Back on The Trail, Sophsoph!

On my last hike, my hiking buddy asked me what lessons I cherish most of those my parents taught me. I had to say it was all those that go into decision-making. They taught me to gather as much information as I am able and then to make the best choice I can. They taught me it’s okay when I make the wrong choice, and that the point is to make one. They taught me to be decisive in taking steps once the choice is made, and to prepare in case that decision needs to be amended, and to be flexible in living out the path I’ve selected. They taught me that life is a balance of risk and caution. Life without risk misses out on just too much. But of course the risk must be worth the possible gain. “Would it have been worth it if…?” and “How likely is that?” and “What would you do if…?” are all questions that go into my “Cost/Promise” chart. (This is a sophisticated version of the Pro/Con lists, including four quadrants instead of two columns: Promises if I do such-and-such, and Possible Costs of doing it; Promises of not doing such-and-such, and Costs of not doing it.)

After several weeks of holiday parties, outings with friends, and farewell parties (those international students only here for the semester are headed home, and many who will be here next semester are leaving for a month of winter break), my 35% introvert was in desperate need of some quiet time. After much consideration and information gathering, I decided to continue on the Shvil Israel for the weekend.

Knowing the weather forecast could be mistaken, and my body’s endurance is somewhat unpredictable, I took extra warm clothes and bedding, rain gear, extra money, a thoroughly charged phone, made checking-in plans with my roommate, and head out to finish up Day 3 in the Shvil Israel Guidebook, and get as close to Tiberias as I could in the next two days.

Up and packed early, I made it to Mercaz Mifratz, played a bit with the strap lengths on my bag while I waited, and caught the 500 bus to Kiryat Shmona just as the sun began to come up over the city.

As we head our way up highway 90 I kept an eye out for taxis—if they were frequent enough, I could get off the bus early and catch one from the highway up to Dishon. No such luck. So, for a little more kesef I grabbed one from Shmona, saw Mt. Hermon and asked my driver in my best Hebrew something like, "What is it like this how do you say, um, rain but cold and white?" He paused. "Sheleg?" "Oh yeah!" "Ve ech omrim banglit?" "Snow." "Snow." Nice word to learn as I head out for two days outside...

We found the place where my hiking buddy and I had ended last time, and I began the hike at 9:21. Not as early as I’d like, but a beautiful morning, at least. :-)

Saw some of the wildlife out for their morning sun-basking, and kept up a good pace—I knew later on there would be some steep hills and possibly some rock scrambling, and I was hoping to average 3mph, although typical hiking speed averages 2mph. (Can you spot the rock rabbits?)

There were dozens of them!

I could not get over how green everything was, and thanked God for the recent rains. I have only seen these hues of green before in movies and in the Willamette Valley. A couple summers ago I gave my sister a hard time for taking so many pictures of scenery, and here I was snapping a shot every hundred meters. But how could I resist!

Saw some cows at their breakfast. They didn’t think much of me, and I continued on my way. My first mini-adventure came at the next mini-herd. I greeted them cheerfully, “Boker tov, cows!” and approached slowly so as not to spook them (my friend who grew up with cows always teases me for how big I think they are, ha). When they got to their feet, I wait to see which direction they’d go—hey, they could trample me in a heartbeat! Well, of course they were getting up to run away from me. I’m so intimidating! They would go a bit and then turn and watch me wearily. I would have happily gone around them, but they were staying on the trail! As I came around a bend, I hoped they would not feel cornered at any point. Then around the hill…nothing. Well, lots of things—trees, rocks, trail…but no cows. I kept a lookout for them for a while, and then decided they probably weren’t, you know, ducking and dogging behind bushes stalking me to pounce the moment I let my guard down.

I finally saw them going up a hill and waved my farewells as I crossed over the cow grate that had shifted their progression up the hill. Us impressive bipeds, I didn’t even blink at that grate.

The next herd was quite bit bigger and spread across a longer length of the trail…thankfully there was a parallel riverbed, so I made my way around them. Aside from their mass, I also thought I ought not to intrude because they may have been in mourning—the second dead cow that day! What was up? :-/

Easy enough and back on the trail. Next mini-adventure came at a fork in the trail without trail marker. I wasn’t tired yet, but the idea of heading down one way just to turn around a kilometer later made me cringe about keeping up my average pace. To any of you headed the same way, at the bee hives, turn right. (Left goes almost immediately to the road, thankfully it didn’t take long to discern that wasn’t the way. ;-))

The clouds came in, but the weather was still beautiful.

When I reached the second road crossing the trail, I knew I was over halfway finished with “Day 4”, and decided to stop for lunch. I found a sheltering tree and piece of wood, had myself a nice little picnic, and gave my roomie a call for a check-in. It had started sprinkling, but being nice and dry under the tree, it just made for making my meal more cozy.

