Further Adventures of the Pennsylvania Backpacker

It was the dark of night in the middle of the deep woods. I awoke suddenly in my tent, feeling cold and confused. For somehow, when I got into my tent, I was tired and disoriented, and had pulled a fleece blanket over me, but did not manage to get into my actual sleeping bag. So I found my head lamp and turned it on, scooched around a while until I was in my sleeping bag, and made sure that all of that was on top of Big Agnes, my green inflatable sleeping pad. And then back to sleep!

In the morning, the snorts of deer wakened me around 7 a.m. I could tell they were near our tents, but not how near. Then came the light on the tree tops. The woodpeckers showed up about a half-hour later. I got out of the tent to tend to necessities, then crawled back in and got back in my sleeping bag, to hang out for a while. Sometimes when we camp out, I spend most of the morning in my tent, just "playing house." It's comfy-cozy in there.

By mid-morning, I was out of my tent for good, and so was my gear. This is the point in the trip where you wonder how all of that stuff is ever going to fit back into your backpack! My husband had a clothes line set up, so I hung my tent on that for a while to air it out and dry out the bottom of it. My ground sheet was upside down in the sun not far away, also drying out.

We discussed our plans to walk out to the car, and we speculated as to whether we would ever find our white plastic bag again. "Our white Walmart bag is a shining beacon of hope in the forest," one of us said. But I told my husband the truth: that I thought we'd never see that sucker again. We continued to pack up our gear, gradually. As it heated up, a few yellow jackets arrived. My husband, trying to shoo one away, got stung on the hand. Fortunately, I had a histamine blocker cream with me, he put some of that on it, and it instantly took away the discomfort.

As we were packing, I took one last lap around the campsite, checking for things we might have left behind, and I came upon my husband's stripey long underwear that make him look like a creature out of a Dr. Seuss book, hanging from a bush. "Undergarments in strange places," I sung to my husband, set to the tune of Garth Brooks' I've Got Friends in Low Places. And then, around 2 p.m., we decided that since we were pretty much running out of food and beverages, it was time to head home.

We strapped our gear to our backpacks and my husband hoisted mine onto my shoulders. It did actually feel a few pounds lighter, since I had drunk almost all of the drinks that were in it. And we headed for the nonexistent footpath (which we somehow did not find - again - on this morning), and from there, over into the rhododendron thickets.

Now, here is the point where everything typically falls apart. We are stumbling around on the hillside among the rhododendrons, wondering what the heck happened to our trail! There is a big difference between hiking several miles up a hill through thick rhododendrons, and walking on an old logging road, no matter how poorly marked it may be. So the old logging road, a minimal nod to civilization, is the way to go, if you can find it.

Finally, my husband put his backpack down, told me to stay put, and he'd walk around looking for our tree with the white plastic bag on it that would show us our way home. I stood there with my pack on for a while, just watching and waiting. And then I turned around and looked at the landforms around me, and remembered a dip in the landscape where the two white trees had been in springtime, that I'd used to find our way back out that one time.

I shouted something to my husband about how I was going back a bit to the dip in the land to look for our exit point. The dip was at a place where it seemed a stream should be, but there wasn't one; maybe there is when it rains? Anyway, my heart pounding, as I feared I could lose myself forever at any second, and NEVER find my way home, I trudged upward - up the dip, and suddenly, my feet felt like they were on an old path, and it felt good. There is something about finding the right path that is like coming home.

In a few more minutes, I looked up in a tree ahead of me to discover it: our shining beacon of hope, A WHITE PLASTIC BAG!!! I started jumping around and shouting triumphantly: "I'VE FOUND IT!!! I'VE FOUND IT!!!" I heard my husband shout back that he'd heard me. I stood there, singing I've Got Friends in Low Places, at the top of my lungs, so he would be sure to find me. And then we were both on the path, and my husband removed the white bag and stuck it in his pocket (turns out it was from Weis, not Walmart, but what the heck), and we were winding our way up out of the woods and heading for home! Yay, me! I'd found it!

The photo I've posted here is a typical backpacking scene in the central PA woodlands. That's my husband, keeping a jaunty pace up ahead. Our backpack trip is nearly done. We are finally back on the nice, wide path, and it is green and shady, and there are trees whose foliage is just starting to turn. There is dappled sunlight. There are cool breezes. And the sun is warm on our faces as we rise, and rise, and rise. Waiting for us, up ahead, in the Clickmobile, is one more cold drink and perhaps one little snack to tide us over until we get home.

If you venture into the Pennsylvania woods today, or on some other day, may your journey be well blessed. May the weather be just gorgeous, with blue skies and sunshine and breezes. May your sleeping area be clean, and neat, and beautiful. May all the crap you brought with you actually FIT back into your backpack at journey's end.

May the markers you left to find your way home be right where you left them. May the songs you sing help others find you if you lose your pathway or your hope. May there be one last cold drink waiting for you up ahead. And may your trudging feet finally find your way home.

As for the soundtrack song, it can only be this one: Garth Brooks, with Friends in Low Places. (Sing it . . . LOUD! Like your life may depend on it!)