This past week is a fine example. I took a trip out to eastern Tennessee to visit some friends and do some hiking in the Great Smoky Mountains with my friend Ben. Before arriving in TN, the hike was planned out as far as we both agreed to go hiking in the Smoky Mountains. After I arrived and after some much needed sleep, food, and Nintendo Wii time, Ben and I sat down to pick a route to follow. We both wanted to follow part of the Appalachian Trail (AT); so, we found a route that met that criterion. We found out we needed reservations on some of the campsites on the AT so we did that, and our trip was planned.Upon arriving at our campsite the first night, it had become abundantly clear that we had left out one crucial aspect in the planning of our route. The very key to life, what scientists are searching for on Mars, the element of water.
See, in planning hikes in the Cascades where I’m used to hiking, the idea of water does not cross your mind. Snow is year round, so rivers and creeks are usually running at some capacity and lakes are rarely dry. However, in the Appalachians, the water situation is different. Rivers and creeks are dependent on springs which are dependent on ground water which in turn is dependent on rain fall. The southern states are currently experiencing drought. The creek that was supposed to be about a mile and a half from our campsite was dry. We had no water source for our first night of the hike. The day of hiking prior to our stop for the night was warm and quite an uphill battle, so we were thirsty. We had to conserve what water we had left since we were unsure where the next place to get water would be.
The next day there could be no hot breakfast as we were still in conservation mode. We each had a liter of water to get us to the next campsite, Double Spring Gap, where we hoped one of the springs was producing. This portion of the hike would take us on the AT and over Siler’s Bald. Bald meant an uphill climb, higher elevation, and no trees which spells disaster when it comes to dehydration and you are already low on water.
Signs of dehydration were already setting in before we reached the AT; headaches, nausea, and muscle cramps, and still no sign of water.
We reached the AT and within one mile of our entrance, we came across another pair of hikers; a young couple. We exchanged hellos and I asked where they had stayed the previous night. They said Siler’s Bald Shelter, to which both Ben and I asked if there was any water. They said there was a trickle, but not much. That was good enough for us. That’s more water than we’d seen in at least 12 hours (not counting the water we were seeing in our dreams).Now, when it comes to human anatomy and the ability of the human body to do certain things or whatnot, I know very little. That being said, I feel as though I’ve experienced the physical effects of hope on the human body. Before Ben and I met this couple on the trail, dehydration was rather rampant. After they told us there was water not three miles away, I felt slightly energized. The headache I had? Well it didn’t go away, but I was slightly number to its pain. The nausea I was experiencing? It was still there, but I felt I could endure it. The cramps I was getting in my legs? I found a way to walk where they didn’t bother me. How do I account for this?
Well, hope is a good thing. People say, “Don’t get your hopes up.” Why not? People can do some pretty courageous things fueled solely on hope. People get these kicks of adrenaline and all of a sudden they’re lifting cars. All this from the hope of saving whomever is trapped under the car. It seems what I’ve learned from this whole experience is that hope is a powerful thing. One of my major ambitions for the next two years is to be able to offer people hope. What’s truly exciting is to be able to witness what this hope stirs in people.
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