Before heading out again I prepped myself with gloves, scarf, rain jacket, and umbrella, and prepped everything in my bag in plastic. The rain had stopped by the time I finished eating, but still, better to prep while I was stopped than to do it later. I took about five steps on the trail and whoosh, the sprinkling had been only the pre-show. The main event welcomed me back to the hike for the next half hour. It was great! Felt like I was back in Oregon. (Except I did, in fact, use an umbrella—but before you chastise me too hard, Oregonians, I didn’t use it for myself, but for my backpack behind me. ;-))

Unfortunately, while I thoroughly enjoyed the hike in the rain, and then the schlop through the mud up the mountain, it did make for very slow-going, and (I don’t know what I’d been thinking but,) I was wearing jeans and they became very wet and muddy. Climbing the steepest part of the day, each step was a balancing act in the mud and over the rocks. Boy, I don’t usually feel sore after hiking, but even as I climbed, I could feel that I was using unfamiliar muscles in unfamiliar ways, somehow trying to grasp the ever-giving-way ground through my shoes. The next day was fascinating to see which movements engaged sore muscles and which muscles had mostly rested, apparently, during the storm.

I made it to the top, and to my surprise, was actually able to see the great view (I thought I might end up in a cloud at the top, but the weather cleared up a bit while I’d been giving my shoes the mud bath on the trail.)

There are three viewpoints somewhat in a row on the trail, and I was astonished at my own crawling pace from one to the next, but finding inspiration from the little engin and Dori, I focused on keeping my legs from stopping and ignored the snails’ mocking as they raced by my feet.

My first glimpse of the Kinneret (the Sea of Galilee) was so exciting, I think I exclaimed out loud. I’m sure my heart was composing some deep poetic spiritual response to it, but I think the exclamation came out something like, “Ohwwowhuuu!”. And I noticed my pace picked up significantly. There is something to seeing the goal before you rather than just staying on the path out of faith that it is leading somewhere that has unrivaled influence over the psyche. (Nod to Randy Alcorn. Thanks) Or maybe it was just the break for a photo shoot that rested my limbs and breathing, and slowed my heart rate. It's hard to see in the picture, but there is actually a little glimpse of the sea off in the distance (and yes, I was wearing my gloves by then...brrrrrr)

After the third viewpoint, the trail leads down to a parking lot. As I passed over it to continue on my way, a group of picnic-ers offered me a cup of tea. In my eagerness, I think I fumbled the Hebrew royally, but they understood the point. We swapped stories of our day’s adventures and plans for the evening, and the father figure of the group began the father’s concerned description of the weather forecast (which was significantly more severe than what I’d seen online before heading out). I unconvincingly assured him it would be fine, and he pressed me to take their phone number in case I needed to bail out and needed a ride to indoors.

I took the number, thinking if I made even a few kilometers out, I would not want to turn around to the road…and then began thinking more along that line of thought. He looked over my map and the pages I had photocopied from the guidebook and tried to encourage me that the next eight kilometers were at least downhill. But what I heard was, “Oh, the next eight kilometers you’ll be doing everything you can not to slide uncontrollably down a muddy slip-and-slide, decorated with rocks, and off a cliff in the quickly-on-coming-dusk. And if you get hurt or dangerously cold, you’ll have to swim back up that eight kilometers, because you will have landed at the bottom in the middle of nowhere, alone, for the night, in the on-coming torrential storm that I just told you about and whose thunder you heard earlier. And, oh, by the way, it’s supposed to snow tomorrow night here.” It was a pretty convincing argument.

I accepted their ride.

He also informed me that the parking lot in which we were standing was the end of Day 4 in the hike’s guidebook. That was cheering, at least. They took me to the field house where they were staying for the night (It looked like a gated community of some sort, though I have yet to really grasp what a field house is), and asked about a room for me. Thankfully the bad weather had influenced a lot of people to cancel their weekend plans, and a room was available…for 280 shekels! Without doing any currency conversions, let me say that is between two and three weeks grocery money. Hostels I have visited have run about 40 shekels a night.

As I sighed and looked out at the clouds, I pulled out my visa, telling myself it was better than hypothermia and broken limbs. And then I had a thought. I asked the receptionist if she could call a cab company and ask how much a ride would be from there to Tiberias or Haifa. I shrugged, saying I knew it would be a lot, but it was worth finding out as much information as I could before making a decision (especially since even after paying so much for a room, I would still have to find a way home the next day—probably waiting until after sunset until the busses would resume after Shabbat). I could follow her phone conversation in Hebrew since I knew the topic, and when she asked for the price and her eyes doubled in size, I thought for sure I would be staying the night. Then to my surprise, she hung up and told me the ride would be 200 shekels. She shook her head as if commiserating with me over the excessive cost, so I clarified, “Two hundred? As in, 80 shekels less than the room that is available here?” She nodded, like, “I know, right? So expensive!” I took the cab.

Once in the warm dry taxi, I called my roommate to let her know I’d be home and to request the water heater be turned on in preparation for my coming. We drove right into the oncoming storm and darkness, and I adjusted myself in the seat for optimum appreciation of the heater. The driver and I had fun trying to speak in my broken Hebrew, and although in his unfamiliarity with Haifa he insisted we go to my house by way of the university (even though I kept trying to explain that it was far out of the way, and I would tell him where to turn), we made it home safe, and I enjoyed a lovely, warm evening under a roof and between four walls. All in all, a good day.