CAMP GROUND’.

We gave each other sheepish grins, swore to keep the details between us and set out to conquer the peak. I took pictures of course, and every time I see how close our car was to the sign, I burst out laughing! We made our way to the actual camp ground, which had many signs, clearly indicating the various routes and the way we had to follow. After much debate, the two veteran trekkers with me decided that although the novice who’d come along would slow them down and so make reaching the peak in time impossible , the trek to the point just 1000 m below the peak was achievable.

I was already pretty tired and disillusioned with the climb. It was my first trek, and I’d done nothing but reach a highway so far. Nearly six miles of climbing for nothing! But then, I quickly realized that I’d (inadvertently!) mentioned to a few of my friends that I was climbing the ‘highest peak east of the Mississippi’. I also realized that such an occasion would never be forgotten if they found out about where I’d managed to reach, and so decided to try climbing the mountain that loomed large in front of us. Well, we made it to the top.. Me leading the way! - Unfortunately, it was only because the policy was ‘Slowest first’, so that nobody got lost. The views along the way helped take us ahead, and I cursed every chocolate bar that was now weighing me down. With a few laughs (surprisingly without any falls on my part) along the way, we did make it to the point we were aiming for.

I was expecting something big once I reached there, but like one of my friends pointed out, the trek really was more about the way to the top than the summit itself. We began our descent soon, and I was elated, glad that I’d made it so far without any dire accidents to anyone around me. Which, if you know me well is practically the norm? We stopped after a while, and the guys decided to rest for a bit. They decided to let me go ahead, for considering the speed at which I’d been gingerly stepping down every rock until then, it seemed like they’d catch up with me in no time at all. This is where the big surprise of the trip hit us all. I was much faster when they were not around me. Eager to reach the bottom of the hill, I ran down, careless of any fall that might result. I was, however, very careful to follow the track. The guys started off behind me, did not catch up, and decided that I must be lost. For I was slow, I was known to have a very poor sense of direction (I still object to the characterization) and hence, getting lost was my defining feature.

In short, they spent hours looking for me on the top, and finally found me waiting at the bottom. I’m sure they were relieved to find me, but at the time, the most dominant emotion was anger, at how stupid I could be. And I know I was, for it was dangerous to get separated from your group while it neared dusk, and I could easily have taken a wrong turn. I was guilt-ridden, shocked at my recklessness, and pretty upset. The same speed of descent that had given me so much pleasure while running down the slope had caused my friends needless worry. At that moment, I felt like the prodigal son after his return.

We went back to the inn, me somewhat subdued. Its remarkable how the next morning, I was as excited as I was the previous morning, and we set out to explore some more of the riches North Carolina seems blessed with. But that’s something for another entry. Right now, I’m still trying to get rid of the knee pain that followed running down the slope so fast, as though I needed further reason, to never do that again!