Rest in peace, Red and White

As I made my way out of the Smokies,  I settled in the only shelter in the park to still have chicken wire around the front.  It was getting dark.  I opened the metal door with a screech and felt like I was walking into jail.  There was no one else there. I was hoping that I wouldn't have to spend my first night alone in that particular shelter, when a father and son from Louisiana walked in.  They introduced themselves as Whitey and Red Headed Stranger.  They were headed to Damascus, Virginia by July 5th.  We made dinner and small talk and got an early start the next morning.  I was glad to see them on the trail and at shelters over the next few days. 

Hiking alone can be a wonderful thing.  But sometimes, seeing a great view is bittersweet.  There were moments that I wanted to share with someone.  As I walked along the North Carolina/Tennessee border, I was able to relish the view with new friends.  After a stunning day on Max Patch, they left me a note in the next shelter (next to a 6 inch, plastic shovel) that made me laugh out loud:

"We have died of thirst.  Triscuit, please bury our bodies behind the shelter.  You can use the poo shovel." 

I decided to walk through the rain to the next shelter to catch up with them and pretended to be angry when I saw them.  "Y'all aren't dead?  I dug for hours with that tiny shovel and then couldn't find you!"  We laughed and made dinner, and talked excitedly about the trail ahead.

After Hot Springs I fell behind, but I always read their log entries at every shelter.  At one point I was going to hike through the night to catch up to them, but a few Southbounders told me a night hike over Laurel Falls wasn't wise, so I kept a slower pace.  As I climbed over the rocky trail the next day, I looked forward to meeting my parents at the end of the day and didn't stop for a dip in the falls.

My dad joined me and we hiked on.  I looked at the log book at a shelter we passed and was glad to see a few familiar signatures, but nothing from Red and White.  It was the first time they hadn't written.  Later that day we met some folks that told us a father and son had drowned in the falls.  I paused.  "Do you know where they're from?"  And the next word fell like a rock in my gut.

"Louisiana." 

Please, please, please, if you are by Laurel Falls outside Dennis Cove, TN, don't swim there.  It is beautiful, and looks benign, but apparently there is an undertow and drownings are not uncommon. 

Red and White were strong hikers, with good heads on their shoulders.  Most of the risks associated with the trail are small, but sometimes we fall victim to chance.  I can only guess what happened, and I've tried to put their last hours out of my head.  I can only take this as a reminder to continue to be careful, and to be grateful for the people I still have in my life.  I'm glad Dad was here when I found out.  

The trail has a way of creating strong bonds with people that we don't know for very long.  My friends, my good friends, won't easily be forgotten.  I walked the last forty miles to Damascus in their honor.

Please send a prayer or positive thought in their family's direction.