Wow, I'm finding time to write about my second pre-hiking day the evening of my second day of the hike. It feels like that was four weeks ago, rather than four days!
My trail angel loaded me up with breakfast, two sandwiches, and some gourmet homemade trailmix, AND a gift that I am treasuring! She just joined the Trail Angel list this year, and I am her second Shvilistit, and she has decided for each hiker who stays with her, she will make them a bracelet with strings the color of the National Trail's trail markers. I love it!
I don't remember if I mentioned in my previous post that my first Trail Angel hiked HaShvil a few days at a time a while back. It took her about two and a half years, and she said her favorite part was the southern third. (It's got me thinking of the desert. ;)) I've also thought it would be fun to hike the Oregon section of the PCT the way she hiked the Shvil. We shall see. For now, I've got many more kilometers to tread right here.
So, her husband dropped me off back at the trail, and I continued on my way. Near the start of this day, I got to walk by a train station, and everyone searching for parking and running to meet their commuter train brought back very fond (and a few stressful, lol) memories of living in Manassas and commuting by the VRE. Ahhhhh,
I hope everyone caught their train that morning.
Then it was through a forest and along some long fields shining in the morning sun.
At one point I wasn't sure if my trail continued south or turned west. But I saw rain in the distance, and a gas station not too far south, so I chose that option. By the time I'd bathroomed and returned to the fork to take the western path that I'd determined had been the right one (the INT, that is), the rain had dissolved, and I got to continue on refreshed and dry. Yay for side trips. ;)
Then I walked along through many fields and by a few tree-lines and ponds and such to be greeted by...a couch. On a hill. Just, ya know, being a couch.
I'm not sure how funny this is if you're totally sober, but being a little trail-loopy I found this highly amusing and clearly photo-worthy.
Then over the dunes (thankfully mostly covered in flowers and other vegetation -- hiking in sand is hard ;)), and to the train tracks.
The Trail always finds a way under train tracks, and makes sure hikers are never to walk beside or over them (except with a bridge, of course). So, there was a sign clearly explaining the plan, and trail markers reinforcing the way, and on my hands and knees into the darkness I went! A thirty pound backpack doesn't feel like much most of the time -- horizontal, though?! Phew!! There was much panting, as well as careful placement of each knee and palm to avoid sharp little pebbles here and there.
On the other side I saw more and darker clouds ahead, so I broke for a short lunch and some foot care, and rain-geared up my pack and myself before heading on. Despite being "ready" for it, I was so thankful that the rain moved east before I got to it. Nothing fell but a few drops off the trees when the breezes blew.
I head down and off to a side trail that the book had mentioned where you can see turtles up to 50-60 kilos! "This poor colonial" doesn't really have any idea how big that is, but the book's framing indicated it's exciting and impressive, so I thought it must be worth it. And it totally was - for the turtles, and also for the bathroom and the break, and for the groups of field trip kids calling out to each other in a great cacophony of Hebrew, exclaiming at the turtles and nutria and birds and who knows what else. :)
Back on the INT, it led me through a lovely nature reserve, past a neat fort ruin on a hill, and eventually out to the sea.
After a picnic on the sand it was down down down down down the beach, searching for the best place to walk: packed down sand, rather, pile of shells, or the more dry shell shelf, or the semi-packed dry sand/shell mix further up from the waves (well, "ripples"). Turns out sore feet and blisters hurt on all terrain. I pushed on.
It was slow-going, but I made it to Netanya eventually. I was so grateful finally to climb the stairs up to the promenade -- the different muscles leapt at the chance to jump in, and the overworked ones all but collapsed in relief.
The book said something like, "You got this, girl. Just a hop, skip, and a jump down to the end of the promenade, and then back onto the trail along such-and-such road." I'm like, "Oh good, because I'm pretty wiped, and I still need to get to the next town to meet my angel for the night." Um. I think the promenade in Netanya should be world renowned for its length. It must have spanned half the coast of Israel, surely! My eyes told me it was very pretty with lovely views, though whatever organ internalizes that into the "Oooo, pretty!" must also get tired from long hikes. The other promenaders seemed to be enjoying the sights, though they were a bit nonplussed at this bedraggled, beet-red, panting commoner spoiling their afternoon stroll. I was surprised at the looks I got, given the very laid back and supportive attitudes I'm familiar with in Israel. My roommate tells me most of Netanya residents are immigrants from France. So that's interesting in discussions of stereotypes and cultures and whatnot. Eh.
I did eventually somehow reach the end of the limitless promenade, and after a jaunt through town got to the Iris Reserve. The irises were a bit reserved with their, ya know, presence. (Kelli missed them when she was here because she was too late. I seem to have missed them because I was too early. Who's up next??)
The sun was setting, so I checked the map, and took a shortcut through Poleg, rather than venture out all the way through the dunes to the beach. I could just see myself limping all the way down the coast, missing the "turn here" trail marker in the dark and through the inevitable tears, and thought I'd op for sanity (and safety).
