Breaking Records

Jubilant. As far as goals go, it wasn't unobtainable: all I wanted to do was break my hiking distance record, preferably within a year of the last time I broke it. I set out to do that in the middle of December, headed once again to the Turkey Creek Unit of Big Thicket National Preserve, determined to hike the trail until I reached my goal of 20 consecutive miles in one day. December is an amazing time to hike in east Texas due to the facts that it is relatively cool, the mosquitoes are quieter (if not totally gone) and there is less humidity than during the summer months. Of course, winter also brings the rainy season but as long as you're prepared to get a little wet it usually isn't a problem. Oh, did I mention I wasn't going to do it alone? My favorite little white adventure buddy was coming with me!

Callie and I set out from our home before dawn and headed south, watching the sun rise on a perfect day. The miles seemed to fly by, and before I knew it we were pulling into the trailhead parking lot. Callie seemed just as ready to hit the trail as I was, and all but dragged me across the pavement toward the short boardwalk that signaled the beginning of the trail. The Thicket hadn't yet received the memo that it was winter, and still held on to its mantle of orange and yellow leaves, with some trees still proudly bearing green. We mostly walked on the litter of last year's winter, the crunchy leaves beneath our feet and the twitter of birds above our heads the only sounds in the stillness of the forest.

So, we hiked. I'm not sure how far away the roads parallelling the trail actually are, but for all we knew there wasn't anybody around for miles, nor did we see a single person on the entire trail. We had the forest completely to ourselves, and that alone made me giddy. Only once, lost in my own head, did I nearly jump out of my skin when my phone went off unexpectedly with a text from Jared. I normally don't hike with my sound on so I don't disturb the peacefulness of the trail for myself and others, but that morning I had obviously forgotten to turn it down and almost had a heart attack when it went off. I quickly pulled it out, shot off a response to Jared, turned it down, and marveled at the fact that I even had cell service at all.

It felt like I had just started walking when Callie and I reached the ten mile mark, and our turn-around point. I was good about making sure we stopped often, about every four miles or so, to rest our feet and legs, snack a little, and drink some water because I knew I wouldn't start to get tired until mile fifteen and needed to make sure both Callie's and my energy stash would last us until we hit 20 miles (and then the car). Callie and I passed through some amazing scenery, and it certainly helped keep me motivated to see more. We walked through tunnels of trees so thick it seemed like evening, open savannahs of giant long-leaf pines, and across boardwalks set above soggy marshes and bayous where cypress knees stuck up like gnome hats. The cypress bogs were my favorite, mostly because we were greeted every time we passed through them by a chorus of frogs calling even in mid-December.

At about mile eighteen, though, it started to rain. A light mist at first, which morphed into a slightly heavier drizzle, then eventually became heavy enough for me to stop in the shelter of one of the tree tunnels and dig for my rain jacket. Until that point I had been feeling fine, but the wet and the chill that came with it started making me wish our hike was over. I noticed myself slowing down, though I gave myself a mental kick in the ass every time I became aware that I was dragging. Callie never showed that she was tired, and spent the majority of the hike leading me by several feet. The energy of that little terrier amazes me. Every time I wanted a boost I just had to watch her spring along the forest trail tell myself to be more like her. Finally, seven hours, eight minutes and 20.42 miles after we started, we made it back to the trailhead and I could finally claim my new record. As I hobbled to my car and all but fell into my seat I knew that I'd be trying to break my record yet again in 2017. Who knows, maybe I'll break it more than once.