I get lost in parking lots. Not just the I-walked-out-of-the-store-and-now-can’t-find-my car lost, but the I’m-in-my-car-driving-laps-around-the parking-lot-because-I-can’t-find-my-way-out lost. Whenever I go someplace new (or well, okay, to be truly honest, familiar places as well), I factor in an extra 30 minutes to account for all the one-way streets I’ll likely drive the wrong way down before serendipitously finding myself on the right one. My maps are “outdated.” My compasses forever “misguided.” And a GPS always next on the to-purchase-NOW list.
However. Born and raised country girl, there is one place I never get lost. Outside. In the woods. My own 2 feet walking down Mother Nature’s highway.
In the woods, I always find my way. Well, 99% of the time.
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A year before World Cup fever hit South Africa, I decided to explore the country myself. I had 4 weeks to get from Maputo, Mozambique to Cape Town, South Africa. With no car, public buses and my 2 feet were my primary modes of transport. My mission was to hike with the sun’s calendar. As the sun ascended and descended in the sky, I hiked, carrying on my back a small parcel storing water, granola bars, cell phone, and a rain jacket. I ambled along the ocean coastline waters, scaled the mountains, trampled through the grasslands, and trekked beneath the canopies of virgin forest.
One journey brought me to a former horse farm. Given the winter season, I was the only guest that day. Upon inquiry, a woman of great-grandmotherly age gave me a faded map marking the trails in the local region. The map, very primitive in appearance, hadn’t been used reportedly in nearly 10 years. Nonetheless, I took a look at the clear sky, the picturesque landscape of rolling hills blanketed with grazing horses, and headed down a path to the treetops beckoning me in the distance.
When in hike, I quickly lose myself in thought, surfacing only for nature curiosities like a beaver dam or a bubbling creek that needs transversing. Any concept of time passage quickly lost. Hours, miles, and landscapes had elapsed when I came to a clearing in the woods. First I noticed a flock of sheep in the distance being gathered in, then a small furry critter scurrying for refuge beneath a stunning fuchsia color of a flower, and lastly, above, the foreboding dark clouds that had rolled in, without pause, filling the sky.
I calmly turned around following my footsteps back into the woods. First, came a cold drizzle. I trekked on. Then the wind picked up. The trees howled. I trekked on. Then blocks of hail began to fall. I tightened the hood on my rain jacket and trekked on. The sky grew darker. The forest blackened. I trekked on. The earth beneath me began to suck at my shoes. I lifted my feet higher and trekked on.
Then I realized I was lost.
The trek stopped. I pulled out my map. It was of little use. All previous landmarks were being washed away; it was too dark to make out north from south or east from west. So I turned retracing my previous steps looking for familiarity. None.
Calm was becoming fear. Where was I? What to do? Where to next? What if…?
Then I saw two dogs. Wild dogs. They saw me. Thinking (hoping) that the dogs would possess superior directional skills than my own at this moment, I walked toward them. I followed them into a clearing, but not recognizing the area, I left the dogs and returned to the woods. The dogs followed me. But they kept nudging me back to the clearing. Alas, I relinquished my lead and followed them. Out in the open, I was subjected to the wind, the cold, and the harsh rain. More than once, I thought I had lost them. But they always waited, their eyes searching for mine, until I caught up.
Alas, we came upon a camping area, deserted for the season. The dogs led me to a small building, one that seemed fit for collecting park fees and doling out hiking maps. I entered the dry space, searched for an identifying name for the location and found one among the brochures and maps strewn about the floor. Using my cell phone, I contacted the couple I was staying with, provided my whereabouts, and waited for their pickup. As I surveyed the campgrounds, I quickly noted that my company had since left. The dogs were gone from sight.
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Back at the home, the storm continued to rage on, through the night and into the many hours of morning. I slept little. Neither the rare hot shower nor the warm home-cooked meal could warm me up. The mere thought of being still stranded out there in the elements, in a storm that I later learned blew off rooftops and took down power poles, kept me shivering. Out the window, I kept looking. The dogs never returned.
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However, I returned. I returned to the woods, continuing my quest, exploring the world on foot. However, added to the parcel that comes with me, often comes a dog. A dog for that 1% of the time that I get lost.
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