I gave my Trail Angel a call, and he directed my tired feet to their home, meeting me partway with his adorable toddler, and showing me the last few blocks. I was thankful that this family seems to host myriad hikers, seeing us not as a fun novelty to engage, but just one of the things they do with their property. They have a shack in their yard with a few mattresses, electrical outlets, and a heater/ac. Perfect. There's a room off a hallway with a toilet (no door, which made me laugh and be glad I was the only Shvilistit they were hosting that night). They let me use the shower in the house, and then I had the night to myself. I hobbled to the bed, slept away the night between the neighborhood dog concerts, and was up early to thoroughly assess and address the blister damage. A night and a morning, the second day.
My trail angel loaded me up with breakfast, two sandwiches, and some gourmet homemade trailmix, AND a gift that I am treasuring! She just joined the Trail Angel list this year, and I am her second Shvilistit, and she has decided for each hiker who stays with her, she will make them a bracelet with strings the color of the National Trail's trail markers. I love it!
I don't remember if I mentioned in my previous post that my first Trail Angel hiked HaShvil a few days at a time a while back. It took her about two and a half years, and she said her favorite part was the southern third. (It's got me thinking of the desert. ;)) I've also thought it would be fun to hike the Oregon section of the PCT the way she hiked the Shvil. We shall see. For now, I've got many more kilometers to tread right here.
So, her husband dropped me off back at the trail, and I continued on my way. Near the start of this day, I got to walk by a train station, and everyone searching for parking and running to meet their commuter train brought back very fond (and a few stressful, lol) memories of living in Manassas and commuting by the VRE. Ahhhhh,
I hope everyone caught their train that morning.
Then it was through a forest and along some long fields shining in the morning sun.
At one point I wasn't sure if my trail continued south or turned west. But I saw rain in the distance, and a gas station not too far south, so I chose that option. By the time I'd bathroomed and returned to the fork to take the western path that I'd determined had been the right one (the INT, that is), the rain had dissolved, and I got to continue on refreshed and dry. Yay for side trips. ;)Then I walked along through many fields and by a few tree-lines and ponds and such to be greeted by...a couch. On a hill. Just, ya know, being a couch.
Then over the dunes (thankfully mostly covered in flowers and other vegetation -- hiking in sand is hard ;)), and to the train tracks.
The Trail always finds a way under train tracks, and makes sure hikers are never to walk beside or over them (except with a bridge, of course). So, there was a sign clearly explaining the plan, and trail markers reinforcing the way, and on my hands and knees into the darkness I went! A thirty pound backpack doesn't feel like much most of the time -- horizontal, though?! Phew!! There was much panting, as well as careful placement of each knee and palm to avoid sharp little pebbles here and there.
On the other side I saw more and darker clouds ahead, so I broke for a short lunch and some foot care, and rain-geared up my pack and myself before heading on. Despite being "ready" for it, I was so thankful that the rain moved east before I got to it. Nothing fell but a few drops off the trees when the breezes blew.
I head down and off to a side trail that the book had mentioned where you can see turtles up to 50-60 kilos! "This poor colonial" doesn't really have any idea how big that is, but the book's framing indicated it's exciting and impressive, so I thought it must be worth it. And it totally was - for the turtles, and also for the bathroom and the break, and for the groups of field trip kids calling out to each other in a great cacophony of Hebrew, exclaiming at the turtles and nutria and birds and who knows what else. :)
Back on the INT, it led me through a lovely nature reserve, past a neat fort ruin on a hill, and eventually out to the sea.
After a picnic on the sand it was down down down down down the beach, searching for the best place to walk: packed down sand, rather, pile of shells, or the more dry shell shelf, or the semi-packed dry sand/shell mix further up from the waves (well, "ripples"). Turns out sore feet and blisters hurt on all terrain. I pushed on.
It was slow-going, but I made it to Netanya eventually. I was so grateful finally to climb the stairs up to the promenade -- the different muscles leapt at the chance to jump in, and the overworked ones all but collapsed in relief.
The book said something like, "You got this, girl. Just a hop, skip, and a jump down to the end of the promenade, and then back onto the trail along such-and-such road." I'm like, "Oh good, because I'm pretty wiped, and I still need to get to the next town to meet my angel for the night." Um. I think the promenade in Netanya should be world renowned for its length. It must have spanned half the coast of Israel, surely! My eyes told me it was very pretty with lovely views, though whatever organ internalizes that into the "Oooo, pretty!" must also get tired from long hikes. The other promenaders seemed to be enjoying the sights, though they were a bit nonplussed at this bedraggled, beet-red, panting commoner spoiling their afternoon stroll. I was surprised at the looks I got, given the very laid back and supportive attitudes I'm familiar with in Israel. My roommate tells me most of Netanya residents are immigrants from France. So that's interesting in discussions of stereotypes and cultures and whatnot. Eh.
I did eventually somehow reach the end of the limitless promenade, and after a jaunt through town got to the Iris Reserve. The irises were a bit reserved with their, ya know, presence. (Kelli missed them when she was here because she was too late. I seem to have missed them because I was too early. Who's up next??)
The sun was setting, so I checked the map, and took a shortcut through Poleg, rather than venture out all the way through the dunes to the beach. I could just see myself limping all the way down the coast, missing the "turn here" trail marker in the dark and through the inevitable tears, and thought I'd op for sanity (and safety).
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