In Circles
By Jon Sharp


	We were leaving Collegedale to embark on a grand journey into the wilds of North Georgia.  My roommate David and I had been planning for several weeks to go backpacking this January weekend.  Just a few days before the weekend, we decided on hiking the Georgia Pinhoti Trail.  The Pinhoti Trail begins in the middle of Alabama and extends through Georgia to meet the Benton-Mackaye Trail which then joins the southern terminus of the Appalachian Trail at Springer Mountain.  This was going to be the longest, most demanding trip we had taken in far too long.  Traveling with us were Jolene, my finacee, Montie, and his sister April.  David and Montie were riding with April in her small car.  Jolene rode with my in my truck.  
	We were leaving Collegedale quite late that Friday evening when Jolene said, "So, do you know exactly where we are going??
	Only slightly indignant I replied, ?Of course.?  I paused.  ?Besides, I have directions.?  
	?OK,? Jolene said, with a voice that seemed intended to remind me of times we had been lost before.
	I knew exactly where we were going.  (Well, quite nearly, at least.)  In fact, I had hiked a portion of the stretch of trail we were planning to cover this weekend only three weeks earlier and knew exactly where one of the trailheads was.  It was only the lower trailhead where we were to begin our hike that I had never actually seen.  But after all, I had directions I had gathered from the Internet.  I was certain we would be fine.  I knew Jolene was not convinced.
	It took us only 45 minutes to reach the first trailhead where we left April?s car to pick up as we came down from the last leg of our hike.  It was below freezing as we piled all our gear into my truck.  I pulled my burdened truck out of the gravel parking lot with little space beside me as my friends had apparently decided to test the volume limitations of my small cab.
	I knew exactly where we were going.  We were heading south on Georgia Highway 136.  We were to take Pocket Road past the Keown Falls area.  Then, when we found the Pilcher?s Pond parking area, we were there!  I really thought it was too easy.  
	It was very late as we decended Horn Mountain, only 15 minutes after leaving April?s car.  I disliked getting such late starts to our backpacking trips.  But it always seemed to happen.  No one could ever get off work early enough on Friday or get their gear packed quickly enough to allow us to leave before the light faded into Sabbath.  Well, I was used to it.  We probably wouldn?t reach our campsite ?til 9:00 or 10:00.  It sure is cold tonight, I thought, but I was anxious enough to try out my new LED headlamp that cold wouldn?t dissuade me.  Besides, I much preferred cold weather for backpacking.  
	My fellow travellers and I were talking when we came to first place my directions would fail me.  It was a fork in the road...  without road signs.  I stopped in the middle of the road.  ?Dave, what do the directions say exactly??  I asked my navigator who was dutifully studying the directions.
	?They don?t,? he said.
	?What do you mean they don?t??
	?I mean, they just say to stay on Pocket Road until you get to Keown Falls,? he replied, still staring at the printed directions in the light of my overhead lamp.
	?Hmm...? I said, feeling that look from Jolene.
	?You aren?t lost, are you?? she asked, pleased with herself though slightly frustrated at a situation she had feared we might find ourselves in.
	?Not at all,? I replied with a smile, joking back at her.  I had been in that area before, so I had a feeling we should go right.  And that?s what I did.  For the moment, everyone seemed to relax as we were on our way again.  In no more than two minutes, I knew I was right about the right turn.  ?See,? I said, ?There?s The Pocket.?  I was saved for the moment.
	It was only a couple of miles and we saw the Keown Falls area just ahead.  Almost there, I thought.  Soon, we would be on our way up the Horn mountain on foot.  I had the impression the Pilcher?s Pond area was right across from Keown Falls, so I prepared to stop soon.  But for some reason, I asked Dave to consult the directions, just to be sure things.  Our directions seemed to indicate that Pilcher?s Pond was 8 miles north of our present location.  ?That doesn?t seem right,? I said.  ?But I guess that?s what directions say, we?ll check it out,? I mused as we passed a small break in the trees to our right.  I wonder whether that was it?  No, just a hunter?s trail.  Too small to be the Pinhoti,  I thought.  About 7 miles down the road we stopped at a gas station after running out of Pocket Road.  Dave, Montie and April were more than willing to be helpful and petition the few people at this rural store for directions to Pilcher?s Pond.  This gave Jolene plenty of time to make her frustrations known to me.
	?See,? she said.  ?You shouldn?t always be so confident you know where you?re going.  We?re never going to find the trail.?
	Not really having any good defense, I said, ?It?s OK.  We?ll find it.?  I was still confident we would find it.
	After ten or fifteen minutes of talking with the locals we were no closer to finding it.  ?Hop in gang,? I said with authority.  ?I can get us there.?  I thought I noticed my friends exchange unsure glances.
	?Ok, where to?? they asked.
	?Back the way we came,? I said with confidence.  Everyone seemed to be alright with that.  After all, what else could we do?  It wasn?t long before we found Pilcher?s Pond.  Of course, it was the ?hunter?s trail? I had seen before, knowing all along it must?ve been the place, but relying on our directions over my instincts.  I knew Jolene was relieved to see it, I know I was.
	We were all glad to finally be at the trailhead, especially Montie who had volunteered to ride in the back of the truck.  We put on our packs, said a quick prayer both of praise for being there at last and for safety along the trail so late at night.  Feeling like I had just gotten out of hot water, I consulted with Dave about the trail to come.  It looked easy enough, the directions seemed to describe the trail with adequate detail.  I must have ignored the fact the directions were written two years earlier and had led us astray once already when I remembered I had left the trail map back in the truck.
