The Kindness of Strangers
It can be an incredible feeling to be reminded that there are good people in the world, and that some of them enjoy walking in the woods, too. This trip to Eastatoe Creek provided just such a reminder.
The Eastatoe Creek Heritage Preserve has a 1.7-mile one-way hiking trail down to the creek with a small water waterfall. It’s not very difficult, although there is a good bit of elevation change during the last third of the trip (down on the way to the creek, and back up on the way back). It’s a pretty trip, and I tried this trail out just at the tail end of spring as summer was starting to kick in.
The trail is very close to the border between South and North Carolina. And it’s easy to get to, as long as you’re patient. Just head over to Pickens, SC and head north on US 178. And keep going, crossing Hwy. 11. When I headed up US 178, I started wondering if I had missed the turn off, because it was farther up towards North Carolina than I had expected. But, then I saw a sign for Rocky Bottom, a small community, and remembered that the directions had said that it was just past that (actually, it said about a mile).
I found the turn onto Horsepasture Road, which was unmarked (the directions had warned that the sign was frequently knocked down), but was clearly the right way to go. Fair warning, the road is very rough, mostly gravel and ruts. I had to go quite slowly, because I was driving my Honda Civic, which is pretty low to the ground. I made it to what seemed to be the parking area without losing anything from the bottom of the car (as far as I know) and parked the car next to a small SUV with a flat tire. I’m sure there’s a story attached to that SUV, but I never found out what it was, and it was still there when I came back off the trail.
I got my gear together and headed over to the kiosk which indicated that the trailhead was a bit farther up the road. I suppose I could have taken the car up the road closer to the trailhead, but I saw no reason to chance damage to the car on that “road”. So, I walked the barely quarter of a mile to the trailhead. It was on that short trek that I saw my first “No Camping” sign. Normally, there’s primitive camping available, but it was currently disallowed. This observation is not as random as it might seem.
Near the trailhead, there’s a gate to protect the wide trail from unauthorized vehicular traffic (which is why there were two cars parked there in the extremely limited space), and I saw that on one of the posts, someone had laid a pair of children’s sunglasses. My assumption was that someone found the glasses and put them there in case someone was missing them. I figured some child was probably bumming at the loss of those glasses.
Anyway, I took the trail, taking pictures, as per the usual. The wildflowers were mostly gone with the onset of summer, but the leaves were lush and green. I took some time getting pictures of the maples and ferns, struck by the vivid color. And then I headed down towards the creek, passing a couple more of those “No Camping” signs.
Now, as I got down to the creek, there was a sign saying “The Narrows” at a fork that went off to the right, but the trail seemed to be blazed on to the creek. I wasn’t sure what “The Narrows” was and decided not to find out on this trip (I may check it out next time, though). The trail followed the bank of the creek, which was a nice little waterway, with a couple of moderate cascades.
And tents in the camping area. Probably about four or five.
You know, the “No Camping” area?
Ok, not like I really cared all that much, but I found it mildly amusing. It didn’t look like anyone was around, so I just found a nice rocky bit that jutted out into the creek and had a little break. The breezes were very welcome in the humidity and I was able to get a couple of good shots of the cascades.
Heading back up the trail, I started hearing a lot of voices coming from the direction of the mysterious “Narrows”. Sounded like a lot of people and splashing. Feeling a bit more like I was preferring solitude, I was glad I hadn’t gone that way. Considering the tents had seemed empty, these were probably the scoff-law campers. I wished them well and headed on back.
The rest of the hike was uneventful, but there was some rain, which caused me to pull out my poncho. This was more to protect the camera than anything else, as the rain never got more than a strong drizzle. When I got to the trailhead, I took off the poncho, walked back to the car, bade farewell to the abandoned SUV, and headed home.
It wasn’t until I got home that I realized that I didn’t have my glasses. I looked all through my backpack, my camera back, my car, nothing. I began to have a sinking, deja vu feeling. I tend to hook my glasses inside my shirt collar, as I can’t easily take pictures with them on. Once before, I had lost a pair of glasses when I removed my camera back and apparently flung them off onto the trail, unnoticed until getting back home.
I decided that this time, I wasn’t going to just give them up for lost. I got back into the car (I would have taken the truck, but it was full of mulch at the time) and headed back up to the trailhead. I wasn’t planning on an extra 1.5 hours there and back that day, but I was determined to try and find them, if I could.
I navigated the jumble of rocks called Horsepasture Road again and parked next to my friend, the lonely SUV. All the while, I was scanning the road ahead, just in case I had put the glasses on the hood of the car and they had slid off. I really didn’t want to find them by the tell-tale crunch of glass and metal.
I scanned the parking lot, and still did not see them. Now, let me clarify something. I don’t actually need my glasses to see, just to read. Just in case someone was wondering how I was able to drive and look for my glasses if my vision was just a blurry haze. But, fair vision or not, the glasses were not in evidence.
At that moment, I realized that I had taken off my poncho near the trailhead. Perhaps I had kicked them off my collar then? Worth trying. I made the short walk back up to the trailhead, scanning the wheel-ruts for a glint of sunlight on glass. At the trailhead, there was no sign of the cars, but sitting on the gate post, next to the miniature sunglasses, were my eyeglasses, looking none the worse for wear. Luck was with me that day.
Since the cars were gone, and I hadn’t seen anyone else on the trail, I like to think that the group of campers had returned to their cars, seen the glasses, and put them there, just in case someone like me was looking for them. But, whoever it was, I’m very grateful.
