Another Uh-oh moment that's been weighing on my mind occurred during Columbus Day Weekend last autumn. On that Sunday, for my final hike of the day I wanted to take in the Royces. As you'll recall, that was a dark, rainy weekend, and even when there wasn't precipitation falling it was still quite damp and overcast out. I arrived at the parking lot for the East Royce Trail a little before four thirty (you will recall, it gets dark around 6:30 at that time of year, and even more so that day because it was so overcast). Having mis-read the guide, I thought I'd have enough time to bag both peaks and get back to the car before night fell. Due to all the dampness, I brought along on the hike an umbrella, but didn't think a flashlight would be needed, and I don't own a headlamp.
I reached East Royce okay, and even took the time to visit the true summit and the ledges beyond. Then it was on to West Royce. Due to all the rain of late, the Royce Trail west of the Connector was just about all puddles, and it took time to go around them. Right before I reached the Burnt Mill Trail I happened to check my watch, and I saw that it was six o'clock. That wasn't good. Even though it made more sense to turn back, since I was that close to West Royce I kept going, but this time with a quickened pace. In climbing that peak, I kept hoping to pop out of the woods at the summit so I could then turn around, but ultimately it didn't come soon enough for my liking. After taking a moment to locate what in the fading light appeared to be the highest point, I then started heading down. It was about 6:15-6:20 at this point, and it was already a little dark in the thicker stretches of woods.
To maximize the little light I had left, I ran/jogged along any trail sections that were flat enough and where the footing was visible. Rather than worry about the constant large puddles along the flat section of the Royce Trail, I stormed right through them, splashing my way through each of them.
On the Connector Trail, I could see okay on the open ledges, but that also made the subsequent woods seem that much darker. In descending to the East Royce Trail, it was dark enough that I lost the trail at one point, but by back tracking a little I found it again in a moment. When I did reach the East Royce Trail (at around 7 p.m.), by that point it was just becoming completely dark.
So there I was, with a downhill mile still left to the car, with no daylight left, in the woods on the eastern side of a mountain under skies that had been overcast all day. Even though I had no source of light, I had plans for the next morning, so I had little choice but to keep going.
Without being able to see where I was going, I had to feel along with my feet to determine where to take the next step. Thankfully the trail was worn enough that usually I was readily able to find where the path was going. It also helped that I was in the woods, so I wasn't able to stray too far off course without walking into branches. Due to the lack of visibility, I didn't bother trying to step on rocks at any of the brook crossings.
In this way, I managed to slowly baby-step most of the way down. At first the prospect of descending the East Royce Trail had seemed daunting, having to navigate the rest of the way back to the parking lot in the dark. However, rather than focus on how uncomfortable I was with the situation (and how dearly I wanted to be sitting in my warm car), I instead focused on the task at hand, cautiously trying to place one foot in front of the other and trying not to hurry anything. I was able to gain quite a bit of ground with this mentality and focus. However, toward the end I lost the trail. First, I backtracked until I found where I was definitely on the trail, but in following the path forward I lost it again. I went towards where I thought it went, but it didn't seem right. Backtracking again, I refound the trail, and proceeding from there, when I reached the unclear section I got down on my hands and knees and tried to feel with my hands where the treadway was going. This proved unproductive. I even tried using the light on my watch for some illumination, but unfortunately it wasn't bright enough to even faintly see the ground.
At that point, I didn't know how far up the mountain I was, or how to get back to the car from there. Unsure of which direction to head in, I considered staying there until dawn. However, since this was supposed to be a quick hike, I really wasn't dressed for a cold, damp night on the mountain. Besides, I had appointments in the morning to keep.
As I stood there trying to figure out what to do, I heard a car approaching, then saw it drive by on the road, about 10-20 yards in front of me. I was just about to crash through the remaining woods in that direction when I noticed the faintest hint of trail on my right. Proceeding in that direction, I found that I was indeed on the path. In a few moments I was happily splashing through the last swollen brook (which I had so painstakingly rock hopped across on the way up the mountain). As I did so, ahead of me I could just make out the open area of the parking lot, with the edge of the informational kiosk on the right. Back at last!
I think it goes without saying how happy I was to see my car at that moment, and to be able to sit in its dry interior. Even though I wasn't too happy during the last mile of this outing, I'm still glad I was able to bag the Royces that day (then again, it's easy for me to say that, since no one was injured as a result of my mistakes). Obviously, subsequent to this hike I've been more careful about getting out of the woods before dark, and one plus of experiences like this is that they make day jobs in safe, warm, well-lit but boring office buildings seem not so bad. After all, there are certainly worse things than sitting in a comfortable chair for eight hours a day.
We ended up chalking this trip up as being a 6 RT hour "scenic drive'..
