Chapter 4: Where you get a route name.

I’ve officially been on the road for three full days and the February weather has changed from what would be a warm summer day in Norway to mid-winter conditions. Lihat juga Click3here. I’m all set and could hike and camp depending on the weather. But… I just don’t want to do it. Because? Well, I don’t really like camping at 0 degrees (it’s usually pretty miserable) and I know Above the Clouds Hostel is only a few kilometers away.

I text the hostel:

«Hello! Do you have a bunk available for tomorrow night? I am a hiker and would greatly appreciate a shuttle from Gooch or Woody Gap if possible. Best regards, Lena.»

A few minutes later the answer comes:

«Either one works, just give us an ETA when you can. We’ve got you Lena. Thanks, Lucky.»

We have you. No, we have room.” Not “these are our rates” or any other business thing. “We have you.” I find those words very comforting because they assure me that I have a dry, warm place to stay while I wait out the coming storm.

I arrive at Woody Gap, where they pick me up and take me a short ride to the hostel.

This turns out to be a great option, because at the hostel I meet some friends I didn’t know I had: BigWillyDawg, Steve!, Forrest and Melissa (all pictured above), and many, many more. In fact, the hostel is full of enthusiastic and friendly hikers!

penguin pants

Once I’ve had an introduction to all the amenities, Lucky gives me a set of borrowed clothes to wear while I’m there (since I’m taking my stinky set of hiker clothes through the laundry room). The comfortable pants have skiing penguins.

Penguins. I immediately remember my grandmother. She has always been my greatest support and a dear friend, as well as a mentor in life. Her spirit and kind nature have always been a safe haven, and I have spent many afternoons throughout my teens and adulthood in her living room. In addition to being family, we also developed a deep friendship. That is, until I abruptly lost her a year and a half ago after a brief period of serious illness. It broke my heart.

My grandmother always loved penguins. I have no idea why. Neither did she, because I asked her about it. He had figures of penguins, photographs of penguins, and I guess in a way the penguins were his spirit animal. Just a few weeks before she passed away, I returned from a longer walk in Scotland, and with me in my backpack I had brought her a pair of penguin-themed socks. She loved them, but she never used them because she was hospitalized shortly after.

Lucky hands him the comfortable pants. I stare at them, letting the symbolism sink in. I can feel some deep-seated emotions stirring. Love. Pain. Nostalgia. But above all love. My grandmother would have been my biggest supporter for this hike, I know! And, if she had been my age and had the means to do so, I know she would have joined me in an instant. Now all I have are memories and 24 hours in pants with skiing penguins.

My first baggy package

I wake up to a delicious breakfast and Lucky asks me, «Lena, are you packing today?»

I hadn’t considered it as an option, but when I look out the window at the clear weather, I get carried away easily. My initial plan was to make my first zero. But my body feels great and I would like to keep going.

«Yes, in fact, I would love to! Would it be possible to pack on Blood Mountain?»

Not long after I’m sitting in a car with a group of other hikers. We head to Neel Gap (yes, the place where “everyone” quits) and slackpack from SoBo. Although the weather is clear and beautiful, it is also very windy and very cold. There may be some snow and I have my micro spikes in my backpack in case there is ice on the mountain. I’m off, much easier than usual – the super light backpack makes you feel like you’re flying!

The name of a trail is revealed

On the way to Blood Mountain it starts to snow. But the snow is unlike anything I’ve seen before. Mind you, I’m Norwegian, so I’ve seen quite a bit of snow. But this is pretty magical. The snowflakes are the smallest I have ever found and when the sun hits them, they shine. It’s like the air around me is covered in thousands and thousands of tiny ice diamonds. It feels magical and surreal. I stop and look at the landscape, instead of the wind.

This place is awesome. And not only because of the rise. Once again I remember my grandmother. How he would have loved to be here with me here and now, experiencing this with me. Some of the snowflakes touch my cheeks and give me cold, stinging kisses. Still, I can’t believe it’s real.

I continue forward, with my mind full of memories, penguins and love for the adventure I am living. Almost at the top I meet another hiker. He asks me if I already have the name of the trail.

«No, I don’t,» I reply, before adding, «Well, actually I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I have an idea. But I’m one of those people who really likes it when someone else gives you the name of your route. And when it has a story.»

“Which one have you been thinking about?” he asks me.

“Penguin,” I reply, “in honor of my late grandmother.” He looks at me confused, so I explain the meaning.

«I think you should be Penguin,» he says. «If that’s okay with you. You know, some people choose their own route name, and that’s fine.»

I think about it for a moment. Penguin. It feels good. It means a lot to me. Will any story or name created ever feel this good? Probably not.

I am a penguin.

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