By: Stephanie Reynolds
OK, OK…I got lost!
In my impatience to explore a new trail, I essentially broke most of my own rules: I didn’t take anyone with me. I didn’t take my pack. I didn’t even take my purse (which is truly a whole kit in itself. One time, The Wonder Sweetie said “If I’m ever lost on a desert island, all I want is Steph’s purse”).
The few rules I did obey included telling people where I was going and taking a photo of a map (though honestly it was too zoomed out for me to use, so that was only a half-win). I knew what the weather was going to be, so that was good. I was not dressed completely appropriately, so that was bad.
I took my keys and my phone—good.
No water, no signaling, no compass, no first aid—bad.
Why did I, a total 3G (geeky gear gal) not practice what I (incessantly) preach? Oh, because of the usual excuses all folks who get lost without gear give: “I’m just going to walk up a little bit…I won’t be gone long…I just want to see what the beginning is like…It will only be like 20 minutes…I don’t want to take the extra time…I want to get there before the sun sets…I might not even hike, I just want to look…I know what I’m doing.” …Um, apparently not, baby girl.
There was a little spur off the main trail that I thought might take me to a waterfall. I carefully made a mental note of the area which included a fence (those are always good because you can follow them), an old gate that was open, and an odd part of the path that went both between two trees and around them. I even made note of how rocky the path became. I totally got this.
So, I turned off the path onto the spur, which doubled back at an angle. I could hear water and was eager to see if this was the waterfall. I walked a few minutes and discovered a pretty little crick in the woods with steep banks on the side. At this point, I was getting a little uncomfortable with my lack of gear, and the path seemed to stop at the water. I didn’t want to go up the other bank to see if the path continued, so I decided to head back (see, I wasn’t going far!). I passed the rocks, passed the split path with the trees, and found where the path intersected the spur. GREAT! I found the path that led straight to my truck…
Any minute now…
My truck should be in view…
Wait, I was on the other side of the fence. And I didn’t see the signs I had seen on the way in. And where was the gate?
Oh, for the love of Pete.
I quickly realized that there was another spur off the spur that I had taken which looked like the main path. It was not.
So now I had three options: Sit and wait. Keep going down this spur. Go back and see if I can find the main path. I decided to keep going and eventually found my truck.
Now, let me tell you why this ended up being my Athens Now article and not a headline in the News Courier—I really did just go a little way into the forest. I still had an excellent sense of where my truck was in relation to where I was (<vaguely gestures to the northeast>). I knew where civilization was and how close. If worse came to worst, I would just tromp my way off the path, through the woods, and sheepishly knock on someone’s door (“Hello, ma’am, can you please tell me where my truck might be? It seems to have gotten itself lost while I was on the trail…”).
This shouldn’t have happened though. I know better. In fact, I believe it’s usually the professionals who get themselves in more trouble than the newbies because they overestimate their abilities, they see past success instead of reading the situation they are in (yesterday’s trail is NOT today’s trail, even if it is the same path), and they tend to dismiss the “easy” as something not to be respected.
Yep, that’s what I did. But that is the last time. I am thankful to the Lord that this experience was an easy, low risk way to check my impatience, my ego, and get article fodder. I am thankful for the few things I did wisely and for good weather. I am thankful that this was a “pretend” emergency and not a real one, that I was turned around but not truly lost. It could have been bad (or at least mortifyingly embarrassing).
Lesson learned: Gear over minimalism. Maps over memory. Wisdom over impatience.
By: Stephanie Reynolds, Athens-Limestone Tourism Association
April 18, 2025
