Into the Sods at Canaan Valley, WV

Helicopter

The first thing they told us was to get behind the cars.

There was a small helicopter flying overhead and heading straight for us for the landing.

And so we quickly gathered our things and scrambled behind my friend's sedan before the helicopter touched down right next to the ambulance and uniformed rangers with K-9s.

Our hike started on that dour note after hearing about the missing hiker among the hullabaloo of emergency personnel.

Park services circulated her photo in case we might find her on our hike, and eerily, we saw that her car was parked two spaces over from ours.

The license plate read Washington D.C., and Yale.

We were, of course, cowed by the news.

She was in her mid-thirties, alone, and lost since the day before.

She had also spent the night alone on the mountain with no camping or survival gear after sending a single text to her parents saying that she was lost.

After putting on our day packs, we ventured out to our first leg of the hike before running into a couple from Annapolis, Maryland.

One of them was wearing a Towson State shirt and we talked at length about the lost hiker.

Their theory was a possible kidnapping, ours was a potential injury.

Either way, we all agreed that she shouldn't have gone out alone.

Unlike the well-manicured hiking trails of Maryland or Virginia, Dolly Sods is true undeveloped wilderness.

Only serious hikers need apply, you know, the kinds that carry maps, flares, and a compass.

Lost Hiker

The lost hiker from D.C. dominated our discussion for the first half of our hike.

It was still morning when we finished our first leg and there were a lot of people on the trail. Once a ranger ran past us with a bloodhound and we saw the gun in his holster as he made his way out front.

At our very first impasse, we ran into a couple with a young baby getting ready to be hoisted on her father's shoulders. And then it was another volunteer hiker who yelled, "She went this way!" The bloodhound had apparently picked up on her scent and went running down one of the major paths.

Amidst all the speculation of the why and how, we kept asking ourselves why anyone would want to hike the Sods alone especially if you were unfamiliar with the terrain.

On the one hand, we guessed ignorance. The surrounding nature of Washington D.C. has some pretty well-known hiking trails (Billy Goat, Sugarloaf Mountain, Old Rag to name a few) which would make any novice hiker think that Dolly Sods is no big deal.

But unless you're a veteran hiker — as in, Appalachian Trail hiker — then you would be naive to think that Dolly Sods was going to be just another jaunt in the woods.

Our second guess was that she wasn't necessarily in her right mind. She may have attended Yale but maybe she was emotionally out of sorts. My guess was that she needed to get away from all the noise and swamp of D.C. or maybe she broke up with a serious boyfriend.

Despite all the conjectures, we trekked on to the sound of the helicopter still whirling above us.

Wilderness

If I had to briefly describe the Dolly Sods Wilderness, I would call it a rarity. It's not necessarily on the East Coast but it's also not too long of a drive from Washington D.C. (three hours to be exact).

Unlike the lush, unvarying scenery of the Shenandoah, Dolly Sods has a diversity of flora and fauna that recalls the Pacific Northwest, Canada, and the East Coast. At times, I alternately thought myself in Shenandoah, Yosemite, or Banff National Parks. The windswept boulders ironically mirror those of Joshua Tree in Southern California. And the douglas fir and spruce trees are easily reminiscent of the West Coast.

Our first leg started with crossing a wide open meadow before hitting a babbling brook. Red Creek during the rainy season can sometimes mean chest-high water but we were lucky to have gone during drier weather. After crossing, there is an uphill ascent into the ferns before hitting the blueberry and huckleberry fields of fire (thus named because they turn a flame red during autumn).

We hit our first major crossroad after hiking the Bear Rocks trail and then veering off into Rocky Ridge which is probably one of the most scenic trails on the hike.

The Dolly Sods North Hike, in general, is known for its diversity of nature; it takes you through pine forests and hemlock groves, laurel thickets and fern meadows, plush grasses, moss and lichen, stunted bushes, windswept boulders at the crests of mountain ridges, and at the pinnacle of our hike, the stunning views of Canaan Valley.

