The Hike to Campbell Falls

Lyla stood next to my leg as we waited under the awning of oak and pine branches.  This sheltered us from rain shrouding the trailhead in sheets of gray as my daughter Charissa unloaded Lyla’s two younger siblings from the minivan. This would be the first opportunity to hike with my grandkids.  Considering that two fanatical long distance backpackers raised their Mom, this hike to Campbell Falls was destined to happen.

The spectacle and soft drone of droplets pelting the lawn at the trailhead for Campbell Falls reminded me of long distance backpacking.  People enjoy good weather whether hiking or not.  Fondly squeezing nostalgia out of steady rain comes from a lifestyle that cannot avoid being outdoors in bad weather.

Grandma Cindy would have delighted in this moment even more but, now in the final stage of early onset Alzheimer’s, she remained in her hospital bed at home.  Sixteen years had passed since cognitive decline derailed her career as a visiting nurse.  We responded by hiking the 5,000 mile American Discovery Trail to reboot her life and brain health.  Cindy felt herself getting better during the year long journey and gushed about having grandkids someday.

After we finished the ADT Cindy regressed again.  Twelve years ago we hiked much of the Pacific Crest Trail with Charissa, but this time Cindy did not improve.  That would be our last long distance journey.  Once known as the accomplished “Expedition Woman” by her backpacking peers, as of ten years ago Cindy could walk no more than a few hundred yards.  Seven years ago she entered what every existing dementia scale considers the final stage of the disease.

Charissa texted me that morning with the intention for us to swim at Tobey Pond.  I countered that we should visit local waterfalls instead, now swollen from 24 hours of rain.  My daughter welcomed the change in plans.  She had spent the summer peakbagging the 4,000 footers in New York, saving the easiest mountain for last.  She viewed the short hike to the waterfalls as training for Lyla, Marabelle and Carwyn to join her on that last climb.  An ambitious plan perhaps. Then again, Charissa climbed Mount Katahdin at Lyla’s age, joined back then by her two siblings and fanatical parents.

We headed out from the parking lot with me serving as guide.  The grandkids followed in chronological order with instructions to stay behind “Pop.”  Charissa brought up the rear holding 2 year old Carwyn’s hand.  She bore a carrier for him on her back, but Carwyn wanted to hike wearing his own pack, which featured floppy tiger ears protruding from the sides.  All the grandkids were eager to hike, as undeterred by rain as long distance backpackers.  Or perhaps long distance backpackers are as undeterred by nature as kids.

The trail started as a grassy path which the rain had turned into a puddle.  I informed the clan with the authority of an official guide that we needed to cross “Grass Lake.”  We splashed through the lake in single file, me wearing sandals with Vibram soles, the grandkids in their little hiking shoes.  Nobody wore raingear.

Right after “Grass Lake” the trail sloped down into the forest and crossed our first wooden bridge.  Though a small bridge over a shallow gully by adult standards, the railing exceeded the height of the grandkids.  I turned and cautioned them about wet wood being slippery, though they likely will learn the hard way eventually.  As a more hurried and less brittle backpacker, I slipped on wet roots many times.   Experience surpasses the knowledge of elders as a teacher.

We continued on into the forest.  The tall, overarching canopy would have reduced the feel of rain to intermittent drops anyways, yet I could tell from the sounds of the forest that the rain had stopped indeed.  With a sparse understory of lichen, moss and damp forest litter, the appearance of a rainy forest persisted beyond the sounds of one.

We came to a mossy rock, or a boulder from the perspective of the 4 year old Marabelle.  Rocks of that size to kids of that age beg to be climbed on.  Wet metamorphic rocks can be almost as slippery as roots, which I also learned the hard way.  Yet a thick bed of moss mitigates the hazard.  I told Marabelle she could climb, both enjoying and envying her delight.  What fantasy covering did her young mind conjure for the thick, green moss in enchanted woods?

Campbell Falls did not disappoint, though with generational differences in focus.  The first and second generation adventurers admired the swollen fifty foot falls, roaring down in two vertical drops.  The third generation turned their attention to the pools churning brown foams at the edges, beckoning them to toss in splashing stones and eddying sticks.

I led the way again on the hike back to the trailhead.  Charissa again brought up the rear, only this time with Carwyn in a carrier on her back.  Lyla and Marabelle voiced tiredness, but not in protest.  Cindy would have loved this little adventure with her grandkids.

A sudden thought that turned this first hike with our grandkids bittersweet: it was also the last trail hike I had with Cindy.  Her best friend in Norfolk joined us on that last hike, or I should say I joined them.  The purpose was for Cindy and her friend Kim to have one last outing together but by this time my company was needed, just in case.  The acclaimed “Expedition Woman” could not walk much further by then.

Now I join Cindy on an outdoor “adventure” by pushing her in a red, adult stroller when weather permits.  No more rainy days for our outings, they will need to continue with a third generation of adventurers instead.  Maybe someday the trail to Campbell Falls will mark my last hike as well, accompanied by a young woman who cautions me about slippery bridges and calls me “Pop.”