Singing in the rain

And I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more. Damn song had been stuck in my head for what seemed like hours now. Da da DAH DAH, da da DAH Dah. Even in the pouring rain I had to smile. It was such a damn catchy tune. Not sure of anything else the Proclaimers had proclaimed, but they really nailed that song. “Just to be the man that walked a 1000 miles to fall down at your doo-oo-oor” I sang aloud as I stopped under a large white pine to get a slight break from the relentless patter of rain on my hood. Was a great big tree, to see it in the daylight it probably towered over its neighbors, who were no saplings. Last week I had climbed a sizeable tree and the view was incredible, treetops as far as the eye could see, a deep green sea undulating against the blue-sky backdrop. I leaned against the tree my shoulders grateful to be relieved of the weight of my pack. Lightning flashed and with the momentary light, something about the bark caught my eye. I fumbled under my hood for the button on my headlamp, having grown accustomed to walking without it. The strong beam was bright, and it took my eyes a few seconds to adjust before focusing in on what I was looking for. There. Three notches. Even in the daylight they would be near impossible to see, they were old and just a few inches long, probably made with a small hatchet. What a crazy random happenstance. My thoughts flashed back to a single notch I had seen on a similar tree this morning. While both finds were intriguing and mysterious, I exhausted and not up to allowing my imagination run wild without some rest and coffee. Grabbing my sleep sack and head canopy, I cozied up under the curious tree, grateful the dense branches offered extra rain cover. Humming Dah dah dadadada da dumm de dumm until falling asleep.

I had allowed myself to bring one canister of fuel, for emergencies such as this. Not that this was any state of real emergency, but when something is as detrimental as coffee is to me, you’re not going to put yourself in the predicament of being unable to start a fire in the pouring rain to boil water. “Best part of waking up is Folgers in my cup” I sang aloud while stretching. This was followed by a more vulgar version of Rain, Rain Go Away. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, so with the allure of coffee and remembering the notched tree conundrum I motivated myself to begin the day.

Grave digger, mentally imitating Dave Matthews low growly voice. When you dig my grave, make it shallow, so I can still feel the rain. However at this point my coffin would suffice as a boat. Avoiding some puddles and splashing in others, I compiled my thoughts on the trees. Straight and true north, large white pines, ten miles apart. These were only clues I was able to conclude. I kept this in the back of my mind without lingering or actively searching, there was enough to look at besides manmade marks. And I had spent enough time this morning on the mystery and was trying to keep my 10 mile a day goal, despite the incessant precipitation.

One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish. Fat fish, slow fish, I eat you fish. I rhymed amusingly. Not only had I come across a creek swollen from all the rain, but a large tree had also fallen making for the perfect crossing bridge. Sitting in the middle and casting my line, my eyes scanned the fallen trunk just in case there had been any notches. Although it was a white pine, it did not quite scale to the size or mileage, but I checked anyway. After some time, and no fat or slow fish, I pulled my journal out of the pocket of my jacket, cleverly designed to keep such things safe and dry. Almost glad I didn’t catch anything, I thought decidedly, would have been tempting to use a page or two of the dry paper to start a fire worth cooking over. The thought made me scowl. While more than capable of starting a fire in these conditions, walking ten miles a day in the various downpour and drizzles was taking its toll. I rubbed the worn cover of the journal. The dark brown leather worn to black from such rubbing, marred with campfire ash, dirt, and the inevitable coffee stain. All the markings of a journal with a journey within the pages. It was the last one of a beautiful set, given to me by a beloved friend, and it was intent on recording the details of my adventures. Leaning forward as to protect it from the rain I scrawled todays note. June 6th Whenever the hell it dries up, strip some bark to use as fire starter. 4th day straight rain. Mysterious trees spotted with1, 3, 4, and 8 notches. 5 miles in between each.

