The sky was already deepening into gloom when I jumped in my car and headed south toward Highland County. I had been in a bit of a Sunday afternoon gloom myself, and had finally decided, at 4 p.m., that I just needed a really long walk through the woods.
According to the website, Fort Hill closes at dusk and its 1300 acres of woods and 11 miles of hiking trails are for “serious hikers only.” I had never been hiking there, so I put the address in my GPS and drove south. Rain pelted my windshield as I picked up my phone and called my friend Katie.
“I realize this is a weird day to go hiking,” I laughed, “But do you want to come to Fort Hill with me?”
This is why I love Katie. Within 15 minutes, she was in my car in a ball cap and hiking boots, with a backpack full of water bottles and granola bars, saying, “This should be interesting.”
The rain had turned to a light mist when we pulled in and parked by the trails. Fort Hill has multiple hiking paths, all centered around a huge gorge surrounded by foothills. Since it was 5 p.m. when we arrived, we picked a shorter trail that was just over two miles. The first leg of it was entirely uphill.
When we reached the top, we climbed a fallen tree and looked down through the just-turning leaves toward the gorge. We left the path to wander downhill for a better view and realized we were on another path.
“This must be the gorge trail,” Katie said.
“Isn’t that the long one?” I asked.
“Yes. But I think it’s going to be more interesting,” Katie replied.
So we took off on the gorge trail, which did in fact turn out to be more interesting.
Before long, we neared the bottom of the gorge and could see a river through the leaves. We left the path and headed toward the water, which was surrounded by huge rock shears and cliff sides. We crossed the river at a shallow point and explored the other side. By this time, we had long been the only two people in the woods.
We had walked a while before we crossed the water again and Katie slipped on a rock and fell in. Soaked but laughing, she led the way back to the path and we were going uphill again.
It was remarkable how quickly the path would bring us uphill. We would be in the bottom of the gorge one minute and then five minutes later, after a steep climb, we would see the river fifty feet below from a treacherous drop-off. The trails were muddy and slippery in the rain, and we both came close to wiping out more times than we could count.
“The lawyer in me feels that maybe some of these deadly drop-offs should be marked by signs,” Katie observed. “But what do I know?”
Meanwhile, I had taken to exclaiming “Oopsie daisy!” every time one of us slipped, which only made it worse.
An hour and a half later, we had gone uphill and downhill so many times we’d lost count. We had wandered off the trail a few times to see plummeting overlooks and stunning rock cliffs. And we hadn’t really taken any breaks.
Almost suddenly, darkness had crept over the woods.
“Is it just me, or is getting dark really fast?” Katie asked.
She was right. It had seemed a few minutes ago that it was just dusk. Now, it was getting hard to see. And the trail was taking us away from the river again and up the hill and deeper into the woods.
Within minutes, it was too dark to see. We couldn’t tell where the trail was and my phone was at 6 percent battery power, so Katie pulled out hers to use as a flashlight. The trail just kept pulling us deeper into darkness.
“Oopsie daisy!” I declared as Katie’s foot slipped ahead of me.
“This is how all the horror movies start, you know,” she helpfully observed.
We traipsed onward. At times it felt like we were nearing the edge of the woods. It would seem like we could see light through the trees. When we were down by the river, it felt lighter, but then the trail would pull us back up the hill and it would be pitch black again.
Finally, we came upon a trail sign and cheered. But the sign was problematically confusing. Katie held her phone up to it to read it. Three different trails merged at the sign, including the longest one. The trail that we were on had ended and we needed to pick between two options. One seemed to lead back to our starting point, but it moved away from the river, which felt counterintuitive. The other seemed to move along the river, but according to the sign, went in the opposite direction from where we’d started.
We agreed to follow the one heading away from the river. We had walked it for a while when I suddenly became uneasy. It was raining again, and the path was unbelievably steep and slick in the darkness. It was leading us high up the hill again, into total darkness.
“I don’t think this is right,” I said.
“I’m starting to wonder myself,” Katie replied, glancing at her phone. “It’s 7:22. Let’s walk this trail until 7:30 and if we aren’t where we should be, we’ll turn around.”
I’ve always appreciated Katie’s decisiveness. We pressed on.
“Oopsie daisy!” I declared as Katie’s foot slipped ahead of me.“This is how all the horror movies start, you know,” she helpfully observed.
My phone was dying, but I thought I might try calling my brother just in case. I hadn’t told anyone I would be out here. I found out later that Katie hadn’t told anyone either.
My phone confirmed what we’d thought: neither of us had service.
Eight minutes later, we turned around and headed back down the slippery path. It seemed to take forever to get back to the sign. By this time, we were both quiet and focused.
It was amazing to me that my first temptation at that moment was to leave the trail. I knew logically that if we stayed on a trail, even if we were there all night, we would eventually find our way back. But intuitively I wanted to leave the trail and follow the river.
I might have done so, and dragged Katie with me, had we not followed the final path downhill. A few short minutes later, Katie said, “That’s the car.” I hit my unlock button and saw my headlights through the trees.
We both burst out laughing with relief.
Soaked and muddy from head to toe, we climbed in the car and drove away through the darkness and rain.
“I’m really glad you came,” I laughed. “I would have been wandering alone all this time.”
“You would have gone off the trail,” Katie said, and she was right.
Later, jumping into a hot shower at Katie’s house, I realized how much better I felt and smiled. You can’t go wrong with a long walk in the woods. And a little adventure thrown in, too.