However, it was during our descent from Canaan Valley that we found ourselves lost and confused.

The Dolly Sods North Hike is a chain of multiple trails that form a super loop.

The Rocky Ridge trail was the third leg of our hike which consisted of a tricky rock scramble with no clear path to follow.

Instead, we stood at the center of a maze of trails, most of which came to a dead end or stopped short altogether.

When you're hiking across massive boulders, there are no sanded paths or blazed markers to point the way.

So after following several false leads and growing frustrated with our thwarted attempts, we finally spotted the cairns.

In wilderness country, cairns function as small beacons and makeshift signposts when there are no obvious markers on where to go.

They're funny little creations really, primitive rock towers appearing in tandem that guide you before finding yourself back on more solid ground.

Along the way, we picked up a hiker heading in the wrong direction and traveled together for a while before we stopped for water and he went ahead of us.

We said our goodbyes and thank-yous before we parted ways.

Labyrinth

After navigating ourselves back onto the Rocky Ridge trail, we descended the valley via Dobbin Grade. Once we hit the valley floor, we chanced upon another hiker filtering creek water into his "hydration reservoir" (I mistakenly referred to this as a "water bladder").

A mild panic set in when we met another labyrinth of trails — we had no GPS, no map, or compass.

We also saw no signs.

We had two hours until sunset and three more miles to hike before we made it back to the parking lot.

This is when my hiker's intuition kicked in and I set my eyes to the land.

We were in the middle of a deep bog but it wasn't long before I could see the main trail heading off into the distance.

We completed our circuit by ascending the hill at Raven Ridge but midway through our climb, I took one look back at the valley with the setting sun, and illuminated cotton-sedges.

It was the scene of a lifetime.

We made it back just as the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the mountain.

Slowly making our way by moon and starlight, we sat on a large rock to sip our water and just enjoy the quiet of night.

It was such an amazing journey and we were proud of ourselves for having conquered the backcountry.

Apotheosis

It was three days before I could walk normally again.

My calves and inner thighs were burning in soreness and I could feel the acid build-up in my muscles.

I knew before planning our trip that Dolly Sods was going to be ambitious.

It was a 12.1 mile super-loop connecting four different trails. And even though there wasn't too much of an elevation gain, the hike was still physically strenuous with all the different terrain.

After the hike, my first thought was, of course, on the lost hiker.

Every hiker that we had met along the way was looking for her. There was so much concern for this one person that we didn't know but even more so for us since she was from our hometown.

I was deeply moved by the conviction of the people who sought her out.

Everyone at Dolly Sods feared the worst but hoped for the best and in our hearts, we wanted to see her alive and okay.

I couldn't help but think of the parable of the lost sheep or the shepherd leaving the ninety-nine in the wilderness.

I've read the same parable many times over but it took the lost hiker at Dolly Sods to reveal the sheer terror in that story.

I understand now why the shepherd rejoices when he finds the lost sheep and carries it back on his shoulders.

Otherwise, I made two key observations on our hike.

The first was that I've never talked to so many people in one day. Compared to how I interact with people back home, I was positively loquacious at Dolly Sods.

When you're hiking on a trail and passing people by, it's rude to not greet them.

When you're taking a break and someone appeals to you for directions, it's unkind to not help them.

But when you hear that someone's lost in the wilderness, it's downright inhumane not to try and find them.

The truth is I needed to get away.

For weeks, I was working in random cafes and living an atomized existence, so many people plugged into so many machines, not talking to each other or even looking at one another.

I was starting to feel empty inside and looking to feel whole again.

The answer I knew was out there in the wilderness.

I used to think that God sending out his people to roam in the wild was a punishment, a curse even.

There was no land to call home, only perpetual wanderlust.

But maybe the wilderness experience is what we need to call God from the mountaintop.

Just like the sheep and just like our lost hiker, maybe wilderness is where we must go to be found again.

My second observation was that nature is not necessarily the greatest equalizer.

Dolly Sods is not officially a U.S. national park, it's backcountry wilderness and therefore free of admission.

