Dolly Sods, 2015
A solo hike, a freezing night, and the kind of clarity that only comes from Type 2 fun
Happy Sunday, friends. Here’s my first weekend essay. On weekends, I like to write about the less serious things in life: the outdoors, travel, and health/wellness. Enjoy.
Dolly Sods
I took a liking to hiking and backpacking in college, having not done much of it as a kid (at least as far as I can remember — though I’m sure my parents will bring up some obscure time when I was five).
I saw hiking and backpacking as a way to escape the monotony of daily life and step outside my routine and comfort zone. There was something special about walking alone in the woods, taking in nature, and letting thoughts come to me. It was my meditation of sorts.
One particular trip stands out. It was my final semester of college, and I was anxious about graduating, finding a full-time job, and deciding whether to ask my now-wife to start dating seriously (we were “just talking” at the time). I decided what I needed was a solo backpacking trip. After some research, I landed on Dolly Sods in West Virginia.
It was late October 2015, and I planned a three-day, two-night trip — Friday through Sunday. Since I had to work that Friday and then drive three hours to reach the trailhead, I made the first day an easy two-mile hike to ease into it.
Ease into it I did not.
In terms of clothes, I showed up with shorts, a fleece mid-layer, my rain shell, a beanie, and hiking socks. That’s it. Big mistake.
That evening, the temperature steadily dropped to 24°F (according to my watch hanging in the tent). My sleeping bag was only rated to 30°F, and I didn’t have a liner. And those shorts? My legs were fucking freezing. You’d think that, being late October and knowing I’d be at higher elevation, I would’ve packed warmer, but I guess hindsight is 20/20.
As I sat shivering in my sleeping bag, I threw on my second pair of socks, my fleece, my rain shell, and my beanie, then curled up into the fetal position. I tried to sleep, only to be woken up intermittently by coyotes howling in the distance and the rustling of leaves around my tent.
The next morning, I couldn’t have been more eager to light my stove and make my Quaker apples and cinnamon oatmeal (two packs of it) and coffee (typically Nescafe instant coffee). I’m pretty confident that first bite of piping-hot oatmeal healed me. I could feel its warmth sliding down my throat and spreading through my core. I couldn’t get the rest of it inside me fast enough. When I finished my oatmeal, I squatted next to my stove, wrapped my hands around my mug of coffee, and sipped until it was gone.
I packed up camp and decided the best move was to start hiking to warm up. But first, I had to rethink my plans. There was no way I was enduring another frigid night like that, but I didn’t want to leave without getting a few miles in. I needed to find the balance between not wanting to be a quitter and not putting myself at risk of hypothermia. I pulled out my map and traced a route that would give me about ten solid miles before dropping me back at my car.
Those ten miles were divine. If you’ve never been to Dolly Sods, go in the fall. The hills of brush turn a deep red, the windswept trees look dramatic, and the solitude is both calming and unsettling. I know it sounds crazy, but those ten miles really changed me. There’s something spiritual about enduring something tough and being rewarded with beauty.
But the fun didn’t end there.
My hike ended back at the car just as the sun was slipping below the horizon. Normally not an issue, except in this case my phone had no service and I couldn’t pull up directions to get down the mountain. And now it was dark. Great.
I figured I’d follow the gravel road down to a major road, then rack my memory for directions. I made it to the base, found the nearest major road, and kept driving until I spotted a McDonald’s. I pulled into the parking lot, connected to the WiFi, loaded directions home, ordered a large fries as a reward, and hit the road again. Thank God for McDonald’s WiFi, I thought as I drove home.
When I finally got home, I crawled into my warm bed, pulled the covers over me, and passed out. What a wild 36 hours.
Clarity
That clarity I’d been searching for — the reason I’d gone on the trip in the first place — I found it. Two weeks later, I asked my now-wife to be my girlfriend. I knew that if I was going through life, I wanted to do it with her. I also kicked my recruiting into high gear to make sure I landed a solid role post-graduation — and I did. That trip was just what I needed.
I’m not sure how long it was after that trip, but I eventually came across the concept of Type 1, 2, and 3 fun one day. Looking back on this trip, it was definitely Type 2 fun. It pushed me out of my comfort zone, but I’d do it again in a heartbeat if given the opportunity. In fact, I wanted to do it again. I wanted to finish the original trip I had planned before I had to cut it short. I promised myself that one day I’d finish what I started.
A decade later, I got my chance. More on that soon. 😉
Enjoy a few photos from my October 2015 trip.
It is an amazing story! Love reading your stories!!
You got to write a book!!