On Yellow Mountain with Carol

An old journal entry--

Sunday, June 10, 2002

Around dusk, a cloud bank rolled in. The fog crept in through the valleys and crags first, and the bank followed behind. We watched as the cloud filled in below us. The breeze is pretty strong on the summit of Yellow Mountain, so eerie sheets and rags of fog came floating past us on top. The breeze soon turned to gusty, cold wind, and we were thankful for the fire. Eventually, the wind swept the fog away, and we could see all the stars clearly. I pointed out some astronomical things to Carol: the Big Dipper, North Star, Venus, Cassiopeia, Bootes, Hercules, and even a satellite bee-lining across the sky. There was no moon. I also explained some of the basics of astronomy – She knew nothing of it! – how the stars rise and set just like the sun and moon; that the North Star stays constant; that all the stars and constellations stay in the same order and formation. For some reason, she thought they changed and overlapped, since the stars are different distances from us. She was fascinated. I told her that constellations were different in different seasons because the Earth’s tilt is different, so it’s on different sides of the sun. If you really know your stars, you can tell the time by what constellation is overhead. She had never thought about it. To me, I had always thought this stuff was common knowledge.

When we went to bed, Carol had her sleeping bag, but all I had was a fleece blanket and the Therma-rest she’d lent me. I hadn't expected it to be cold; being from the coast, I'd never camped on a mountain summit before. I layered up, but I was still cold all night. I slept, but I don’t know how well I slept. I woke at dawn. The eastern sky was pink and gold, and the mountains were different shades of blue. I got up and made a meager fire with the little wood we had. It took all my effort to start it and then keep the blaze going. I blistered my thumb trying to light the kindling with Carol’s lighter, because my hands shook so badly. I ran all around picking up dry leaves and sticks to keep the flame going, at least until the sun was up enough to warm everything. Carol and I ate sandwiches and juice oranges for breakfast. Then, we broke camp. We hiked down but had to take a slightly different route than we’d taken to get up the mountain the day before, because we wanted to come out closer to the highway.

When we finally came out on Buck Creek Rd., we kept walking, hoping cars would come by that we could thumb a ride on. Few cars passed at first. The first place we came to was the dump, so we went in and asked this nice old man with a white beard and captain’s hat, who was sitting in an old orange armchair, if we could use the phone there. We tried the station but were informed that our two potential rides, Andy or Andrea, were not there. So, we kept going, singing songs from musicals in big boisterous voices. We started with songs from “Oklahoma”, such as “I’m Just a Girl Who Cain’t Say No” and “Many a New Day”, messing up the words and making funny voices. Eventually, a young, sweet-looking woman in a red truck passed us a few times and then picked us up, saying she could take us to the end of the road to the main highway. We rode in the back and then hopped out. On Rt. 64, there were plenty of cars going by, and we didn’t have to walk far before a man with his old dad picked us up in a green minivan. He was going into Highlands and gladly took us to the station. He was a nice guy, from Florida, a math teacher nearing retirement.

Neither of us had hitchhiked before, so it was very exciting. We decided that hitchhiking renewed our faith in mankind, since we got such nice rides so quickly. But, as Carol put it, “I still wouldn’t want to test my faith in mankind too often, but it is nice to have it renewed.”