Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

ISLA

Isla

If I didn’t think I knew what I was doing when I was writing the book, I definitely didn’t have a fucking clue when it came to picking out hiking equipment.

I stared at the wall of hiking packs in Dick’s Sporting Goods—the name of which only made me smirk a little—not having a clue where to even start. According to my travel agent, I was going to hike a 50ish mile stretch of the trail over three days. That would mean two, possibly three nights on the trail, and then I’d arranged with the owner of the cabin I rented to pick me up from the trailhead.

Betty Dixon had seemed like a sweet woman on the phone, and she was more than willing to accommodate my arrival, whenever I got there. She’d even told me the best place to charge my phone so I could call her.

“Is there something I can help you find?” a sales associate asked, but I wasn’t sure what to tell him.

“I’m going to hike the Appalachian Trail.”

“Okay. Like the whole thing…or?”

“Oh, no,” I corrected, turning toward him. “I’m doing a three-day hike, about 50 miles. What do I need?”

“What do you have?” he countered, walking toward a display of backpacks that weren’t quite as intimidatingly large as the ones I’d been eyeing.

“Um…a map.”

“Oh boy,” he muttered under his breath, waving over another sales associate.

Between the two of them, it took three hours, a chunk of my advance—for a book I had yet to write—and a cart of hiking gear I was having trouble steering through the parking lot. Theoretically, I would be ready to board my flight the following evening.

When I lugged all the gear into my living room, I opened my laptop and started watching YouTube videos on necessary gear, best packing methods, how to break in a pair of hiking boots in a day, and what kinds of foods worked best for multi-day hikes.

The next morning, I had a fully stuffed mid-size frame pack wrapped in a protective bag that hopefully wouldn’t get lost at the airport, a smaller suitcase the shuttle company would take to Timber Gap for my stay at the cabin, portable laptop, solar powered battery pack and the hope that I could pull this off.

Because at this point, I was committed, and since the early October weather looked like it would cooperate, I was ready to join all the other fall foliage hikers that flocked to the Appalachian Trail this time of year.

Despite a minor delay in my connecting flight, I made it to Asheville in enough time to catch my shuttle and check into my hotel. In the morning, I would embark on the trail, one I knew would be challenging, but hopefully it’d dislodge whatever had been blocking my brain.

I’d committed most of the research I’d done on Eliza to memory, but I had a notebook stashed in my bag with a few important details of her case, so I had access to them if I didn’t have a signal on my phone.

It was still astounding that people were able to hike over two thousand miles before technology or modern hiking gear was available. What had Eliza packed for her trip?

Had she trained for the kind of hiking that the trail through the national park entailed? It said she was a long-distance runner like I was, but even I was afraid my training in the Midwest wouldn’t hold up climbing a mountain.

They’d never found her body, and didn’t suspect foul play, but had Eliza met something dangerous on the trail and no one ever knew? Had she gotten into some kind of accident and ended up with amnesia and didn’t know who she was?

It still bothered me she had literally vanished into thin air. Was the same fate awaiting me?

After spending hours contemplating all the terrible things that could happen as a single female hiking alone on a several days stretch of trail—I blamed true crime podcasts for the more disturbing things I’d envisioned—I’d finally gotten to sleep and logged a solid seven hours before my alarm went off.

The air was warmer than I’d expected, but I’d researched effective layering techniques to protect from the sun and any hazards I might encounter on the trail.

My boots were still stiff, but I’d worn thicker wool hiking socks to prevent blisters and would change them out when I made camp tonight. I had several potential places along the trail marked with where I could set up my tent, and only planned to hike fifteen miles to Fontana Dam.

“You ever hiked the Appalachian before?” my Uber driver asked as we neared the turnoff for the trailhead.

“No, but I’ve run about a dozen marathons in the last five years.”

He nodded, but I could see him eyeing me skeptically through the rearview mirror. I was aware I was in over my head, but I was still going to try.

My map was marked with potential stops and places to look for water, and I wasn’t planning to set any speed records. Although I was worried my pack was a little on the heavy side because of the 6-liter bladder of water inside. But I knew I needed it for this stretch of trail because staying hydrated was the best way to stave off altitude sickness.

The second and third days of my trip would be at a similar altitude to the peak of todays, so I was hoping I could pace myself, drink lots of water and acclimate without getting sick.

It also looked like I had the weather on my side. Other than scattered clusters of light rain, it was supposed to be in the 70s all three days. Compared to running 26 miles in 90-degree heat, I’d take it. Although those 26 miles hadn’t been at an elevation of over 3000 feet.

There were a few other cars parked along the side of the highway next to where the northbound trail stairway was located. Despite being October, the leaves had just started to change, the lush green landscape beginning its slow metamorphosis to the brilliant crimsons and umbers I’d seen in pictures while doing my research.

It would have been more authentic to Elizabeth’s journey if I had made this trek in June, but I’d still been under the delusion I could finish the book then. Now, I needed to find any inspiration I could get. Even if it meant hiking at a 6% grade for the next two miles. Nothing like throwing yourself into the deep end right from the start.

“Do you have a trail map?” he asked, parking in the lot, and turning to face me.

“Yes, I’ve got a topo and a marked trail guide.”

He nodded, still staring at me. “Compass?”

“Yes.”

“Extra socks?”

I nodded, reaching over to drag my pack across the seat beside me.

“Extra trail rations?”

Another nod.

“Cash for rations at the Hilton?”

I smiled, knowing he was testing me. “There’s a Hilton on the trail? No one told me there were luxury hotels on this trek.”

He rolled his eyes, knowing I’d caught his reference to the trail stop hikers called the Fontana Hilton near the iconic Fontana Dam. “Make sure you keep your cash and phone tucked into your clothes while you’re asleep. Use a carabiner to fasten the zipper on the inside of your tent at night. You can never be too safe when you’re traveling alone. You got bear spray?”

I nodded again, and he turned to open his door, stepping out and holding mine open while I hoisted my pack onto my back.

“Good luck. Hope you find what you’re looking for out there.” He smiled and nodded toward the green diamond shaped sign that marked the start of the trail.

“Me too.” Because at this point, I needed to find something. Whether it was my illusive muse or just another experience to knock off my bucket list, I had a feeling this hike was going to change my life.