Saturday: 1

Two years ago Saturday became my day of exploration. I would drive to a mountain nearly every week on my only day off and push myself to hike it, to see how it felt to complete a challenge on my own. I was new in the South, new to mountains and the ocean and weekends alone.

It began with Grandfather Mountain and continued to the Atlantic and back up into the Blue Ridge. And it was in the Blue Ridge that I found my Southern home: the Art Loeb Trail from Black Balsom Road over Tennent Mountain and Ivestor Gap. Recently, my fourth time on the trail, I finally made it to Shining Rock, the cluster of white quartz you can see from miles away. The first time I took a wrong trail to find it, the second I got rained out halfway, the third was colder than I had prepared for. But this time I had set out with the intention of going all the way--6 miles to stand on quartz and say "I made it."

The morning was heavy with clouds. On the drive up I-26, treed tips of mountains hovered in the air above white. Fog lifted from the Green River Gorge, and clouds moved unimpeded over the Blue Ridge Parkway. The forecast called for a 30% chance of rain, but I needed the hike too much call it off. Scooter and I both needed exercise, and I needed to walk out my distraction of late, to complete something worth my time.

 "...mountains are providers: they catch clouds, shed water, give refuge, cleanse the spirit. Standing up straight, they seem to represent the highest spiritual attainment of the human; they are the natural sacred site on whose summits we express our gratitude and awe."
--from "The Bridge to Heaven" by Gretel Ehrlich

Twelve miles later I had completed my quest, finally tired out my dog, and spent the day amid rocks and trees I love. And I had done it alone, again. My feet were caked in mud, calves shaded by dirt. As I descended the last section of trail through pines, brown rooms meant for bear and rattlesnakes, I wondered if I will ever make it down to the water heard deep in the valley: a rush below green, a depth lower than my feet tend to go.

On Shining Rock

Shining Rock (white quartz) itself

In cloud on the Art Loeb Trail

Contemplating clouds and trees