Usually I would record animals, birds, plants, and things of that nature, but there hadn’t been many sightings. And the rain was starting to pick up again. I had filled just over half of its pages, which suddenly seemed daunting. There were minimum ten weeks until I had completed my voyage and was back within primitive society. Was there enough room to take note of everything I saw, experienced, and discovered? Hence why these pages were so precious. SPLOOSH! A fish jumped in the water and I startled, thankful for the branch between my legs. Ah, the one that got away I thought as I got myself together and headed to the bank where my backpack was patiently waiting. Soon I can start the fire and I’ll keep it burning till the rain stops pouring. Billy Joel could always brighten my mood. Thankfully today was my last ten-mile day, then I would stop walking for a week and soak in the experience. Hope I won’t be soaking while soaking. Ten five-mile days, then five ten-mile days, and then a week to rejuvenate with rest and discovery. My brain went back to the notched trees. They were so completely out of place, while at the same time so subtle as to not disturb anything. Except my mind. What was the purpose? I knew I wasn’t the first to traverse these woods, not by a long shot, but to be walking the same path as someone previous? People who came here were overly committed to leaving no trace, yet someone left these simple marks. Leading to what? Away from what? How far did they go? Would the end be significant or just as camouflaged as the signs leading up to it? “Someone probably did it just to mess with someone” I mumbled in an agitated tone. Human mystery was not what I was out here for, and it was harshing my tranquil mellow. I decided I would find the next tree in the morning, as it would be where I would be spending the next week and it would make a useful campsite. Past that I would give it no attention and alter my course as to avoid any further encounters. CRACK! Lightning and thunder simultaneously exploded the sky. Once more I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Everything is wet!” I yelled at the sky. “Mission accomplished, you can move along now!” I doubted the sky would listen to me, but can’t know if you don’t ask. I imagined myself doing a rain dance and laughed, the sky seemed to laugh along, with more booming thunder that continued rolling deep into the night.

I awoke with a jolt. My heart was racing, felt as if I had been riding an extreme rollercoaster in my dream, although I couldn’t remember a second of it. Looking around the sky was a lighter gray, and the rain was no more than a faint sprinkle. I rubbed my eyes and took some deep breaths to slow my heartrate before shimmying out of my warm cocoon. It was cold. Although it had been raining the weather had been pleasantly warm, but not overly hot as too feel muggy. Perhaps it was the thinner cloud cover, or my body still coming out of my sleep shock, but it was definitely colder, and I was quick to get a hot cup of joe in my hands. I had found the tree last night almost instinctively in the dark, and had gone straight to sleep, as to not try to investigate in darkness and get too worked up to be able to sleep. Now I turned to stare at it. The smell of coffee mixed with the pines. The breeze brought to life that nostalgic smell of wet leaves and raw earth. There was a low-lying fog that spread throughout the woods, and the early hum of life that took a mindful ear to recognize. This was it. The reason people escaped the modern world, the moments you felt neither insignificant or superior, a wrinkle in time where you had no questions, no answers, and felt completely understood by a force that you couldn’t see or speak too. I scowled at the tree in front of me and looked it over to see if there was anything worth wondering over. Of course, there was. The last notch was two notches, shaped in a V. Or, as it were, a down arrow. The hole at the base of the tree was near invisible, hardly bigger than my fist. I stuck a stick in first, as animals could be dwelling inside, and after nothing scurried out, I slightly dug out some earth beneath and reached inside. It felt silly, and I was almost about to apologize to the tree for the intrusion, and then I felt soft plastic. While I hadn’t violated the inside of many trees before, that was definitely a foreign object. Gently retrieving it, hardly noticing that once again the rain was starting to steadily fall. Inconceivable! There was actually something to be found. The plastic was a drybag, a good brand that I recognized. If that had been there for years, even submerged in water the whole time, the contents would be dry. I opened it and pulled out the first item, a black notebook. It was smaller than mine, but beautiful and well worn. Between the black leather were pages filled with beautiful script and intricate drawings. Looking closer, the script was in German. Not wanting to get it wet, I slipped it back into the bag and pulled out the other occupying item, a parcel wrapped in brown paper. This had written in the same beautiful script, both in English and German, “Good luck to you, Good riddance from me.”

Opening the parcel I only had one reaction, to laugh. I laughed and laughed, and even the sky let out a long low chuckle. Twenty thousand dollars. In a tree hundreds of miles from anywhere. What the hell. In all my imaginative wonderings I doubt I would have been able to come up with this. Rain started to fall harder, and the cold wind made me pull my jacket tighter. I chuckled as once again Billy Joel came into my head. Clearing a small area, I took some of the dryer leaves and bark from within the tree hole and gathered some small twigs that would dry out fairly quick to get a fire started. I took matches from my dry bag, grabbed a few crisp, dry hundred dollar bills and whispered “good riddance from me” before setting them aflame.

We used cash to start the fire…and now I’m singing in the rain, just singing in the rain, what a glorious feeling, I’m happy again.