People come from everywhere, license plates in the parking lot read West Virginia, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Washington D.C., Maryland, and Virginia.

But despite the free access, I was surprised to see identity politics still at play, on a hiking trail no less.

The first instance of it was when we met the couple from Annapolis. When we told them where we were from, the Asian girl grimaced at us and visibly recoiled.

We didn't know how to interpret that.

The second incident was when we picked up the misguided hiker.

He asked us where we were from and when we said just outside of Washington D.C., he made a hard face and barely spoke to us thereafter.

This we did know how to interpret; he likely thought of us as radicalized liberals who were undoubtedly his political nemesis.

Our final encounter was with a tall, very good-looking guy who was night hiking with his dog.

He saw me coming up the trail towards the parking lot and wryly quipped, "Looks like you've had quite the day."

In no mood for sarcasm, I immediately bulldogged him and he apologetically proffered, "There's a dog coming your way, but don't worry, she's friendly."

When I related this to my best friend who was walking ahead of me, she laughed out loud and said, "Takes one to know one."

I looked at her dumbfounded.

"Oh, come on. You know the D.C. types. He was wearing a Patagonia vest, probably buys all his stuff at REI."

Now it was my turn to laugh.

I knew exactly what she meant.

West Virginia

Our greatest regret on the trip was not having more time to explore the quaint towns of Davis and Thomas, West Virginia.

We stayed at an Airbnb called the "Textile Studio" which was decorated in the style of ethnic prints.

Next to us, we met an older man staying at the "Print Studio". He was a Pennsylvania native, but was presently living in New York City.

When looking for accommodations around the Dolly Sods, I was, admittedly, a little apprehensive.

This wasn't Shenandoah or Deep Creek with your luxury glamping yurts or swanky mountain resorts.

So I didn't really know what to expect in Davis and Thomas, West Virginia, sister cities that were nestled deep within Monongahela National Forest.

Instead, what we discovered was a hippie commune.

If Davis, West Virginia is family and traveler friendly, then the bigger town of Thomas is where the adult locals congregate.

Tiptop Coffee probably best represents Thomas's aesthetic with a casual mix of hipsters, hippies, and mountaineers.

Women don't wear makeup there nor bright colors apparently.

The men have a rustic, outdoorsy feel to them as if they'd be adept at hunting bears with either a shotgun or a crossbow.

The coffee shop itself had a psychedelic feel with its mushroom-printed wallpaper, artisanal chocolate ( I bought myself a bar of pine nut & lavender flavor), and your garden variety CBD (i.e. weed oil).

The people were all lovely though—genuinely humble, and very down-to-earth. We felt welcomed, and not treated like immigrants or outsiders.

Homecoming

A week after coming back from Dolly Sods, I sat in my local REI taking a workshop on "Fall Hiking Basics".

Because of course, where I'm from, we have classes for this kind of thing.

I cringed at the demographic attending the workshop alongside me.

A lot of preppy, granola types; so uptight, overachievers, type-As or in other words, not really the type to venture out into the backcountry.

Out there in the Dolly Sods, I felt I had reached a kind of enlightenment only to return to the materialistic, consumer, and status-obsessed culture of my city.

In the D.C. metropolitan area and perhaps elsewhere, you quickly learn that hiking and "outdoorsiness" are in and of themselves status markers under the guise of loving nature, and staying fit. Yearly pilgrimages to the Shenandoah Valley are stocked with Kind bars, uber-pricey hiking boots, and your standard North Face and Camelbaks.

It takes an altogether different type of person to even attempt the Sods because Canaan Valley refuses to save you from yourself.

There are no pat facilities to rest in or bridges to guide you over troubled waters; your safety is not guaranteed.

Dolly Sods is hostile in that way with the rawness of nature, and dense forest to engulf you.

The wilderness there is akin to something out of a Jack London novel.

Just ask the lost hiker who was tracked down not less than two hours before we finished our own hike.

Ask her what it must have been like to have been lost and then found.