Irked. When backpacking, it is very rare if things go the way you expect. You can have the most well-laid plans and they can all go to shit in the blink of an eye through no fault of your own, or all because of a decision you made. I had been itching to get out and backpack again in the middle of September, so one weekend I threw my gear in my car, grabbed Callie and Ghost, and hit the road. My destination was Lost Maples State Natural Area, deep within the Texas Hill Country and far enough south-west to be borderline desert. I had heard of Lost Maples before and had it on my list (literally) of places to visit, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. I figured the beginning of autumn would be a great time to visit a place with maple trees.
The roads to Lost Maples will have to be left to another post, but I absolutely loved them. So scenic, taking you between hill tops and down into river valley bottoms only to bring you right back up to far-reaching vistas. They were great! And once I reached Lost Maples, tucked way back in the hill country well out of cell phone signal, I couldn't wait to start walking trails like the roads I had just left. I picked up my permit, drove to the trailhead, and prepared for an overnight in the backcountry.
Now, remember, I had never taken Ghost backpacking before. We'd camped once, and hiked a little, but he had no experience with my full backpacking routine, or my gear. He was terrified of my trekking poles at first, though eventually he figured out he needed to walk on one side of me, not in front, and he would avoid them all together. Callie, I had expected to fall right back into the swing of routine, with her as seasoned as she is as my backpacking partner. What I had not expected were the issues I had with her right from the start. It was like she had forgotten how to walk on a leash; she was all over the trail, lagging behind then running ahead, weaving back and forth, tangling her leash with Ghost's and tripping me up at the same time. I couldn't help but get frustrated, wondering if she had lost her mind with the addition of the puppy.
The hike to our campsite for the night wasn't a fun one. I struggled with both dogs, trying to juggle them and my heavy pack overloaded with water and dog food in addition to my own gear. When we finally staggered into camp I tied the dogs off to a tree and sat on a rock, staring into space while rethinking my plan to backpack. Eventually my stubbornness won and I set about making camp, but I didn't spend a whole lot of time moving; all I wanted to do was sit down and read and forget about the day's hike.
As the afternoon melted into evening and the temperature dropped enough to allow me to not sweat while sitting still, Callie, Ghost, and I hung out around camp, watching the last light on the hills above us disappear. The air was so still, without a breeze to stir it or even an airplane high above, that we could hear the whirring of feathers as raven wings beat the evening sky on the way to their roosts. It was perfectly quiet, with only the crickets and night birds beginning their nightly serenades. When it was no longer possible to read without a headlamp we crawled into the tent and settled down with some semblance of normality. Callie came and snuggled up next to me in the sleeping bag and Ghost lay near my head, both of them immediately drifting off to sleep. At least they hadn't forgotten how to do that. I kept reminding myself "tomorrow is a new day" and began looking forward to finishing our loop hike, perhaps with a chance for the dogs to swim a little bit before we made it back to the car. With those final comforting thoughts I turned off my light and let the night take me away.
