I like to hike, but — for safety reasons — I’d never go it alone, and I have trouble finding hiking partners. There just aren’t a lot of hikers in my circle of family and friends, but every once in a while, I’ll rope somebody in. On Saturday, that somebody turned out to be my sister, Deb.
Back at Thanksgiving, I’d managed to talk Deb and our aunt, Sharron, into a hike. We agreed on a place, Carolina Beach State Park, and a date, Saturday, December 16. But, the closer the time came, the more I realized what a bad idea that was — having to drive back and forth across Wilmington to get to the park on a busy shopping Saturday shortly before Christmas. I also took into account the fact that both Deb and Sharron had expressed concerns about safety. Now, as I stated earlier, my idea of hiking safety is to have another person with me. But even with the three of us going together, Deb and Sharron seemed uneasy with regard to safety.
So, I hit on another idea. Often, our state parks offer guided hikes — meaning someone from the park staff leads a hike that is open to the public. I’ve been on a number of guided hikes — in fact, going forward, this will probably be how I do a lot of my hiking, as it won’t require that I recruit anyone else to accompany me! — and I poked around online until I found one scheduled for the 16th and that wouldn’t require being bogged down in holiday traffic: Carvers Creek State Park, located in Cumberland County about 13 miles northwest of Fayetteville, was holding a birdwatching hike at 11 a.m.
With Carvers Creek as our destination, Sharron bowed out — it was farther than she wanted to drive — so that left just Deb and me. The day was not without its glitches. First, Deb and I live about an hour from one another, so rather than meeting up ahead of time, it was more convenient for us to just meet at the park. While I was on my way, I got a call from Deb, whose GPS had guided her not to the park but to the military base. Oops. I suggested she input the name of the park (rather than the physical address), and that ended up taking her right where she needed to be.
Second, when I arrived at the park, Deb was standing in the gravel parking lot waiting for me, reporting on the fact that all the hikers she’d seen so far had dogs with them. For many people, this wouldn’t be a problem, but Deb’s been bitten by dogs a couple of times and has a deathly fear of them. Oh no.
Third, the starting point for the hike wasn’t at the main office, but at a different park access area, with just a small restroom at the parking lot’s edge. Having downed a nice-sized soft drink during my drive, I handed Deb the binoculars I’d brought for us and started toward the restroom. The way she scrunched up her face told me she’d already scoped it out. Indeed, the restroom was — ahem — in need of a cleaning. Not good.
We both looked around, trying to figure out the exact meeting spot for the hike. We finally found it, a few yards from where we were standing. Fortunately, none of the dog owners Deb had spotted earlier were joining us; it was just the two of us, along with a dad and his seven-year-old daughter, and, of course, our guide, a park naturalist named William.
Early on, we spotted a woodpecker, a yellow-bellied sapsucker. Later, we saw crows and mourning doves. Sometimes, we couldn’t see the birds, but could hear them singing or chirping or cawing, and William showed us an app on his phone that identified the calls. Turns out, I had downloaded that same app on my phone, but hadn’t used it in so long that I didn’t realize the upgraded version could identify birds by their calls; I thought it just identified them by appearance. (Note to self: Look at the other apps I’ve downloaded and ignored; there’s no telling what my phone can do!)
The truth is, the birds were pretty elusive that day. I see lots more birds outside my office window every day. Even as I write this, I’m watching feeders alive with the activity of sparrows, finches, cardinals, and mourning doves. But birdwatching was just one aspect of the hike. William talked to us about the longleaf pine ecosystem we were walking through. He showed us a pine that had been struck by lightning — starting a fire — a few weeks earlier; the chunk of bark blown off the tree was still lying nearby, and a long, straight streak ran up its trunk. He pointed out pines that were clearly home to red-cockaded woodpeckers, identifiable by bark covered in sap running from the holes excavated by the birds.
For me, this was a peaceful, rejuvenating day. I loved being out in nature. I loved learning. I loved moving around, even if the pace was slow.
And, while I’m sure Deb didn’t hate it, I’m equally sure she didn’t love it. I don’t think the experience was what she expected. I think by “hike,” she was envisioning more exercise, less standing still. (William took us off-trail looking for birds, so, just guessing, I’d say we ended up covering maybe a mile-and-a-half.) And, having been on guided hikes before, I, no doubt, should have done a better job letting her know what to expect.
Despite the experience not being, perhaps, what she expected, despite getting lost on the way to the park, despite her initial fears that she would be fending off dogs, despite the less-than-immaculate (and, trust me, that’s a really, really nice way of putting it) restroom, Deb was an exceptional sport. And for that, she was duly rewarded. We ended our excursion with lunch at a restaurant she likes, Luigi’s, in Fayetteville. She ordered her favorite pasta dish. I ordered, not surprisingly, pizza. All was right with the world.
