I look to the left, no trail marker. Look to the right, nothing but pine trees and the occasional scrub palmetto. I’m now officially lost in Rock Springs Run Preserve, and with a wildfire heading my direction and burning close enough to hear the popping of burning branches and the accelerated breeze caused by the roaring fire, I’m in a precarious position to say the least.
I’m 4 hours into what could arguably be one of the most miserable hikes I’ve ever experienced, which given the amount of hikes I’ve done and my usual optimistic outlook and ability to try and find a silver lining for every area, says a lot. I had already trudged a few miles through soft sugar sand and flooded creeks, and now with the increasing heat index, smoke and falling ash I had officially had enough. I was more than ready to watch the trailhead slowly fade into the distance in my rear view mirror as I drove away, but first I had to find my way back, and not get burned to a crisp in the process.
Getting “off the trail” wasn’t a new experience for me. Anyone who has spent much time hiking in the backwoods of Florida will find themselves at one time or another looking forward, backward, left and right trying to pick up the tell-tale sign that signifies the trail lies ahead. Most hiking trails in Florida are marked with blazes, usually a strip of paint on a tree or other marker, which typically is a designated color that correlates with the trails intended use.
While usually trail blazes are close enough together to make following the trail easy, sometimes trees get blown down, burned, other vegetation grows in, etc. which makes the markers difficult to find and locate. This usually occurs in direct proportion to the remoteness of the trail. The more remote the trail, the more likely you’ll run into areas where the trail has grown in or the markers are not visible. Many times this is complicated by the existence of unmarked trails or service roads, which can easily lead a hiker down a stray path.
This was the case with the trail I had found myself traveling on. It had become obvious that portions of the trail had seen little use, and I had found myself backtracking more than few times in an attempt to confirm that I was indeed traveling on the proper hiking trail and not splitting off on some unmarked trail that would lead me away from my intended destination. Each time I was able to go back and pick up the trail’s path, but this time I had a decision to make. I knew which direction the wildfire was traveling, and according to the map I knew that the hiking trail should take me out of the fire’s path, but I had a choice of two paths in front of me, and I didn’t know which one was which.
It’s during times like this that I realize there is some sort of lesson God wants me to learn. I may not know what the lesson is at that time, and I may not always make the right choice and therefore learn the lesson the hard way, but I know that when I look back on the experience I’ll be wiser for it. In this particular situation I was faced with a problem I’ve faced many times in my life, the choice between two paths.
The path to the left was a forest service road. Clear, sandy and easy to follow but also closer to the wildfire’s path I knew it would lead back to the main entrance road to the park. The other choice was a path choked with underbrush and saw palmetto, also missing the tell-tale blaze identifying the trail as the designated hiking trail but appearing to lead away from the fire. Part of me really wanted to just take the trail to the left, and hustle and make good time to beat the fire’s approach, but something deep inside kept telling me that although the other path was much more difficult with no guarantee it would take me to where I needed to go, I just needed to have faith and follow the path that was laid out before me.
2 hours later I was sitting on a log at the trailhead, drinking the last of the water I had in my Jeep. With a bit of a headache from the smoke and a few extra cuts on my legs from saw palmetto that occasionally encroached into the trail’s path, I sat and watched the smoke from the wildlife drift across the forest to the east, consuming pine trees and scrub in areas I had stepped foot only an hour or so before. The wildfire had changed directions a couple of times during the remainder of my hike, and even though the last couple of miles of the hiking trail was still tough to follow at times, looking at the map it became evident the trail lead me in a large semi-circle around the fire’s path.
It was a couple of days later when the lesson for the day’s adventure became clear. At that particular time in my professional life, I had a few different paths that were before me and I had found myself frequently agonizing over which path to take, which was the smart move, what was the best thing to do, etc. I knew that God had a path laid out for me, but the blazes were hard to find, and the path that felt right looked ominous.
I know there will be some cuts and scrapes. The sand might get really soft, or the banks of the creeks may flood. The trail may be longer then I had hoped for, and there may be parts where I’m downright miserable, but in the end I have to have faith that I’ll emerge stronger and wiser. One thing I’ve learned while hiking over the years is that sometimes the more difficult the journey, the more beautiful the view is when you reach your destination.
And now I walk.