Close Calls and October Blooms

Field Notes II.XL: Reflections on narrowly avoided disaster and photographing flowers

Welcome to Field Notes!

Thinking back, I’ve had many close calls. Most of these only revealed their significance in retrospect. There was a situation or two with bears. I’ve been stuck in exposed spots in the middle of the wilderness during lightning storms a couple of times. Was lost in dense fog one time, alone on a remote mountain. I’ve had illnesses and injuries that could have crippled or killed me. I’ve been shot at, sort of. I’ve chased armed felons, stepped over dead victims’ bodies, and held murderers at gunpoint.

I recently had cause to think back on these things, but these are stories for another time.

It was a morning in early October, and at this time of year darkness lingers like a lazy black cat stretched across the floor, unwilling to start the day just yet. As the horizon grew pale with the coming dawn I waited closer to the river, curious to see how the light would look filtered through the forest leaves.

I watched the low clouds on the horizon blush pink. I then realized that across from where I sat sprawled a large plot of land, cleared for a massive development that lost funding and now remains abandoned and undeveloped. That land reminds me of a burn victim’s scar, but might be a good place to watch a color display unfolding in the sky.

I had plans to do a thru hike of the Bartram Trail. Its a lesser known route that begins at the Chattooga River, at the Georgia and South Carolina border, and stretches north for more than 100 miles to the top of Cheoah Bald in the mountains of Western North Carolina. I didn’t announce these plans widely beforehand because the opportunity presented itself with relatively short notice.

I would park my truck an additional 8 miles past the finish line, at the Nantahala Outdoor Center. I scheduled a shuttle to pick me up from there and drive me to the start of the trail. But a problem arose. I became aware of Hurricane Helene swirling in the Gulf of Mexico and started paying attention to its projected path.

As the intensity of the storm became clear and its path solidified, I had to make a decision. Should I believe the headlines, or were they more hype just to grab my attention? Hurricanes lose power fast when they hit land. I’ve been in the mountains in years past while the remnants of one swept over, bringing only wetness and weird temperatures.

Based on that past experience I would have risked it. But, there was more at stake. The storm was projected to directly hit my hometown of Athens, Ga. We have had devastating hurricanes affect us here before. I could not leave my family vulnerable to that threat while I was away and unable to return.

So, on the night before I was supposed to leave, I cancelled my trip.

The hurricane turned. My town was spared all but minor inconveniences. Unfortunately, we now see the unprecedented level of destruction that this storm brought down on Western North Carolina. Many lost their lives. Many more lost everything they have. Being so close to this, yet barely affected by it myself, it is hard for my mind to grasp.

Had I opted to continue on my hike Hurricane Helene would have crossed my projected path perpendicularly as I was traveling through the mountains just east of Franklin, North Carolina. Alone, it would have been me vs the storm of a lifetime, with only a single wall trekking pole tent for protection.

It is impossible to say how that would have played out, and I don’t dwell on it. Like I mentioned earlier, I’ve seen glimpses of the Reaper a few times, and I’m starting to recognize his visage.

The sky did not erupt in color as I had hoped. What I did find was nature making a comeback on this scarred, wasted section of earth. Weeds grew tall in the gravel and red clay. They were erupting in yellow blooms. Some, already past the point of flowering, offered their fuzzy white seeds to the breeze.

Distant birds cried out hauntingly in the dim light. Unobstructed by trees, the expansive sky spread subtle shades and tints above. I stood still, ever so small and insignificant under its silent celestial enormity.

And then came the sun, creeping over the horizon like a predator gaining a stealthy view on those still sleepily unaware. But this day found me prepared, and I gathered the light as it arrived, highlighting the surrounding blooms with backlit radiance.

Close calls and photographing flowers. How are they related? All of these events are part of the same dance of life on this earth. We play our small part of it, and are focused on that, but the whole exhibition is not about us. Sometimes tragedy strikes. Sometimes it misses. Perhaps there is no Why, or maybe its just that the Why does not matter.

It will catch up to me one day, and my time will be up. This is just the same as with every one of us. The Reaper may very well have been waiting to greet me on the Bartram Trail on September 26, but I unknowingly cancelled that appointment. What matters is simply that on this day in early October I was still here, and there was a sunrise and there were flowers, and I want to show them to you.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this issue of Field Notes. I’m really pleased with how these images turned out!

Clearly, my plans for the Bartram Trail were upended. So were all of my other plans for backpacking and photographing in the mountains this fall. I’m scrambling trying to find alternative locations that weren’t impacted by Helene, but we’ll just see where this goes. We’re bushwhacking now, and I hope you come along to see where we end up!

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