	?Do you think we should go back and get it, Dave?? I asked.
	?We?ve got the directions, right?  Let?s not bother,? Dave replied, also ignoring or fogetting the fact that the directions we carried may not be the most reliable.
	?Right,? I said again with the sound of confidence, though my confidence was more shaky than usual.  Well, it was a pretty poor printout of a map, anyway, I thought, disregarding the map left behind.  Of all the wrong turns or mistakes I had made to that point, that proved to be the worst.
On we hiked until we reached Pilcher's Pond, just as it was described in the
directions.  Needless to say, I was very glad when I spied a token that we were
on the right trail -- the Pinhoti symbol, a track of the wild turkey, was tacked
to a tree near the pond.  "Pinhoti!" I called out as I had done twice already
as we passed previous signs.
	"Good," said Dave and Montie.
	"We take a left after the pond," said Dave, reminding me of our next step
now that we seemed to have our bearing.
	As we passed the pond on our left, we were overwhelmed with the beauty and
tranquility of this remote valley in north Georgia.  We took a few moments to
extinguish our lights and pause.  We gazed up at the clear sky crowded with
innumerable points of light.  It was such a cold night that it looked as if
the earth had somehow been pulled closer into the heavens.  It was a moment
of quiet and calm... the last of the evening.
	As we neared the woods at the other side of Pilcher's, the trail clearly 
began to wind to our right.  I knew we were supposed to turn left off of our
current path, so I began to look for that eventual left turn.  "Start looking
for a trail on our left," I said.  
	We hadn't really gone that far when I knew we had somehow missed our turn.
Just then, we met up with a larger path with gravel.  This didn't seem to be
described in our directions, so a debate arose between us men as to which way
to turn onto our new path -- left or right.  I was in favor of left as I knew
we were supposed to turn left eventually.  Dave and Montie, however, decided
right was the correct direction, interpretting this as the right turn described
next on our trusty direction sheet.  After looking at the left path briefly, we
struck out down the right fork.  We were anxiously looking for the next
description on our sheet when the trail started to lead us into a clearing.
	"Good," I thought.  "At least we are somewhere we might be able to find our
bearing."
	I was right, we were somewhere we could find our bearing.  We made out a sign
ahead surrounded by tall grass, "Pilcher's Pond."  Every one of us reacted at
once.  There were cries of dismay.  We had been hiking for some time now in this
cold and it was only getting later.  It was too much to bear realizing we had
walked in a complete circle for about a mile.  I laughed, unable to
ignore the absolute ridiculousness of the scenario.  It was a laugh mixed with
dismay, however, for I too was beginning to grow weary of our trip.
	"How could we have gone in a circle?" said April.
	"Okay, let's just go real slow this time around, looking really closely for
a trail to our left," I said.
	There was some hesitation, but everyone knew we had to look for the right
trail if we were ever going to make it to our campsite -- and bed.  So we set
out past the pond on our left again.  We came to the woods at the far side of
the pond and the trail clearly veered right into the forest.  We went more
slowly this time, all of our flashlights focused on our left.  We knew we were
looking for a left turn, at least.  After several minutes we found ourselves
back on the first trail.
	Everyone's patience was wearing a bit thin and I knew Jolene would never let
me live this one down, but I tend to have a pretty good sense of humor and
despite the late hour, cold, and my growing fatigue, I was able to sense the
humor in our present situation.  Thinking fast, (for perhaps the first time
that evening) I said, "Hey Dave, let's run back to the truck and get that map."
	"Sure.  Good idea," Dave said with a smile, reminding me that Dave has his
own healthy sense of humor.
	"You guys chill for a few minutes, ok?"
	They just looked at me.  They needed the rest anyway.  Dave and I ran off
down the trail.  We talked about our situation and how we were really going to 
get it when it was all over.  We reminded each other of past trips and of our
great outdoor skills.  At 10:30 on such a cold night, being almost lost, we
needed reaffirmation.
	We reached the truck shortly after leaving our friends.  I reached for the
keys in pocket.  I stopped, still.  "What?" asked Dave.
	I smiled.
	"No, you're not telling me..." said Dave.
	"No," I said with a bigger smile as I pulled my keyring out of my left 
pocket.
	"You jerk!"
	"Sorry, I couldn't help it."
	We found the poor excuse for a map right where we had left it.  Dave and I
examined the map a little bit before heading back, wanting to be sure of
ourselves before rejoining our party.  We found our bearings quickly and decided
we needed to look for our left turn closer to the pond.  We raced back to the
waiting trio of tired hikers.
	When we returned to the place we had left them, we found three frozen bodies
heaped against their packs.  "OK guys, we know where we're going now!" we said.
After we had gotten them up and blood flowing through their veins again, we once
again set out towards Pilcher's Pond.  This time after passing the now familiar
pond, we struck out off of the trail to our left.  Dave and I left the rest of
the group again on the trail to minimize their running around.
	This led us through quite a
mess of tall grass and weeds, thorns and mud.  about a hundred yards away from
the trail our flashlights caught something unnatural through the weeds.  It was
a wooden bridge!  We crossed the small creek to discover a familiar Turkey foot
emblem nailed to a tree.  Dave and looked at each other and smiled.  I extended
my right hand to him.  "I knew we'd do it," I congratuated ourselves as we
shook each other's hand.
	"Hey guys!  You can come on over!  We found it!"
	Shouts of joy and relief came to our ears from across the grass and mud.
	That marked the end of our walking in circles that evening.  I would have
said it was all downhill from there, but our campsite was another three and a
half miles up Horn Mountain.