Up a creek

    So today was a lovely and a warm day, and as I so often do I decided to go hiking at Congaree National Park. Normally, I just go around the very, very, very easy boardwalk loop and call that enough exercise for anybody. (It's all of 2.2 miles, but at least I usually go fast.) Today, however, that was just not possible. It was just too great a day, particularly considering that it's February the freaking third. So I opted for adventure.
    The trails at the park all interconnect, so you can easily turn a one-hour hike into an all-day one without thinking too hard. My problem is that I skip right from "not thinking too hard" to "not thinking at all." I decided to leave the boardwalk and head out on the longer Lake Weston loop trail. Then when I hit the intersection with the Oak Ridge and River trails, I decided that one of those would be even better. I wasn't going to do anything crazy; I checked my watch and decided to turn around in fifteen minutes. Like that's going to happen!
    After the fifteen minutes, the Oak Ridge and River trails split and I decided to follow the former for an even bigger loop. It was early and it was turning into a truly spectacular day. It couldn't be prettier out nor could it have been nicer for hiking. I marched on with a song in my heart and Cary Grant in "Suspicion" on the iPod. Then arose the serpent. (No, not Cary Grant.) A very nice couple came from the other direction and told me that the trail was blocked by water ahead. The lady said that I could get around it by going 300 yards to the left, hopping across and beating my way 300 yards back. I thanked them and carried on.
    It really was a very long way before I hit the water, but it couldn't be mistaken. When your trail markers are on trees sticking up from the middle of a creek, it's a hard sign to miss. I took her advice and headed left, got across no problem, but couldn't find the trail again on the other side. I kept looking and looking and struggled through a lot of vegetation and mud.
    Finally, I came across what had to be the creek that represents the canoe trail through the park, which I'm pretty sure is called Cedar Creek. A great thing about the park is that they let trees that fall decompose naturally. A problem with this is that some of them fall next to streams and in the distance look like pedestrian bridges. So I kept heading upstream thinking I was seeing a bridge (and therefore the trail) only to find that I was mistaken. However, one of the rules of life is that if you're lost in the woods, follow a stream and you'll find a path or a road or a settlement eventually.
    There were a couple of trees fallen all the way across the stream, and I gave some thought to trying the natural bridge route. I mean to the point of climbing up and testing my footing; not to the point of testing it over actual water. My well-developed sense of self-preservation (also known as my deep strain of cowardice) came through, however.
    Eventually, my trips away from the stream to avoid mud, muck and switchcane put my feet on the trail again, which turned out to be the way that I had come. I can't say I minded even an iota. It was still about an hour's hike out, but the day had gotten even more fabulous as I had been getting ever more lost. Being found again made it maybe slightly easier to appreciate.
    You would think that at my age, I would have been cured by now of penchant for trying to get lost in the woods, preferably someplace out of cell phone range if not someplace where I don't speak the language. You would be wrong.