(From my journal, Wednesday, April 30, 2008. I am walking from Hancock. MD, to Cohill Station on my way hiking from D.C. to Pittsburgh, memorizing the gospel of John.)
There was a song years back: “Sign, sign, everywhere a sign, blocking out the scenery, breaking my mind….” Actually, along this towpath, there are not many signs. There are brown, square wooden posts, one every mile along the trail, with the mileage carved into them and the indented numerals painted white: 32…55…91…113. When matching up the mile marker to the trail map in my pocket, it can be handy to know how far one has come, how many miles to the next trailside campsite (as in portable toilet), and how far one has to go to the destination (a comfortable seat in the truck home to the campsite).
I often miss the mile posts when I am absorbed in learning John, or when I am looking around at something else like the pawpaw trees, so I have gotten the bright idea of trying to train Chester to notice them for me. Whenever we stop at a mile post (that I notice), I place hot dog bits on its top square surface, and Chester is immediately standing on his hind legs scarfing it down. I figure, if I am staring at turtles or muskrats in the canal, I won’t miss mileage information if he pulls me to the mile post in anticipation of eating hot dog bits.
That is as far as the training goes. From his perspective, mile markers are pretty indistinguishable from the rest of the scenery, unless, of course, another canine has peed on it. For him to notice the mile post first, then drag me over to put a treat on it…well, that seems to be either beyond him or, more likely, beyond my consistency and patience to train him right now. My contemplative prayer friends, who are cheering me on this walk, would remind me that I don’t need mile posts to control and plan and measure where I will be. Pilgrims, they would say, are playfully attentive to whatever is happening at the moment; they enjoy where they are now, knowing that they will see what they are meant to see and be where they are meant to be. So much for Chester noticing mileage signs.
There are also the occasional campsite signs. Each primitive campsite along the towpath is marked by a sign that gives a name, such as Huckleberry Hill or Killiansburg Cave, followed by how many miles east and west to the next campsite. While these signs may catch the attention of swiftly moving bikers and help them plan whether to stop for the day or continue on, for a walker these signs are rather superfluous. I don’t need a sign to see the picnic table in the clearing over there, the campfire pit, the portable toilet and the hand pump for water. At the slower pace I am going, the sign’s information about mileage to the next campsite is irrelevant, since I probably won’t pass the next campsite it points out until tomorrow. I do, however, enjoy reading the campsite names. They trigger my curiosity about what might be nearby. Huckleberries? Too early in the spring. A cave? I start watching the bluffs on my right, instead of the mile posts.
There are signs posted in the major parking lots which serve as the popular entrance points to the towpath. These signs are helpful for people traveling in vehicles trying to find the trail. “Chesapeake & Ohio Canal National Historic Park” the large wooden signs read, noting the specific location: “Edwards Ferry,” or “Hancock”, or “Great Falls.”
However, unlike what the old song says about signs being everywhere, there are often no location signs marking the less frequented vehicle access points to the trail. When Rick and I go searching for the location of the next pick-up point, we often must rely, not on a sign, but on maps, GPS navigation and the river to ascertain exactly where we are.
We used to be diligently prepared and check out our pick-up points before hand. Lately Rick and I have become lax about investigating the pick-up points in advance. With the mountain ridges always blocking the way, it can be a time consuming, round-about drive to check things out for the next day. After a long hike, I am more interested in getting back to the campground for a shower rather than figuring out where I will be picked up the next day. But that proves to be a risky mistake, as we shall see when this post continues…
Judy says
OK…I’m ready to read the next installment….!!