05. Caught in The Web

[gunwithoutmusic]

“Quest for Earth”
1,504 words. Approximate reading time: 7 minutes, 31 seconds. Audio version here.

It’s a particularly bright and sunny day when I pass the homemade sign nailed to a utility pole that reads, “TRUMP COUNTRY U.S.A.” in large block letters on a red, white, and blue background that is more reminiscent of the French flag than the American one (a point that I would hesitate to make to the signmaker). I have learned to put the political opinions of other people somewhere outside my mind, because, let’s face it, all I can do otherwise is just let myself stew in self-righteous anger and scream about not understanding people. And I’ve lived the angry life, where every small slight was a massive affront to my identity, where everyone was an idiot and I was the only sensible person on the planet, where a person almost missing their turn in their car and brake-checking me was an intentional personal attack. I’m done with that, worrying about other people and their opinions of me and of the world. It’s inconsequential to the majority of my life.

Still, every time I drive out to this forest and I see that sign, I cringe a little bit. Thankfully, the same sort of people that will post those sorts of signs and refuse to take them down even after the election has been decided are not the same sorts of people that frequent the hiking trails, so I don’t think that there’s any worry of running into any of them, despite being in the heart of “TRUMP COUNTRY.”

It’s with these thoughts in mind that I nearly miss the turn into the trailhead parking lot and brake-check the person behind me. In my defense, the trailhead parking lot appears as if literally from nowhere, and I nearly miss the turn every time. And I was distracted by thinking about that sign. As luck would have it, the brakes of the car behind me work quite well, as does their horn. In a certain sense, you might say I’m doing them a favor.

I don’t even know why I’m here. My friends couldn’t join me, so I’m doing this one solo. I’m not concerned; it’s only five-and-a-half miles, so I should be done in about three hours, give or take, and I’ve done this trail before, so I know that it’s extremely easy to follow. I sit in the car for a moment and look at the deep forest directly in front of me, taking a moment to breathe. I tell myself that I have nothing to be worried about, and just like that, I don’t worry. If only it was that easy, right? But I drove all this way and I packed all my supplies and everything, so I feel as though I don’t really have a choice. Plus, I’m out here for a reason, I know; I just have to figure out what that reason is.

I start along the trail, which is blissfully devoid of other humans, and let my mind go blank, surrendering myself back to the wild, back to my roots. Or something like that, but maybe slightly less poetic. I take in the trees, the birds, the butterflies that are all around me and try to find my reason. Is that why I’m here? Just to take all of this in? It’s been a week since my last hike, and when I found out that no one else could come with me, I just stomped my feet and said, “Fine; I’ll do it myself then!”

Good old Sean. Never change, man.

I’m about halfway to halfway when I realize that I didn’t actually let anyone know where I was going. For one second after I have this realization, I’m in heaven. ‘I’m out here all alone and nobody will ever be able to find me,’ I think. After that second has passed, however, my thoughts change to, ‘I’m out here all alone and nobody will ever be able to find me!’

But, like with any trail, the only way out is through, so I resolve to keep pressing on until I reach my destination, and maybe figure out what the hell I’m doing here all alone where nobody will ever be able to find me.

A little past halfway to halfway, my bladder informs me that I have Nature on Line 1. I haven’t seen anyone else on the trail today, but still, it’s probably not good trail etiquette to stand right there and relieve myself, so I tell myself to hold it until I can find a spot to step off of the trail and take care of business. But I’m pretty deep in the woods right now, so it’s not exactly easy to find a good spot where I can be relatively well-hidden from any possible passersby while still being able to keep my eyes on the trail itself.

Finally, I come to a point that seems good enough. The forest on the side of the trail is fairly open, but there are a few palmetto plants a couple of steps off the trail that it looks like I could duck behind for a quick second. I take five steps off of the trail, and turn around to see that I can still find it. And, like a good friend, the trail is still there.

I turn back around, trying my best to make it an even 180-degree turn, and take two more steps to go behind the palmetto plants. Palmetto plants, as you may not be aware, as I certainly am not aware, make excellent homes for spiders. Spiders, as I’m sure you are quite aware, make excellent webs for their homes. So it is without this knowledge of palmetto plants and spiders that I find myself trying to push through a small group of plants, and it is also without that knowledge that I find my face covered in spiderwebs.

I lift my hand to my face to pull away what I can of the spiderwebs, forgetting that I had been using that hand to hold back a palmetto leaf, which promptly returns to its original position upon my release of it, and smacks me in the face with a rustle reminiscent of derisive laughter. I remind myself that the only way out is through, and push again through the palmettos and finally do my business.

When I turn to head back to the trail, I realize that nothing at all looks familiar. There is no well-trod strip of earth to be seen; only dead pine needles scattered everywhere. There are no landmarks to use as a guide; only a seemingly-endless sea of identical palmetto plants and pine trees. I’m a slower processor, so it takes me a second before the thought finally crosses my mind: ‘I’m lost in the woods.’

Then, a second later, ‘I’m lost in the woods and I’m out here all alone and nobody will ever be able to find me.’

I hear a whisper from somewhere close to me. “Don’t panic, Sean,” the voice says, and I panic in instinctive defiance before I realize that the voice is my own. I realize that I need to listen to myself, so I do my best to remain calm and try to get myself back on the path. “You only took a few steps off; you can’t be that far away from it. Besides, surely if you stay headed in one direction, you’ll hit some part of the trail eventually.”

I push my way through palmettos and tree branches, thinking to myself that I don’t remember having to push through quite so many things on my way to this spot. I turn around a few times and go back and forth, pushing through (I hope) different plants and branches and surveying the area, looking for any sign of the trail.

After what I think is hours, but is probably only minutes, I push through a group of palmettos and see it: the little stripe of earth that marks my safety. I drop to my knees and nearly kiss the ground before thinking better of it; after all, returning to safety after this harrowing experience only to die from some weird infection or something is probably not the best course of action. But I do let myself stay there for a moment, deep in the woods, rooted to this little stripe of earth, until my adrenaline goes down, and I can quell the panic that is filling up my heart.

Just as I stand up again and brush myself off, a man appears around the corner of the path ahead of me. He smiles and waves as he walks by, and I smile and wave back, then continue on my way.

When I finally emerge from the woods again at the end of the five-and-a-half miles, I gleefully hop into my car and make for home. When I again pass by the sign that reads, “TRUMP COUNTRY U.S.A.,” I smile a little to myself, somehow grateful that I have the opportunity to see it again, and I say aloud to no one, “Maybe other people aren’t so bad after all.”